My name is Chen Qingyang, and I started to work in the world in the 1980s. I'm a liar and a complete asshole.
It all started the day my father jumped off the building. I was seventeen years old that year, and I watched him jump off the fourth floor for a piece of paper. I didn't cry, I just picked up the letter that I lied to him about. Later I became a master and learned the craftsmanship of Qianmen Bajiang. The master said that everyone in this world is cheating, but we cheat better.
I have lied to many people. He defrauded laid-off workers from their final resettlement fees, defrauded the elderly from the coffin books they had saved all their lives, and defrauded girls from their promises of love. I am proficient in handwriting, official seals, and people's hearts. I know when to say what to say and what expression to show. My game grew bigger and bigger, from Jiangcheng to Shenzhen, from street tricks to transnational traps. Money flows in like water, but the richer I get, the dirtier I feel.
My wife took all the blame for me and cut her wrists with broken glass in prison in order to get me out.
My master Xie Jiuye died in my hands. He is right, there are no masters or disciples in Qianmen, only victory or defeat. The day I killed him, he died with a smile and said, "Qingyang, you are finally ready to fight."
Now I am forty-three years old, sitting on more wealth than I can spend in a few lifetimes, and carrying debts that I cannot repay in a lifetime. I funded the education of all the victims' children I could find and signed the remittance notes as "Confessor." I know it's useless. Some sins cannot be washed away without atonement. I'm a bastard who died long ago and is still alive. This is my story, a story about falling. If you feel sick after hearing this, that's right. Because even I hate the face in the mirror.
