Chen Yan owed two million. The soles of my shoes were worn out and air leaked when I stepped in the standing water. The hands of the pocket watch ticked. The ex-wife slapped the divorce agreement in his face. Relatives kicked down the door and wanted to sell the ancestral home by force. He said nothing and smashed the blue and white vase. Scarlet letters pop out on the retina. Appraisal eyes open. One punch broke the ribs of a relative, and the other punched the skull of a gangster. Black punch. Morgue. Monster. If you die, no one cares. He used this rotten life to step on bones in the slums to be crowned.
