**About the story of the novel:** The earliest events took place at Biaozi Ridge in Changsha. In the early days of the founding of New China, a group of tomb raiders unearthed the most important object in this book—the Silk Manuscripts of the Warring States period—from an ancient tomb of that era. This story is from the time of Wu Xie’s grandfather, also known as Dog Five, when he was young. At that time, there were no rankings in the martial world, and the most famous figures were a total of nine people—Chen Pi Ah Si, Dog Five, Hei Bei Lao Liu, and so on, with the last being Jie Ah Jiu, who is the father of Jie Lian Huan. Later, there were so-called Ten Ye and Eleven Ye, but their recognized scope was very small, mostly self-appointed or appointed by their subordinates, and others outside wouldn’t know about them. Some say that Chen Pi Ah Si is now over ninety, and fifty years ago he was in his forties, while Dog Five was still quite young. If he was seventeen at that time, having achieved fame in ten years, he would have been twenty-seven, so how could he rank behind Chen Pi Ah Si, who was nearing fifty, and become Dog Five? If we follow this reasoning, Jie Xiao Jiu would still be wearing split-crotch pants at that time, which is a bit unreasonable. Anyone with a bit of common sense knows that the rankings in the martial world are not based on age, but on experience and seniority, and these are established by others. The high ranking of Wu Xie’s grandfather, Dog Five, indicates how impressive his skills and charisma were, making it impossible not to admire him.
The second story also takes place at Biaozi Ridge. It involves Wu Xie’s third uncle stealing from the blood corpse tomb of the American Hu, which occurred twenty to thirty years after the first story. This incident can be said to be a complete coincidence, and it was through this that Wu Xie’s third uncle learned about what happened when Wu Xie’s grandfather and the others first raided the blood corpse tomb. This adventure allowed the third uncle to gain some experience points and obtain a strange elixir. Although this is just an interlude, it can be said to be the precursor to the later Xisha incident.
The third story occurs off the coast of Xisha. This is the tale of Wu Xie’s third uncle diving into the angry sea to explore the sand. The appearance of Zhang Qiling creates the biggest mystery in this story. There are two versions within the story: one is the version where the third uncle deceives, and the other is the honest version after the third uncle experiences a catastrophe. The final truth is that both versions are lies told by the third uncle to Wu Xie, as the third uncle harbors a significant secret related to Wu Xie.
The fourth story takes place at the Qixing Lu Wang Palace in Shandong. This is the first story of this work, and it marks Wu Xie’s first descent into the ground. After this experience, Wu Xie transformed from a staunch atheist into a patient with mental issues, driven by curiosity to participate in such criminal activities. In this story, with the help of the “Dumb Oil Bottle,” Wu Xie and others ultimately escape from dire straits.
Thus, the earlier three stories have the opportunity to converge through this narrative. The threads of the Silk Manuscripts, the Xisha incident, and the mysterious elixir begin to intertwine, making the entire story extremely complex and elusive.
The fifth story returns to Xisha. This time, Wu Xie himself enters the underwater tomb of Wang Cang Hai, searching for his missing third uncle. At this point, the third uncle has already obtained clues about the Heavenly Palace from the underwater tomb and has begun the Yunding Tiangong plan, while Wu Xie and the others foolishly enter the ancient underwater tomb. This time, the thousand-year game with Wang Cang Hai ultimately allows Wu Xie and his companions to survive again, thanks to Wang Fatzi’s straightforward thinking.
In this story, the three forces within the work finally converge, and the mystery begins to unfold. Wu Xie and his companions pursue the truth, while their uncle, who has his own plans, and the overseas forces that have lingered from previous stories, face off for the first time. The narrative follows two main threads; one continues along the script written by Wang Canghai a thousand years ago, while the other is temporarily interrupted.
The sixth story is about the Qinling Divine Tree. This is the most criticized story—editors believe it is the best and most meaningful, while readers find it perplexing. This story is not closely related to the main plot; it merely introduces the massive bronze relic beneath the mountain and allows the protagonist to enhance his abilities. In this story, Wu Xie independently leads his childhood friend, who harbors ulterior motives, deep into the heart of the Qinling Mountains.
