Standing face-to-face with thirty-two-year-old Gu Changsheng in the center of the three-mile crimson velvet carpet, twenty-eight-year-old Chosen One Long Aotian felt every hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. He couldn’t take his eyes off the folded black leather [Rank 7 Late Seven-Wolves Disciplinary Belt] in the apron-wearing father’s right hand.
There were no flashy lightning bolts or roaring monster phantoms coming off that leather belt. Instead, it radiated a dense, suffocating, inescapable Rank 7 Late Household Disciplinary Law that made Long Aotian’s knees instinctively want to knock together like a six-year-old caught setting fire to the neighbor’s curtains!
“Stay back!”
Panic-stricken as fifty 4K live broadcast cameras zoomed in on his sweating forehead, Long Aotian stumbled backward two steps. Tripping slightly over the hem of his own red carpet—before screaming inside his mind for his system’s emergency bailout!
System! System, wake up! Long Aotian shrieked mentally, burning every single point of his three years’ worth of hoarded War-God Prestige at once.
I don’t care how much destiny-energy it costs—give me an invincible defensive artifact right now! If that lunatic in the kitchen apron hits me with that leather belt on live television, my War-God persona will be finished forever!
