Captain Zhao’s golden dragon-armor screamed through the air like a falling meteor.
His eyes were fixed upon Grandma Chen’s wooden signboard, his six-foot serrated blade glowing with cruel, golden void-fire. In sixty years of enforcing imperial tax decrees across the outer realms, Captain Zhao had never encountered a provincial mortal who did not grovel in the dirt.
In his arrogant mind, Captain Zhao was already calculating his upcoming promotion.
If he captured Little Guo’er and brought Grandma Chen’s secret recipes back to the capital, Grand Preceptor Sima Quan would surely reward him with a promotion to General of the Imperial Guard. He could already taste the vintage palace wine and imagine the vast estates gifted by the Emperor.
“Kneel, old crone!” Captain Zhao bellowed, diving headfirst toward the kitchen roof. “The Central Heavenly Capital claims your kitchen and your bones!”
He reached out his left gauntlet, aiming directly for Little Guo’er’s braided hair.
Captain Zhao did not make it within a hundred yards of the roof tiles.
BOOOOOOOM!