For Wu Xie, this story sometimes feels like a long dream, giving a strong sense of unreality. The seventh story takes place in Changbai Mountain, the eternal Cloud Top Heavenly Palace. This is the most challenging adventure and also the most painful piece Wu Xie has written. Various groups, each with their own mysteries, embark on a path of death, struggling through the heavy snow and the narrow snowy terrain. There, Wu Xie and his companions discover the ultimate secret that Wang Canghai attempted to leave for future generations a thousand years ago. However, this secret abruptly halts before the enormous bronze door underground.
Zhang Qiling, who enters the underground giant door, seems to be the only one closest to this secret. The main thread of Wang Canghai’s story stops here, while the main thread of Tie Miansheng’s story begins anew.
The eighth story is the tale of the Snake Marsh Ghost City. It is composed of two interconnected stories that run throughout the entire Snake Marsh Ghost City narrative. The first is the legend of Wang Canghai. After Wu Xie organizes it, he realizes it is excellent material for a novel; if written in the style of Gu Long, it would undoubtedly be a remarkable book that Wu Xie must write in his lifetime. The second is the slowly forming story of Tie Miansheng. Now, one can clearly see the origin of the story—the massive bronze relic in the mountains and the secrets behind the Snake Marsh Ghost City.
Historically, two extraordinary individuals have glimpsed this secret: one is Tie Miansheng from the Warring States period, and the other is Wang Canghai from the early Ming dynasty. Based on existing information, Wu Xie and his companions do not know whether there is a direct connection between them, but it is evident that Tie Miansheng should have richer documentation, as his era is very close to the mythological age. From their tombs, the presence of elixirs suggests that the two have commonalities. At the very least, both have passed down their experiences in some form—through the Warring States silk manuscripts and the snake-eyed copper fish.
Wu Xie and his companions are precisely following these two clues, gradually unveiling this enigmatic veil. The narratives surrounding Wang Canghai, the Lu Wang Palace, Golmud, and the Cloud Top Heavenly Palace form another system that is closely related to the Zhang family’s ancient tombs. The Zhang family’s ancestors have connections to these stories. Meanwhile, tales like that of Chen Pi A Si and the upside-down mirror palace of the Miao people are merely filler.
Regarding Delayed Submissions: As an author, the greatest external pain is undoubtedly the pressure of the publishing cycle and the conflict with the quality of one’s writing, especially when you have become all too familiar with the urgency of meeting deadlines. You know that this is an irreconcilable conflict. However, as long as you endure this pain long enough, you will find that it is not something unbearable. What is truly difficult is having to bear even more misunderstanding after enduring all this pain.
Yet, I still continue to procrastinate. I am a slow writer. Especially in the later stages of writing, my speed tends to slow down even further. It’s not that I don’t want to write, but rather that the longer the story goes on, the more information accumulates ahead, requiring more consideration. By the time you reach the fifth book, the basic clues and puzzles from the earlier parts can feel like a mountain pressing down on you, making each step forward incredibly challenging.
In such situations, many times, I can only choose a more cautious writing pace. However, because of my slow writing, I have faced a lot of criticism. This criticism accumulates book by book, gradually drowning out the applause I used to hear, slowly becoming the mainstream narrative.
I cannot disingenuously say that I have remained calm in the face of these comments. Anyone would doubt their worth when faced with so much criticism early on. “So many people don’t like me,” I could only imagine the frustration in my heart at that time. “Out of ideas,” “irresponsible,” countless accusations flying around.
I write only for those who like me. I wanted to throw out this line at that time, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Gradually, my anxiety over these comments began to invade everything. That year, I don’t know how, but I slowly calmed my heart. I am grateful to my friends, one of whom had already gained fame and gone through all of this; she told me that writing is a form of meditation. Writing is a process of looking inward.
I worried about everything I might lose, but for my former self, it didn’t exist. Therefore, what I lost was simply what I shouldn’t have had. I did not lose everything I had before I started writing, just like a child picking ten apples from an apple tree and discovering that three of them are rotten. He shouldn’t be upset about losing three apples; he should appreciate the seven that are still good.
Language has its own power, and I slowly came to understand this truth: emotions are unquantifiable; sadness is sadness, and happiness is happiness. I write to seek the joy I originally had. If I let a small loss bring out 100% of my sadness, that would be very unworthy.
However, although I feel a sense of helplessness and persistence regarding my procrastination, I still want to apologize to all my readers here. Five years of waiting seems like a small cycle in life, and I apologize for all the pain you endured during this wait. At the same time, I hope that during these five years, this series of novels can become a cherished memory.
