On Central Vermilion Avenue, the morning sun gleamed off the copper rim of a floating Taichu surveillance mirror.
A loud, metallic chime echoed down the crowded street:
[TAICHU PUBLIC MORALITY MIRROR #108: CULTIVATOR ‘BLOOD-BLADE’ ZHANG | CURRENT SCORE: 61.5/100 (+0.5 FOR HELPING GRANNY LI CROSS THE STREET). KEEP WORKING!]
“Give me the broom, you spoiled court dandy!”
A terrifying, seven-foot-tall mercenary roared at the top of his lungs.
His name was Zhang Kuang, known across the western border as Blood-Blade Zhang. He had a jagged scar slicing across his left eye, a beard like wire needles, and a broadsword on his back as wide as an ironing board.
Right now, however, Blood-Blade Zhang was not swinging his broadsword.
He was locked in a furious tug-of-war over a frayed, half-bald bamboo broom with a pale young nobleman wearing lavender silk robes.
