With a single, unhurried tap of Gu Changsheng’s iron wok spatula, all thirty-six layers of the Chief Author’s “Author-God Absolute Deletion Doors” swung open on their hinges like well-oiled pantry doors.
Beyond the threshold rose the final spiral staircase of the Heavenly Script Pavilion, leading directly onto Floor Nine: The Author’s Desk at the Summit of Creation.
Unlike the lower eight floors—which had been constructed as barracks, proofreading halls, melodrama courts, prop workshops, harem studios, nightmare abysses, and protagonist coliseums—Floor Nine had no walls and no ceiling. It was an infinite expanse of blinding white paper-clouds suspended at the very apex of the multiverse.
Across the floor flowed nine colossal rivers of liquid golden and black destiny ink, converging from all nine books of history into the base of a ten-thousand-foot-tall White-Jade Writing Desk.
Seated behind that monolithic Jade Writing Desk was the supreme entity who had pulled the strings of every sect war, every family massacre, every poisoned father. Every rigged protagonist halo for ten billion years: The Chief Author of Fate (The Old Script Will — Rank 10 Peak Supreme Entity).
Up close, in his true divine manifestation at the center of his study, the Chief Author was a towering sovereign woven from millions of rustling. Razor-sharp manuscript pages, bound together by chains of cold cosmic fatalism and crowned with a halo of broken golden quills. Upon the surface of his Jade Writing Desk rested the open, continent-sized [Supreme Book of Fate], whose turning pages dictated the birth…
