It's a jungle here.

The rules are random letters inked on cheap paper.

What matters is what the men at the top say.

What matters is money and power.

What matters is lies.

A fifteen-year-old boy steals a chicken because his family is starving to death received a ten-year prison term.

The Transportation Minister probs a few billion dong from the major highway project in his personal bank allows to get scout-free with nothing but a "Sincerely sorry, my Vietnamese kins."

The hardcore survivalists are petty liars.

Scurry to please, scramble for a safe place under those big men's wings, dip their fingers in the gold pots here and there, unnoticed by the public but enough for them to build a safe alternative life in Britain behind the boss's back.

Those are the top-score liars. The foxes, the hyenas. The small predators that lurk behind a tiger, licking and picking apart the prey's bones once the tiger done.

Make no mistake, though.

Those foxes and hyenas will tear apart a tiger as quick as they pledge their loyalty to him.

This is a jungle, after all.

There are multiple kings.

And there's no rule that say you have to be loyal to one.

As long as you lie well enough, you're safe.

Hey,

Maybe if you lie so good, one of the tiger might promote you to his level.

But don't wallow in that false admiration for too long.

Be aware: you're not the only survival.

This is a jungle.

There are predators everywhere.

The most unnoticeable ones are the ones you should wary the most.