Time travel.
It was an event countless literary works had fantasized about again and again.
Some wanted to travel to the primitive age to prove their Dao with their bodies.
Others wished to return to the past twenty years to master the wealth code of the era.
Time travel, in fact, represented the start of a new life, where everyone tired of their current life, or repeatedly frustrated, wanted to use it to change their fate.
Now, time travel had become reality. Yet, while some lived better after traveling, others had a worse existence.
For instance, the mood of those rich second generations who went to prison number 10 to find Liu Dezhu was very complex.
And Qing Shuli's feelings were even more so.
He sat in his room, looking at his original arm, now replaced by a mechanical limb.
"My arm's gone," Qing Shuli murmured. He surveyed his surroundings, the bedroom over forty square meters filled with a sense of technology: "It seems I didn't travel into the body of a poor man?"
