In the bitter winter of 1999, scalding lamb broth spilled from the copper hot pot in the He family residence.
Chen Jiu of the Green Dragon Gang stared at the red dragon birthmark on the baby's back, while frozen soil from Beiling crumbled from the soles of his boots.
Everyone in Shencheng's underworld would remember that dusk twenty years later: when He Yu was born beneath a blood-red sunset, the wails of thirty motorcycles from the Hunhe Gang couldn't drown out the twelve Jetta police sirens roaring as the baby cried.
He is the youngest boss on Xita Street, with seven lives buried beneath his coiling-dragon tattoo.
As a black stretch Lincoln rolled over the blue bricks of Zhong Street, a schoolboy folded his math test into a paper knife.
Then came that rainy night, when he tore his baseball shirt rescuing a girl in a white dress, revealing dragon scales stained vermilion.
“Across Shencheng, the sky belongs to me. Who would see Third Master He and not offer him a cigarette?”
When the coiling-dragon tattoo is exposed beneath a police flashlight,
the entire northern underworld starts placing bets:
Will this dragon tear apart the rules of the underworld, or his own life?
