WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!
The freezing, chalky-gray gale of the [Rank 10 Peak Brush of Cosmic Deletion]—carrying the phantom blizzard of Page Three’s execution platform—howled across the center of Floor Nine!
And standing squarely at the very front of the line, planting his scuffed leather boots firmly between the descending five-thousand-foot white-out brush and his family, was Gu Changsheng.
His back was broad, steady, and unshakeable as the primordial sacred mountain of the Frost-Pine range.
To fifteen-year-old Gu Nian, staring up at his father’s gray cotton shoulders from two paces behind, that view was etched deeper into his soul than any cultivation scripture in the multiverse.
It was the exact same back he had seen eight years ago on Page Three, when he was a terrified, half-starved seven-year-old boy backed against the broken wooden bed of the Frost-Pine courtyard. His coughing, zero-cultivation father had stepped out in front of him with an iron wok spatula in his hand to face the blades of the Gu Clan elders.
Back then, the enemies had been mere mortal elders.
Today, the enemy was the ten-thousand-foot supreme god who had written the nine books of fate, wielding a brush that could erase history itself.
