Up on the roof of Car Number Seven, Ao Ming was puffed up like a giant red-gold balloon.
Every time the ancient Flood Dragon hiccuped, a ten-foot ring of spicy, cumin-scented Yang-Fire popped out of his mouth and floated into the dark sky like a glowing lantern, melting snow clouds a mile overhead.
“Hic! Hurry up, Kid Pei!” Ao Ming patted his glowing crimson belly with both front claws, his voice rumbling like an overloaded steam boiler. “That Rank 7 Star-Ram meat is still reacting with the Hell-Fire Chilies in my stomach! If I don’t breathe this fire out right now, it’s going to shoot out the other end of my tail—and nobody on this planet wants a ten-mile dragon fart!”
Down on the platform, ten thousand miners covered their noses in panic, while Tie Zhan and Old Wei quickly backed twenty steps away from the rear end of the well-car.
“Ye Guhan! Are the main pipe trenches cut?!” Pei Xuan called out, standing beside a mountain of ten-foot-wide brass pipes and spatial wormhole rings stacked next to the tracks.
At the edge of the glacier square, Ye Guhan stood atop a frozen cliff wearing his yellow hard-hat, his white robes fluttering in the bitter wind. In his hand, his Cosmic Highway-Carving Blade hummed with a crisp silver light.
