Li Mingyuan felt that he had had a very, very long dream, a dream that was so bizarre and fragmented that it had no logic at all.
In the dream, he seemed to be in a huge, endlessly rotating cosmic vortex. Countless picture fragments were like stardust swept up by the shock wave of a supernova explosion, flying past him, carrying with them either familiar or unfamiliar auras. He saw the huge Nasdaq billboard in New York's Times Square flashing the K-line chart of his company's stock rise; he saw the busiest intersection in Shibuya, Tokyo, with men and women in avant-garde clothing surging like a tide, full of postmodern psychedelic colors; he saw himself driving a modified car His Ford Raptor off-road vehicle chased the bloody sunset with the running wildebeest herds on the vast African savannah; he also saw his beloved HK416 automatic rifle spitting out tongues of flame at a private shooting range in Las Vegas, and the hot bullet shells drew crisp and sweet arcs in the air. These are all things he is familiar with, belonging to the prosperity, noise and passion of the 21st century.
