Inside the heavily warded underground chamber of the Golden Heir Palace at the core of the Galactic Capital. Golden Heir Gu Wuji violently tore the soggy red chili skin off the bridge of his nose and flung his dishwater-soaked golden cloak onto the black marble floor!
SPLASH-SPLAT!
Lukewarm scullery water smelling of lemon dish-soap, beef tallow. Pickled cabbage dripped from the hem of his inner silk tunic as Second Uncle Gu Yin knelt shivering behind him, still pulling wilted enoki mushroom strands out of his singed eyebrows.
“Humiliation! Utter, unprecedented humiliation!”
Golden Heir Gu Wuji slammed his uninjured left fist against a six-foot blood-jade pillar, his handsome face contorted with psychotic rage and terror. Meanwhile, he stared at the floating crimson interface of the [Destiny-Plundering System] inside his consciousness.
Since the day he awakened that parasitic system at age ten—using it to steal the spiritual luck, bloodlines. Innate bones of thirty-six outer-rim branch prodigies while framing himself as the “Son of Galactic Destiny”—Gu Wuji had never suffered a single setback.
Yet in the span of one evening:
- His twelve Rank-8 Galactic Envoys had been turned into pink-aproned hotpot waiters;
