"MY HANDS ARE SLIPPING! HELP ME! PLEASE!"
Gu Yanzhou's frantic screams were nearly swallowed by the roaring mountain gale that howled across Razorwing Gap.
Ten meters below the crumbling summit lip, he hung suspended over a sheer, ninety-degree drop into the fog-shrouded ravine. His fingers, completely numb from the biting sleet, clawed uselessly at a slick, mud-streaked granite crevice.
With every violent gust of wind, small cascades of loose gravel slid out from beneath his dangling boots, rattling down into the invisible abyss below.
"Don't move! Stop kicking, damn it!" Yang Zixuan yelled over the storm, dropping heavily to his knees near the collapsing edge. He reached down as far as he dared, extending his arm into the freezing fog, but the distance was far too great. The rain-slicked rock edge was disintegrating by the second under the sheer weight of the storm, offering zero handholds or leverage.
