“Why did my left arm ache like that?”
On the front porch of the [Gu Family Flying Courtyard Star-Cruiser], Gu Changsheng didn’t give his twelve-year-old son a gloomy lecture about fate.
Instead, he reached into the bamboo steamer on the patio table, picked up a piping-hot pork bun, and stuffed it straight into Gu Nian’s mouth.
“Because some cheap hack writer in the upper realms thought my son looked better with one sleeve,” Gu Changsheng said calmly, ruffling Gu Nian’s hair with his free hand. “Eat your bun while it’s hot. As long as your dad is holding the spatula, nobody in this universe is touching a single hair on your left arm.”
Gu Nian blinked around the warm meat bun.
The lingering chill in his left shoulder vanished under the steady heat of his father’s Rank 7 Planetary Qi and the juicy pork filling. He chewed twice, swallowed, and gave a short, firm nod.
“Okay, Dad,” Gu Nian said, touching his yellow bunny apron. “If anyone tries to chop my arm off, I’ll punch their ship into a crater first.”
“That’s the spirit. Just remember to put a helmet on before you punch anything in a vacuum.”
