Gou Dafu, a martial arts grandmaster who can shatter stars with a punch and subdue a city with a kick, was chased for eight blocks by a thief without even an ounce of inner force, armed with nothing but a frying pan.
My name is Feng Chen, professional “dog” runner. My specialties: blowing a grandmaster's suit to bits with modified firecrackers, launching an expert into the ceiling with a hydraulic spring bed, then giving the young master a “facial treatment” with a flyswatter covered in superglue.
We thought it was just a game of cat and mouse. Until the day he severed one of my arms and blood spurted everywhere. No black smoke. No revival.
He stood frozen. “Why... isn't it funny anymore?”
High above, a colossal eye slowly opened, sending out a shudder of delight. The city's absurdity instantly faded into a hell of flesh and blood.
Only then did we understand:
I hadn't stolen from a tycoon's vault. I'd stolen the “cheese” from a god's table.
He wasn't chasing the stain on his life. He was chasing the only “reality” in the script.
And so the most unreliable alliance in history was born.
The martial arts grandmaster tossed aside his alloy battle blade and picked up the frying pan I handed him.
“Teach me,” he said, a mad grin spreading across his face. “How to do it in such a shameless way...”
“Kill a god.”
