In 1997, in the turmoil before Hong Kong's return to the motherland, Jinling City was undercurrent.
When I was forced to seal the debtor's feet with cement, I caught a glimpse of a pair of frightened children's eyes in the corner.
Xing Tie, the leader of the "Thirteen Taibao", patted me on the shoulder: "What a good boy, so cruel."
On the night when his body sank in the Yangtze River, I saw the reflection of the telescope on the yacht.
The undercover police are closing in.
Xing Tie suddenly called everyone together: "There is a ghost among us.
There was a blurry old photo spread out on the table, and the background was the provincial courtyard.
It turns out that the unsolved case of family extermination twenty years ago is the talisman for all of us.
