On Wafangdian Old Street, thirteen gangsters blocked three people.
Wang Pinghe slapped the five consecutive pieces on the table, but no one dared to move.
He fired a shot - not at a person, but at an overhead light.
The glass is broken and the rules are established. From today on, he will sit on the chair in Wafangdian.
But how deep the water in Dalian is, he has never waded through it. Duan Futao handed over a business card, and Kayo's tiger-headed horse stopped in front of him.
Beijing, Anshan, Mentougou... Just say a word from brother, and he, Wang Pinghe, will be at your call.
Others mess with relationships, but he messes with fate.
Wafangdian Artillery King, the fifth gun went off, can't you hear it?
Should I call him Wang Pinghe or Wang Heping?