Chapter 65: The Wretch

Zhou Ci narrowed his eyes, his interest completely extinguished. He rose to leave, tossing a blanket over her with a careless gesture to cover her exposed figure.

“Do you still think you have a choice? Shen Shen, just accept your fate.” Zhou Ci sat on the nearby sofa, a cigarette between his fingers, though unlit, and watched her.

Gu Shenshen replied, “Accept what fate? Zhou Ci, don’t you know me by now?”

...

Soul Seal? Coma? Sacred Lotus? Suddenly, he recalled the four characters written on the slip of paper Yuan Min had given him: “Holy Lotus Pure Water!” Could it be that the way to break the Soul Seal was the Holy Lotus Pure Water?

Mo Zhian gazed into the distance, where the outline of White Dew City was gradually coming into view, an unusual light flickering in his eyes. Within his vertical pupils, shards of gold and silver seemed to glimmer.

Yuan Feng descended from the fortress wall, mounted his horse, seized a long spear from the ground, and shouted, “Charge!” The gates swung open, and he galloped forth at the head of the column, followed by dozens of armored cavalry. Behind them came carts loaded with the common folk.

But today’s preparation was excellent—the fish was adorned with vibrant chilies from green and red earthenware jars, and the fish itself was the rarest Wei fish of Jing Dynasty. Steamed to perfection, the dish suited Xie Junrui’s tastes—light on smoke and fire, pleasing to the eye. To Xie Junrui, those greasy, overcooked dishes were little more than peasant fare.

Why had the mountain’s curse lifted so swiftly upon encountering the lake’s waters? The banshees that had once entwined Zhuo Xiong, intent on his death, had released their grip in their final moments. All of it was because of that drop of blood—he was a descendant of the Yinglong.

At this moment, on the fortieth underground level, in a room brimming with high-tech apparatus and massive holographic screens, seven martial warriors in regulation military armor—each with “General’s Star” insignias purposefully crafted into their shoulder plating—gathered around a screen in heated discussion.

From the air, Zixuan saw it all. She knew Qin Hanyue would show no mercy. The Holy Pope of Light was famed for his integrity and virtue; how could she allow Qin Hanyue to slay the Pope? Anxiously, she flew downward at once.

Father loved to make mischief—pranking others, mocking life, and toying with his own fate.

The rats, wild dogs, sparrows, even earthworms had all been eaten; the bark, roots, and cotton that could fill their stomachs were long gone. No one knew how many had starved to death, how many had died from eating indigestible things. Those who remained, driven by survival, were forced into the most inhuman acts—feeding on their own kind.

“I swear, I won’t do it again! Please, Lord, have mercy, let me go!” The one-eyed man pleaded desperately, his words still tinged with blood.

Indeed, the photos spread out on the table were unmistakably of Ye Yujin and his companions.

Ye Zi’s words deeply moved me, and I held her tightly. “Ye Zi, honestly, I’ll miss you too.” What I really meant was that once I’d handled matters at home, I likely wouldn’t return for a long while. The thought of being apart from her for so long made me truly reluctant to leave.

“Lost in thought again?” Pei Moyan reached out and gently tapped Yu Rongrong on the forehead, a warm smile flickering in his eyes.

Shui Lingyue gave a cold laugh. “Help me? I don’t see it. If you don’t harm me, that’s good enough.”

All day, she’d held her breath—yet tonight, for the first time, a rare smile broke through. Her expression softened; the tip of her delicate nose tinged with a faint blush, and her alluring lips blossomed with a smile as radiant as a rose.

“Shenshen, do you like pecans? I’ll shell them for you,” Xuan Shengbei said, not waiting for Chi Shenshen’s reply before lowering his head and diligently getting to work.

He thought that Ni Lingge, with her already lofty status and influence in F City, intended today to make a public announcement before the entire upper class.

Shi Qian, perhaps from spending so long with Shi Jinfeng and Xia Anning, had come to prefer frank, straightforward people—never tiring of their company.

Li Yikun was puzzled, following Li Xiuxiu’s pointing finger. One was the sun, the other the moon—what was so special about that? Weren’t these the sorts of things artists always liked to paint?