Five years is neither a long nor a short period in life. If a fat man can make so many people entangled in their precious lives for five years, then he can be considered to have achieved his purpose. So even if it is painful, while I apologize, I also secretly take delight in it.
Why do I like stories? Let me start by talking about my life. I was born on February 20, 1982, in a small town in Zhejiang. I was born at midnight, and at the moment of my birth, neither the sky, the earth, nor the ocean showed any reaction.
Sometimes I can’t help but blame the heavens a little. If there had been a thunderclap at my birth, I could have reasoned that I was different from others. Unfortunately, there’s no going back.
I can only muddle through life as a truly ordinary person in this world. My family background is quite complicated. My grandmother is from Taixing, Jiangsu, and she is actually a fellow townsman of my publisher. My grandmother was a boat woman, which means she had no industry; all her assets consisted of ninety-one small wooden boats. My grandfather passed away when my father was five years old. My father has an older brother and an older sister.
I am not clear about the reason for my grandfather’s death; my father does not know either, only vaguely realizing that my grandmother should be considered a child bride to my grandfather. My grandmother actually had many children, but she could not support them at the time. My father was the youngest, so he was particularly cherished. In the 1960s, due to famine, my grandmother’s boat set sail from Taixing to Shanghai, and it sank in the Huangpu River after colliding with a large ship. When my grandmother brought her three children ashore, they cried bitterly; their home was gone, and now they were on land, looking at the vastness of the Bund in Shanghai, feeling nothing but immense desolation. Thanks to the Party and the people, my grandmother was provided with shelter.
In my father’s memory, there is a particularly peaceful and beautiful recollection of old Shanghai. I’ve calculated that if my father had not come ashore at that time, he might never have gone to school. Perhaps the subsequent events would never have happened. For some unknown reason, my father later left Shanghai and moved to this area of Zhejiang Province, close to Shanghai. Then the “Cultural Revolution” began, and my father followed the railway troops to the Daxing’anling to support the border. He spent his most precious youth in the construction corps. My mother was also one of the young people from the south sent to the north during that time.
My mother was very beautiful; she was only sixteen and, along with three other southern girls, was known as the “Four Flowers of Daxing’anling.” My father, who was in charge of affairs, won her over with special rations of white rice. At that time, they were quite a dazzling couple. In the construction corps, people were divided into factions based on their regions; Ningbo, Wenzhou, and Lishui all had their own little groups. Conflicts were constant during that time. My father had been able to fight since he was young, especially skilled in his fighting techniques.
My mother said that my father was covered in scars; there was hardly a spot on his body that didn’t bear one. Because he was good at fighting and valued loyalty, my father held a certain authority in all the groups he was part of. Whenever a fight broke out, as soon as my father appeared, everyone fell silent. After returning to the south, there was an incident where my father was transporting a boatload of watermelons and encountered a mob trying to steal them. He used a pole to knock dozens of rioters into the water, although ultimately he had to abandon the watermelons and flee due to being outnumbered. But the image of his bravery at that moment still thrills me to this day. Coupled with the fact that my mother was astonishingly beautiful and delicate, the two of them were quite the envy of others at the time.
Speaking of my mother, her family background is even more interesting. My grandmother was a kiln owner in our hometown, a place called Qianyao. Qianyao had a thousand kilns and was the core production area at that time. My grandmother owned a large kiln locally, which placed her in a very high social status. My grandfather had escaped from the Nationalist army. It wasn’t until after the founding of New China that the two were introduced to each other and became a couple.
There must be countless stories about my grandparents as well. My grandfather was said to possess extraordinary strength. At 1.86 meters tall, he seemed like a giant in that society. My grandmother said she married him because she saw him lift something that three men could barely carry.
Of course, it seems there were many twists and turns in their marriage. When my grandfather passed away, I vaguely heard my grandmother sadly recounting his past romantic escapades to my mother in the funeral hall. I have seen photos of my parents from back in the day; my father was so handsome it was hard to look directly at him, while my mother looked like a water lily emerging from the water. They were so beautiful and exceptional that every time I look in the mirror, I feel the world is incredibly unfair. With so many excellent genes, why did they manifest in such a pathetic way in me?
My parents established their relationship in the Daxing’anling region, then moved to the Daqing Oil Field, and later returned to the south. At that time, my father worked as a manager in the subsidiary food department of the supply and marketing system, wielding significant power over resources, so our family was relatively well-off. Then, on a night that had no particular significance, I was born. Many people might find this part interesting, while others might think it’s boring and wonder what relevance it has. But it is indeed very meaningful.
