Cold sweat poured down the Orphan-Maker General’s neck inside his iron-gavel helmet.
Ten paces from the wooden porch of the [Gu Family Flying Courtyard], he was completely cut off from the First Floor Toll Gate’s defensive array core. And right in front of him, Gu Changsheng and Empress Luo Qingxue were holding hands with a blinding golden-white resonance that made the clouds beneath their boots hum like a primed volcano.
“You... you shameless mortal!” the Orphan-Maker General roared, yanking his outstretched gauntlet back in panic.
“My Suspicion and Divorce Curse-Net was woven from the bitter tears of three thousand broken immortal marriages! How could a mere husband and wife shrug it off without a single crack in your souls?!”
“Because in our house, when someone leaves a wet towel on the counter, we talk about it over dinner,” Gu Changsheng said, keeping his left hand locked securely with Luo Qingxue’s. “We don’t draw swords over laundry.”
Honestly, Gu Changsheng thought with dry amusement, these script bosses really think marriage is a fragile glass vase that shatters the first time someone forgets to buy soy sauce. My wife spent eight years chained to a sub-zero ice pillar in Sector Six just to hide our son’s coordinates, and I crossed ten star sectors in a wooden house to bring her home. A little purple smoke isn’t even strong enough to flavor my soup.
