Standing under the dilapidated low eaves, behind him was the setting sun, its twilight casting across his surroundings. Jiang Zhihao felt as if he had just woken from a dream.,Tears streamed down his face, the man who had created so many business miracles in the future held his son close, whispering softly: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...",In Zhong Jiawei's pocket, there was a newly bought lighter. Gasoline had been prepared at noon and placed in the kitchen cabinet.。