Before I died, I learned that the Harvard son I had raised for thirty-eight years was not my biological child. My childhood sweetheart wife refused to say who his real father was until her death.
When I was reborn in 2000, she was crying and begging me to return to the county town to get married. I sneered and pushed her away: "Breaking up, my life has just begun."
From setting up a street stall to sell national flags to building a clothing factory in Shenzhen, from SARS masks to bargain hunting during the financial crisis, I rode the wave of the times and vowed to make the people who had owed me the blood of my previous life repay with their blood.
But when I overthrew the deputy county magistrate and overturned the protective umbrella, I discovered the shocking truth - the foreign businessman who ruined her that night was actually the Swedish plutocrat who controlled the lifeline of China's rare earths.
What's even more ironic is that the child I adopted looks more and more like that foreign enemy.
Ten years later, the Swedish royal family came to visit: "Return the heir and give you an inheritance of tens of billions."
American capital extends an olive branch: "Cooperate to monopolize rare earths and make you the world's richest man."
I picked up the boy who called me daddy and looked at Western Tiger Wolf:
"To touch my son is to touch China Rare Earth. This game——"
"I bet on the fate of the country."
