Poor Boy's Counterattack: from Beggar to Rich Man

The cold wind in early winter was biting, like sharp knives, ruthlessly cutting through the long street paved with stone slabs. Ten-year-old Xiaoqiang, as thin as a lonely branch, huddled under the dilapidated arch of the church. The thin clothes he was wearing had already been soaked by the rain and clung wetly to his skinny torso. In the iron bowl at his feet, three rusty coins lay alone. This was all he had gained today, and it was also his struggle to survive in this cruel world.