In the maritime lore of the Great Jiuzhou Plane, extricating a stranded five-thousand-ton astral warship from a gravity sinkhole was an operation requiring three months of supply preparation. It needed forty high-realm Soul Formation elders chanting ancient floating lift sutras all at once and eight Grade-6 sky wind arrays anchored to nearby peaks. Even then, salvage success rarely exceeded thirty percent, usually resulting in severe soul backlash and snapped hulls.
Shen Shitou didn’t know anything about ancient floating lift sutras. He only knew what Master had taught him during morning calisthenics on Ironwood Peak. keep your back straight, hinge at the hips, and never let your knees cave inward.
Shen Shitou marched to the edge of the black glass roadway. His bright orange mesh vest was stretched drum-tight over his massive bronze-plated torso. Under his left arm, he carried the ten-pound drop-forged alloy steel recovery hook attached to the end of the two-inch braided aircraft cable.
He looked down into the swirling violet vortex where the Solar Dominance was spinning like a water-logged beetle.
“Young Master Zhang!” Shen Shitou bellowed, his deep cutting through the gale. “Clear the forward deck! Heavy rigging incoming!”
Zhang Wuheng, still clutching the bronze mooring cleat with trembling arms, looked up in terror.
