Qiao Mu was woken up by a heartbreaking pain. The pain was like being accidentally splashed with concentrated hydrochloric acid on his hands when doing chemical experiments in modern times. It was burning and numb. It ran along the limbs and bones to his heart, and his internal organs felt as if someone had cut them with a blunt knife. The pain made him break into a cold sweat, and his eyelids were as heavy as lead. It was difficult to even breathe. He wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids were extremely heavy, and his mind was even more chaotic, stuffed with a ball of cotton wool that had been soaked in water, and countless memory fragments that did not belong to him were crazily squeezed in - a house with ornate buildings, men and women wearing silk and satin, and a young man who looked exactly like him, but was as cowardly as a weak persimmon. The last thing that was fixed was a ferocious face, holding a glass of dark wine and forcing it into the young man's mouth. "Qiao Mu, you despicable bastard, do you deserve to take possession of the things your mother left behind? Be wise and hand over the box, and I can still give you pleasure!"
