Goldfinger prison, martial arts, espionage, anti-Japanese,
In Shanghai during the 30th year of the Republic of China, the air was filled with the smell of decay and danger.
Chen Mo stood in front of the newsstand, holding a newly purchased declaration in his hand, but his eyes went beyond the edge of the newspaper and calmly scanned the passers-by.
Nineteen-year-old body, thirty-two-year-old soul.
Three days ago, he was an ordinary social worker in the 21st century. He worked overtime until three in the morning, lay on the table and squinted for a while, and when he opened his eyes again, he became this young man lying in a smelly ditch.
The memory of the original owner flooded into his mind like sea water, and the pain made him almost faint again.
By the time he put the fragmented memories together, his whole body was in bad shape.
Military agent.
Codename Mouse.
In the entire Shanghai Station, only one person knew him. His boss, a mysterious figure who has never been seen.
He is a nail buried in the dark. There are no files or records, and even the military leadership does not know of his existence.
Sounds cool.
Actually.
Poverty.
So damn poor.
The original owner rented a small attic on the edge of the French Concession for five yuan a month. I rummaged through my pockets, only finding two small yellow croakers, a dozen yuan, and a few crumpled legal papers.
