He walks through the alley like a ghost with a grudge—white shirt torn, face cracked like old porcelain. The way he grips the collar of his enemy? Not rage. *Precision*. Rise of the Outcast knows: trauma doesn’t whisper. It grabs you by the throat and makes you kneel. And when he digs? He’s not burying ashes—he’s planting a revolution. 💀
Zhang Yichang’s tombstone isn’t just stone—it’s a wound. His rage, raw and trembling, turns grief into vengeance. When the raincoat-clad attacker strikes, it’s not surprise—it’s inevitability. Rise of the Outcast doesn’t mourn; it *burns*. 🔥 Every dirt-stained hand on that urn? A vow written in mud and blood.