Above the white diamond-ice balcony of Floor Five, [Dad’s Care-Package Upgrade Box] glowed with the warm, golden radiance of five hundred sextillion Supreme Dad Origin Points.
Out in the exact center of the ten-million-mile black ocean, the five-hundred-thousand-mile Despair-Ink Leviathan remained smugly coiled around its own tail like a giant black meatball. Completely unaware that eleven-year-old Little Fifth’s spacetime gravity lid had locked every exit on Floors Five and Six and that Gu Changsheng was currently building a custom piece of tableware specifically to eat it.
“All right, Grandpa Yao, Auntie Qin,” Gu Changsheng said, standing before the open golden slots of the [Upgrade Box] with his blue kitchen apron strings fluttering in the warm breeze.
“Tuntun’s [Abyssal Gluttony Stomach] can digest any amount of raw Origin energy in the cosmos, no matter how dense. The only thing a dad has to watch out for when his kid eats street food in an unfamiliar heaven is food hygiene. That black puddle out there is laced with ten billion years of the Chief Author’s whiny, nihilistic inner monologues.
If Tuntun drinks that unfiltered, she won’t get hurt, but she might start wearing a black cloak at breakfast and sighing about how ‘cold the moon is.’ I refuse to have an edgy teenager at my breakfast table.”
