When I was 5 years old, heaven came to massacre the city, and my parents hid me in the cellar.
"Don't look, Chuan'er!" The mother's final cry pierced her eardrums.
A year later I became a beggar and came across a parchment roll while rummaging for carrion in a garbage dump.
In the pain that burned in the palm of his hand, three bloody words "Yan Tian Jue" emerged.
Ten days later the slums exploded in waves of blood, and the bullies smashed against the walls like rags.
I stood in the middle of the ruins, with golden light flowing from my left eye.
"Tiandao, it's time to repay the blood debt!"