What I want to convey is that my grandmother, my grandparents, and my parents are all great storytellers. When I was born as the first child of two families in an era without television, movies, the internet, or novels, how did I spend my childhood?
By listening to stories. I grew up surrounded by a circle of storytelling experts. Folk tales, war stories, fairy tales—my childhood was filled with these. Some stories, even now, are incredibly moving, and many of them I have directly incorporated into “The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles.”
At that time, I had already determined that all the initial joys could only come from stories. This became the fundamental reason for my later obsession with stories, as I could enjoy the pleasures that stories convey one hundred percent. After that, my life can be described as nothing but “boring,” marked by failures in every aspect. To use modern terminology, I could be called a loser. Some say that everyone is born with certain talents bestowed by heaven to help others. However, for a long time, I truly felt that I had no special talents at all. In my circle of friends, there was always this phenomenon: students who excelled academically typically weren’t good at sports; those who were good at sports usually didn’t do well academically; students who were good at both often tended to be unattractive; and those who were good at both, not unattractive, and particularly well-behaved without early romantic relationships usually ended up being labeled as “gy.” What I want to say is that I have nothing to do with any of this, which is the tragedy of society.
No one ever cared about a child who was poor in both sports and academics, who was unattractive and skipped classes without discipline. Many times, in the middle of the night, I felt that God was so unfair. Everyone around me had legendary lives; why was mine like this?
At that time, my health was not good. Ever since I fainted during an exam in elementary school, every time there was a test, the teachers would keep a close watch on me, arranging for me to sit in a well-ventilated and appropriately temperate spot. This place was definitely the prime location of the entire examination room; the supervising teacher would not only patrol but also take breaks there, frequently checking on my health. They were afraid I would die in the exam room, so cheating was out of the question. As for travel and sports, I had no connection with those either. I was born with what could be described as “fisherman’s feet”—my toes were very long, with the big toe being the longest, which was particularly useful for lazy swimming, but completely useless when it came to explosive power. Plus, as soon as the sun shone a little brighter, I would easily start foaming at the mouth. The gym teacher looked at me as if I were the principal’s son, treating me with utmost care. So, most of my physical education classes were spent under the shade of trees, wearing a white shirt and holding a novel. For me, this early life was quite pleasant, except for the occasional incident of being hit by a rogue banana ball kicked by a handsome guy on the court, causing me to tumble down the stairs. I particularly enjoyed those quiet days of reading without sweating. I believe many people have had experiences like mine, but perhaps not with my absolute sense of it.
At that time, I spent almost all my time reading novels. After exhausting the library, I turned to small private bookstores, starting with the first book on the shelf. Each book required a fee to borrow, and soon I ran out of money. For someone like me, who had no particular skills, earning a living was a far-fetched idea, so I began to linger in the bookstore, reading. Typically, I would read three books and borrow one, which made it difficult for the owner to chase me away. In the beginning, I was a big customer, and even though I borrowed less later on, my frequency was still quite impressive. I believe my emotional intelligence was cultivated during this time. By the end of middle school, I had run out of books to read, so I started writing some things myself. Although the quality was not high, after completing a round of formal novel reading, I suddenly had a strong urge—I wanted to write a novel myself. At that time, this thought had nothing to do with any dreams; I didn’t want to become a writer. I just thought that writing a captivating story, one that everyone would rush to read behind my back, would be such a cool thing.
That year, I truly began to put pen to paper. From the initial scribbles to analyzing the works of famous authors, summarizing, rearranging outlines, finding techniques for setting up suspense, and discovering the basic rhythm of a novel, within just two months, I gradually realized that the novels I wrote were starting to take shape. However, I still didn’t dare to submit my work; my feelings of inadequacy made it hard for me to take that step. At that time, there were no computers, so I wrote using paper and pen. Gradually, I became immersed in it. I neglected my studies (after all, I had no achievements, as San Su once said). By the time I graduated from university, my total word count exceeded twenty million, most of which was written in various discarded notebooks. I was someone who frequently changed notebooks, as the front of my notebooks contained assignments, while the back was often filled with my novels. This allowed me to write during class, and often in two or three lessons, I would fill an entire notebook, so the next day I could start fresh with a new one.
