The blood of Zheng Qian's previous life is hidden in the mud of the Thames River. In 1875, when he was pushed into the turbid current by the Razor Gang, and his throat was filled with river water containing cinders, only the Pisces jade pendant was hot around his neck.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Imperial College in 1873. The brass instruments in the laboratory glowed coldly, and the morning fog alarm sounded outside the window - he was reborn, carrying with him the memories and deep-seated hatred of two lifetimes.
This time, the mechanical blueprint is his sword and the steam engine his shield. From the laundry room in Limehouse District to the warehouse of St. Catherine's Dock, from the razor of Irish immigrants to the core of power of the empire on which the sun never sets, he will step on the gears and blood, crush everything lost into pieces, and then build an order belonging to the Chinese with his own hands.
When the black dragon opens his eyes, the whole of London will hear the roar of steel turning.
