Synopsis
Ming Wuxiang, once a name known across the comprehension plane, never thought fortune would turn its face toward him twice. Yet here he stands, sent back—thrown back—to eighteen years old, to a year when everything shifted at once.
The grass beneath his feet is a mess. Tangled. But it doesn't hide much, not when there's a man lying in it radiating wealth and composure even half-conscious.
Ming Wuxiang tilts his head down, thinking: hm, this pretty bleeding man seems... familiar somehow. He should probably move him. (≥ ▽ ≤)
President Gu: ^_^
