On one hand, he didn't need to fabricate another identity.
On the other hand, it could also help Jiang Feng avoid a lot of trouble.
It was late at night.
Jiang Feng left Shuitang Lane and arrived at his own grave on Black Iron Mountain.
No grass had grown on the grave mound.
Several incense sticks and candles, burned down to bamboo sticks, were stuck before the tombstone; clearly, some people had visited him, and not just once—there were quite a few more flasks of yellow rice wine as well.
Jiang Feng could almost see Uncle Huo, together with Prison Chief Wang, Jail Chief Ma, and Prison Chief Feng, coming to his grave in a group, eating pickled vegetables and tofu, recounting the recent events that had happened in Dragon Capital.
He could picture Han Dong carefully pulling out weeds from the grave mound.
These were about the only people he could think of.
After a while, his figure disappeared from Black Iron Mountain, reappearing near Zhenbei Prison.
