Earth is a hunting ground. Humanity is the crop, harvested once every three hundred years.
Two thousand years ago, Qin Shi Huang drew his sword against the stars and never returned.
Today, Wang Xing is twenty-six years old and a data analyst at the Federal Space Administration.
His mother shot him underground in the mausoleum at Mount Li, then implanted a "chip" in the back of his neck.
The countdown began. High-tech drones hunted him, his mother provided cover, and all he had was a coil of copper wire and a scrap-metal garage.
Other cultivators relied on spiritual energy. He relied on simulations. Others fought gods with spells. He fought them by finding bugs.
He cobbled together electromagnetic cannons from scrap metal and used bronze formations to withstand alien main guns. Then he dug up the "Ancestral Dragon," left behind by Qin Shi Huang two thousand years ago, and used the cultivation technology of his ancestors to take on the universe's higher-dimensional civilizations.
This is a dimensional strike spanning two thousand years, crossing the Milky Way, myriad worlds, and the primeval wilderness.
From the prison of Earth to the Outer Gods and Supreme Gods, Wang Xing pointed at the stars and sneered:
"Since I've been marked, let's see who the prey is tonight."
