“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”
“BWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
Across the roofless marble floor of the Central Abyssal Editorial Citadel, the three chubby, toothless, three-month-old babies—formerly the ten-million-year-old King of Tragedy, King of Doom. King of Harem-Slavery—kicked their bare little legs in the air and bawled so loudly that even the golden fireworks in the sky seemed to vibrate!
On the wooden bow of the [Galactic Flying Courtyard], eleven-year-old Little Fifth Ao Xing clapped both hands over his pointed dragon ears and winced:
“Aiya! Those three little bald dumplings cry even louder than when their typewriters were blowing up! Daddy, what do we do with three three-month-old Script-King babies?!
We can’t give them a bricklaying trowel when they can’t even sit up by themselves!”
“Leave this to Auntie Qin, Old Fu, and the Patriarch’s Upgrade Box, Little Fifth!”
Stepping briskly out of the courtyard kitchen with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a warm, motherly smile on her face. Auntie Qin carried a steaming basket of freshly sterilized baby bottles filled with warm, honey-sweetened Galactic Spirit-Goat Milk. Meanwhile, one-eyed Grandpa Fu marched right behind her carrying a stack of fluffy white cotton cloths and three carved cedar baby rattles!
