When I was five, the Heavenly Dao descended and slaughtered the city. My parents hid me in a cellar.
“Don't look, Chuan'er!” My mother's final cry pierced my ears.
A year later, I was reduced to begging. As I searched a garbage heap for rotten meat, my hand touched a sheepskin scroll.
Through the searing pain in my palm, three blood-red characters appeared: “Heaven-Extinguishing Art.”
Ten days later, a wave of blood exploded through the slums. The bullies crashed against the walls like scraps of cloth.
I stood in the middle of the ruins, golden light flowing through my left eye.
“Heavenly Dao, it's time to pay your blood debt!”
