Li Guang, a failed general and a man who never fails.
Will a young man who once thought he owned the world look back at the past fifty years in old age with tears in his eyes and eyes full of anger, but still with unexhausted murderous intent in his chest?
To those who are on the road to despair.
In one's life, one can walk through Honghong Avenue and reach a place that was never imagined when he was a boy. He will also encounter the ink-colored night when walking on the muddy ground with rain boots splashing mud. These are the roads that people have walked, the mountains that they have climbed, and the boats that they have taken. One morning on a distant journey, when we lift the curtain of insomnia and look at the misty green indigo mist of the distant mountains, will we suddenly realize that the so-called enemy, whether defeated or defeated, is not as great as the uncontrollable moisture in our eyes.
I write to Li Guang (Huang), to myself who still has some dreams, and to the history and time that I love.
Intention: No one's history is meaningless words.