To be honest, looking back at what I wrote, there are still parts that amaze me, not just in comparison to what I write now, but many pieces were even better than my current work. At that time, I focused on style and sentence structure, while now I’m more of a seasoned writer, knowing that simply expressing my ideas clearly is sufficient, often too lazy to ponder over the words. Throughout the writing process, I had a particularly obvious characteristic: I only wrote stories.
The stories I wrote were very diverse; I wrote martial arts, mystery, romance, and even started writing about genres that are popular today, such as time-travel novels. However, unlike other enthusiasts, I only wanted to write stories. The sentence I most wanted to hear was, “What happens next? Did you write more?” Because that was the best praise for my stories.
After publishing “The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles,” many people have asked me a question: Do you think your success has an element of luck? I want to say that no success is entirely without an element of luck. Some good fortune is always beneficial, although what people need most is not luck. Often, we know that luck can’t really help you much. Even if you win the lottery, if you don’t have the ability to manage that money, it can quickly turn into a big problem. What people really need is the ability to seize opportunities.
At the moment I decided to write “The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles,” I approached it with a nonchalant attitude. This indifference attracted many readers, and I believe the two million words played a significant role in that. So, if I were to talk about where my luck lies, I think my luck comes from not being particularly smart, not having great grades, and not excelling in sports, but heaven favors those who are not conventionally attractive. I accept everything that has happened today with equanimity; it has nothing to do with luck or talent. I was simply led by the story all along.
What I want to say is that if a person really loves food and has been deeply immersed in it since childhood, eating until they are thirty, they can also succeed; if a person really loves fighting and has been engaged in it from childhood until thirty, they can also succeed.
Loving something and persisting in it will always lead to success. I’ve said some polite things. Now, let me share what my grandmother really wants to say. As I turn this page, I need to prepare myself mentally.
Wu Xie: Wu Xie is a person who is hard to describe. If I must say something, I would say he is actually an ordinary person. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t great; it is precisely because he is ordinary that everything he experiences makes him so admirable. I think many friends, upon first seeing him, would definitely dislike his weakness and indecisiveness. However, as the story progresses step by step, more and more people come to like him. He is a delicate boy, as fluid as water, but please don’t forget that in the harsh winter, the shapeless water can also turn into solid ice. Wu Xie is that kind of person. He is innocent, with a bit of cleverness; he is cowardly, treasuring his own life; he is sensitive, afraid of hurting those around him; he is the least suited to face danger among all the members of the team. Yet, I made him the protagonist of this story, to experience a terrifying journey, which may be the most unique aspect of this story. When everyone else could retreat, he precisely could not; when everyone else could escape, he could not escape.
I really want to say sorry to him for pushing this ordinary person into such a complex predicament. For a while, I could deeply sense his despair about everything. At that time, I was very curious about how an ordinary person like him would cope with such overwhelming despair. I never expected him to hold on. As the story unfolds, everyone sees how an ordinary person struggles and becomes someone he never wished to be. What everyone loves is that at every possible turning point in his life, he maintains his conscience. Even when he ultimately wears a mask of extreme malice, his inner self is still Wu Xie. He may engage in many small misdeeds and have numerous moral dilemmas, but when faced with the greatest choices, he is always that Wu Xie who hopes for the well-being of everyone.
“I hope that along this journey, everyone can live well, and everyone can see their own endings. We may not be able to live for long, so please let us live the life we deserve.” Wu Xie prays to the sky at Panzi’s deathbed, even though he is in a pitch-black cave. He blames all the responsibilities on himself, unable to face the meaning of his journey. This is Wu Xie, the “useless” leader of the team, the least capable member of the Iron Triangle. He needs protection and help from others. He has endless curiosity and * (the text seems to be incomplete here), but as long as one person is harmed, everything about him becomes unimportant. He is an ordinary person who, no matter how much he hates you, still wishes for your survival. Because he does not understand killing, nor the wealth that transcends life; he only understands the value of the word “living.”
The Muffled Oil Bottle: He is a powerful man, almost like a deity. In the sections where he appears, I always find it particularly easy to write, because as long as he is around, he can shield you from all disasters and pain. He does not speak, does not express joy or sorrow, he always stands there like a porcelain doll, quietly observing everything. However, you know he cares about you. No one can ever bring you as much security as he does. Yet, for some reason, whenever I write about this man’s various actions, a deep sadness always wells up in my heart.
