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An old man with a worn-out shirt sat on a birch stump in front of a dilapidated house, took a sip of his homemade liquor, puffed on a strong cigarette, narrowed his eyes and gazed at the sunset that was about to fall behind the Changbai Mountains. He said to a child playing with two dogs beside him: "In this fleeting life, what Northeastern tigers fear most is not the thick-skinned black bear or the 600-pound wild boar king, but the mountain guard dog." Many years later, the old man lay in an inconspicuous grave mound. The child who had not been frozen to death by the snowy weather and had not been killed by the villagers of Zhangjiashan finally left the mountains and came to the city, like a mad dog that had entered the mountains, biting and kowtowing, so glorious.His grandfather was like an old turtle, dying namelessly. His brother was like a hungry eagle, fighting in the north. His father was like a lean tiger, facing the precipice.Could he, nicknamed Chen Er Gou, fight his way to a life of glory?