People are of two kinds, one with a past, and the other without.
Some choose to numb themselves through the long years, forgetting their pasts.
Others choose to take their past and knead it with reality, composing a new chapter.
Jiang Muwan, undoubtedly, was of the latter kind.
In early September, Huazhong was in turmoil, its stock market leaping more erratically than an old man's EKG.
And Jiang Muwan, seated in the study at Lanjun Residence and staring at her computer screen, was ready to execute a bloodbath on Huazhong.
Jiang Muwan, as a person, was too indifferent.
Having failed to kill the textile endeavor, she had sent the old man to the hospital with the back of her hand, and now, sat ready to reap the benefits amidst the turmoil.
What was the life and death of others to her?
All she wanted was Huazhong, and everything that the Jiang Family now possessed.
The things that should have belonged to her.