As he himself says, he is a person without a past or a future, and his only connection to the world seems to hold little value. He does not know where he comes from, nor where he is going. He only knows that in this world, there are things he must do. “Can you imagine? One day, when you wake up in a cave, knowing nothing and looking around in confusion, you already bear a responsibility that you must shoulder. You have no right to enjoy the scenery along the way, nor to enjoy friends and lovers. All the beautiful things in your life, at the moment you become conscious, have already lost their meaning to you.”
Zhang Qiling silently bears his fate. What pains me the most is that he carries it all so lightly, as if it were entirely natural, as if it were just a trivial matter. If you ask him, he would only silently shake his head and say, “It’s okay.” This is the man I have written about. He bears the most painful fate in the world, a thousand times more painful than death, yet he remains calm and composed. He neither avoids nor wallows in pain. He is simply there, telling everyone he protects that it’s okay.
At the end of “Tomb Raider Notes. Volume 8,” I let him fall asleep once more, with the chance to awaken him again only after ten years. This may not be a good ending, not for everyone. But for him, I truly cannot think of a better ending.
Fatty: Fatty is a person who is both rough and meticulous. Overall, I believe he is a detailed person, even in many aspects. He is a bit more meticulous than Wu Xie. Fatty has always given the impression of being carefree and always getting into trouble. He has his own flaws. However, I still believe he is the most normal person among the three. In other words, if I had to choose someone to be a husband among these three, only Fatty would be suitable. If Wu Xie is the kind of person who avoids pain, and Xiao Ge is the one who ignores pain, then Fatty is the only one who can resolve pain. Among these people, Fatty has undoubtedly endured the most suffering. By “enduring,” I mean that Fatty can truly feel the harm that pain brings to him, unlike Xiao Ge, who simply acknowledges the endless pain that passes through him with a nod. A person who can understand pain and has endured so much of it, yet can resolve it one by one and genuinely feel joy and happiness from the heart, we can almost call him a Buddha. Yes, Fatty is that Buddha who sees through everything.
In a way, there is so much more behind his laughter and banter. He pats the naive shoulder and says, “Innocent and pure,” which shows just how deeply he understands Wu Xie. He can seamlessly coordinate with Xiao Ge to tackle any danger, indicating that he fully comprehends the blank space within Xiao Ge’s heart. However, in the end, Fatty finally reaches his limit. After Yun Cai dies, can his strong heart still cope with such intense sorrow? He realizes that he no longer wishes to resolve this pain; he does not want this suffering to become just another emptiness like his previous pains. Fatty chooses to keep this pain with him forever.
I wrote about Fatty weeping bitterly while holding Yun Cai’s body, saying to Wu Xie, “I really liked her; I was never joking.” My tears flowed uncontrollably. I regret not having written more earlier, allowing him and Yun Cai to have more memories together. For Fatty, his love is simple; liking someone is just liking them, without so many reasons or the need for extensive interaction.
**Iron Triangle:** I don’t know what their relationship is—are they friends? I feel that they have transcended friendship. They each have their own goals, but in the end, they both give up their individual purposes. Are they family? I don’t think so; they are estranged, guessing each other’s thoughts, yet this estrangement serves as a silent protection. Everything seems to stem from a fundamental emotion: I hope you can stay safe. Whether it’s Wu Xie tracking and persuading Meng Youping from miles away, or Fatty risking his life to help Wu Xie without seeking money, or Meng Youping repeatedly saving the two of them while putting himself in danger. “This is my friend. Please leave, and tell your boss that if my friend is harmed in any way, I will kill him. Even if he runs to the ends of the earth, I will find him; I have all the time in the world,” Meng Youping said calmly, while behind him stood a bewildered Fatty and Wu Xie.
“I’m telling you, even if he wants to destroy all my family’s assets in the future, I won’t bat an eye. This is the Wu family’s property, and I will let it fall into whoever’s hands I choose. I’m not here to ask for your approval on this matter; I’m here to inform you. If anyone dares to speak another word of nonsense to Zhang Ye, it will be like this case!” Wu Xie smashed his not-so-strong fist through the desk. At that moment, his anger overshadowed the intense pain of his fractured finger bones. “Fatty will stay right here. Only two people can get me out of here: one is you, Tian Zhen, and the other is Xiao Ge. You must take good care of yourselves and avoid causing me any more trouble; you know Fatty is getting old. Of course, dying together in a fight could also be considered a beautiful thing. If there ever comes a day when you feel you must go to a place that is dangerous and ominous, make sure to call me; don’t let Fatty live with any regrets in this life.” This is the Iron Triangle.
发表回复