Já que renasci, quem ainda vai fazer histórias em quadrinhos?

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The year was 1980. Summer.

Zheng Fei was wearing a white vest full of holes. Not far away, the cicadas in the yellow peach tree were making such a racket it irked him.

A few shirtless boys had climbed high up, picking yellow peaches from the branches, but in these times, not a single adult came to stop them.

One peach fell and rolled right to his feet. It was mostly green with a hint of yellow. Zheng Fei picked it up, wiped it twice on his shirt, and took a bite.

The next second, his brows knitted together.

Bitter as hell.

Just like this wretched life.

Yet even though it was astringent, he forced himself to eat it. If these peaches were processed into canned fruit, he wouldn’t be able to afford them.

Seeing Zheng Fei act like such a rogue, the kids in the tree could only glare helplessly; there was nothing they could do.

Soon, one boy slid down from the trunk and stood in front of Zheng Fei, ready to dart over and snatch any peaches that fell.

...

Zheng Fei did not belong to this era. Ironically, in his past life, he’d been arguing with people on Douyin when, due to his poor health, a heart attack took him out.

After half a month to calm down in this world, Zheng Fei felt stupid. What was the point of online spats with Douyin trolls?

As the saying goes: “Of all the fools in the world, Douyin and Kuaishou have half.”

But losing the argument annoyed him no end; he felt so stifled inside he wished he could go back just to continue the online brawl.

All he’d said onlin