In my previous life, I was the richest man in the province and a spectator to the Handong Storm. In the end, I drank myself to death haunted by my uncle's dying words: “You could have been that man.”
Reborn in 1996, I spent six years building up capital through industry. At thirty-two, I knocked on my uncle's door. “Uncle, I want to go into politics.”
In this life, there will be no gunshots on Guling Ridge. In this life, I will tear off the supposedly “righteous” masks worn by Hou Liangping and his wife, right before all of Handong, on behalf of the farmer's son whose life was casually toyed with by those in power.
