Three years after the gods descended, the world has slowly learned to live alongside them.
Unexplained figures have appeared amid Europe's thunderstorms, while miracles have occurred across Greece, Egypt, and the Nordic lands. Names once found only in myths have begun answering the call again, one by one.
China alone has been left out.
Three years have passed, and not a single god has returned.
The twenty-two-year-old Chen Jiashu used to think it was only a matter of time.
Until he vanished for seven days, then crawled out of a tomb that didn't exist on any map.
There were no gods sleeping there, waiting to awaken.
Only a broken iron staff, battered armor, gravestones stretching beyond sight, and many names he'd heard all his life.
Sun Wukong.
Yang Jian.
The Queen Mother of the West...
They weren't asleep.
They had died long ago.
And they had been dead for many years.
Chen Jiashu had no idea what had happened back then. What he brought back from the divine tomb was no invincible artifact, just a charred fragment of bone and a dying wish that its owner had never been able to let go of.
Later, the first foreign god crossed the border.
Everyone was asking:
Where are China's gods?
Standing among the crowd and watching the god descend in the distance, Chen Jiashu suddenly realized there was no answer to that question anymore.
The gods couldn't return.
Then the living would have to take their place.
