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The stench of rotten food, smoke, and sewage hung heavy in the humid air of Donghai’s slums. It was the kind of place where dreams went to die—unless you were Li Tianming.
    Barefoot and shirtless, Tianming crouched beside a broken-down noodle cart, his lean body glistening with sweat and grease. His fingers moved quickly, fixing the cart’s axle with a bent wrench he’d salvaged from a junkyard.
    “You’re a miracle worker, Tianming,” said Old Ma, the cart’s owner, a frail man in his sixties with a smoker’s cough. “Come by tomorrow, I’ll have leftover noodles for you.”
    Tianming flashed a tired smile. “I don’t fix things for food, Uncle Ma. Just remember my face when I’m famous.”
    Old Ma chuckled, thinking it was a joke. But Tianming wasn’t joking.
    He looked up. In the distance, the neon skyline of central Donghai pulsed with life. Towers scraped the clouds—homes of the rich and powerful, those who would never set foot in these slums. But one day, he swore, he would stand above them all.
    As he walked back toward the abandoned train container he called home, a voice stopped him.
    “Li Tianming?”
    Who is Li Tainming? What is his real identity? What forced him to do this kind of work?
    Read the novel and find out