Wood had seen balloons, and he had heard the analogy that when a person was about to die, it was like a balloon that had burst a hole, and soon the air would leak out. He felt that this analogy was not quite right, and more figuratively, a person was like a bag full of wheat kernels, and if he was fatally injured, it was like tearing a small hole in the bag. Wheat kernels will continue to spill out of the bag, slowly and deadly.

His hands were already shaking, like a bag that had lost the wheat kernels, and was shriveled and no longer full. He pressed one hand on his stomach, and a gurgling stream of heat continued to gush into his palm, and he opened his hand to look at it, and it was a blinding bright red. He staggered a step or two and hugged the lamppost in front of him, his bright red palm prints leaving twisted and hideous marks on the gray lamppost.

"Oh, my God, what's wrong with you?", a woman in a blue dress and a bright yellow visor stood in front of Wood not far from her, she screamed, "Come on, someone's hurt here!", and in a short time a crowd of all kinds of people gathered around, including beggars, unclothed homeless people on the side of the road, and successful people in suits and leather shoes.

Their eyes were focused on Wood with curiosity, satisfaction, or surprise, but none of them stood up to tell Wood what to do, or to help the poor fellow.

The more blood flowed, the weaker the body became, and the weak legs kept kicking the ground to preserve the last vestiges of their dignity, but the muscles were already unwilling to listen to the severe blood loss. He slid down holding the pillar and collapsed to the ground, blood gushing out of his mouth, his body twitched slightly, and a burst of exclamations erupted from the crowd around him, and the tight formation became a little scattered.

The speed of the convulsions became more and more frequent, and the interval between exclamations became shorter and shorter, which was a series of complex changes that the body's refinement signal had been processed by the center, but a stab in the stomach and the muscle tissue of the wound cut surface was shattered, and all the feedback was just useless.

He felt the cold, felt his vision become a little blurry and dim, as if the children had just been born, and Chi Guoguo came into this world, cold, and helpless.

A teenager stood in the crowd and stared indifferently at Wood's body, which had stopped pumping, lowered the brim of his hat, and disappeared into the pulse of the city as the onlookers who had no excitement to watch disperse.

Wood died, and the onlookers let out a sigh of satisfaction and quickly dispersed, leaving only a tycoon dead on the street.

When the news of Wood's death spread throughout the city.

When Godor was forced to jump off a building, he had to choose to use death to keep it a secret.

There was another man's name, which began to circulate among high society with the departure of these two great men, and his name was Durin.

Everything will have a clear goal, and perhaps this goal is deceptive, but the person who executes it will never be mistaken. Therefore, some characters never waste time observing and examining the illusion created by man, but look beyond this layer of false cover and look at the real key point - the beneficiary.

As mentioned in the above sentence, all planned behaviors, of course, including some unconscious behaviors, are beneficial to oneself in terms of the individual's own demands. Wood is dead, Gothor is dead, so who has the absolute advantage in both of these things? Is it Godol's men? Is it Wood's men? Or is it some tycoon or some boss?

Neither!

The beneficiary's name is Doolin, a name that was common a month ago, but is already memorable a month later, Doolin.

He climbed to the pinnacle of his life by stepping on Wood's corpse, and it took him less than a month to do so. In the space of one month, he has done what many people can do in half a lifetime. But now he is missing a key identity, a key key, otherwise it will be difficult for him to integrate into the higher classes of society - the position.

The position is not about his profession, not about his attitude, but about his political position.

The New Party?

Or the old party?

Everyone was watching him, waiting for him to make a final decision.

"We are merchants!", Durin tapped his knuckles on the table and returned to the newly renovated corner storefront, all excited, including members of the Townsfolk Guild and the trading company renamed "Oriental Star".

Ever since Durin visited the slums, there has been a legend among the Gualts that may seem like a joke to outsiders. This legend was first circulated among the elderly women of Guart, and finally gradually spread, and gradually became accepted by the people.

"The resurrection of King Odryro", this is the core content of this legend, the old women with sufficient life experience and experience, made up a story of King Odryero's resurrection and continued to fight. In the story, King Odryro returns from the world of the dead, tears the curtain of decay, and creates a whole new world in which all Guerts live happily.

The story was a metaphor for Dorin, at least that's what Doolin himself thought, especially when he first heard about it. But he laughed it off, at least it wouldn't damage his prestige and standing among the Gualts, wouldn't it?

Driven by the legend, many people felt that following Durin was a good way out, if it weren't for Durin's request not to absorb too many Guerts as much as possible, I am afraid that there would not be so many people standing in the house at this time.

The young men all had excitement and pilgrimage on their faces, Wood was dead, Godol was dead, the threat that could threaten Doolin had been swept away, and nothing could stop Doolin from rising, they were proud, excited, and full of energy to be one of them.

"I must reiterate, we are merchants, not gangsters, not thugs, we are law-abiding citizens, legal citizens of the Shining Star Empire!", after a few steps back and forth, Durin spoke again, "Our happiness should not be based on people's fears, fear only brings rebellion and destruction, but respect can make us eternal. My father, an old-fashioned old fellow, gave me a trick on how to make myself respected, and I'm going to share it with you today. ”

"That's ......," he dragged out a long note, drawing everyone's attention before smiling and saying, "You have to be rich!"