Volume One, Chapter 87: Wielding Beauty as a Weapon

After Su Li’s period ended, Mo Xingyuan became busy. He returned very late at night, and seeing how exhausted he was, Su Li lost all interest. One night, Mo Xingyuan entered the house, and Su Li was still waiting for him in the living room.

Mo Xingyuan, unbuttoning his shirt, told her, “I won’t be coming back tomorrow night.”

“Hm?” Su Li looked at him. “Why?”

“There are several transoceanic video conferences, and the time difference is too great,” Mo Xingyuan replied, grabbing a glass of water and taking a sip.

Su Li understood. “That makes sense. It wouldn’t be convenient to come back.”

Mo Xingyuan glanced at her. “Do you want to move into my place?”

Previously, she had only stayed at his for a short while; when she returned, it was Mo Xingyuan who had taken the initiative to move to her place.

Words...

Snow Pear lifted her eyes, brimming with hostility, and glanced at Ye Ziling, then obediently lay flat on the bed.

“Her internal organs are probably shattered.” That simple and cruel sentence was all the proof of death the man in black sunglasses needed.

I had no idea what had happened, but the situation allowed no time for grief or nostalgia. I could only pull myself together, force some spirit into my veins, and begin searching for traces of the Nether Snow Beast.

It was a patch of soft, tangled vines, which we called “glutinous rice vines” back home. They grew in sprawling clusters—soft and abundant. In the past, they were harvested as pig feed, and children liked to roll around on them.

“Try it. I believe you will succeed, brother.” Zheng Xiaoyue clenched her fists, looking at Yan Yuanfan with unwavering determination.

“She doesn’t want us to know too much about her secrets. She won’t harm us,” Ji Yanmo didn’t elaborate.

Luo Minfeng noticed too and asked, “Hey, where did Ice Face go? Haven’t seen her since yesterday.” Everyone looked around and shook their heads.

“By the way, you said you wasted another card? Your cards are consumable, right?” The gaunt man’s eyes narrowed as he asked.

“I’ve heard some people in this world can hypnotize others. Ji Yanmo’s sudden change in temperament makes me suspect he’s been hypnotized,” Yan Yuanfan said seriously.

Now both children were urging Ji Chang’an to take it away. Ji Chang’an, having no other option, nodded dejectedly, picked the flowers up from the ground, glanced at Xiao Yan and Ji Xinliang, and staggered away.

The rain brought memories of Luo Chu Li. The last time it rained like this, he had caught a cold and felt miserable—she had cared for him then.

Lying in bed, tossing and turning, Chu Xinying knew he had wronged Qin Xuechu. They loved each other deeply; neither’s love was cheap, both were precious.

When he arrived, he saw a man wearing sunglasses and a mask coming out of the TV station.

Master Lu no longer intended to force Lu Chengye. He would wait until the day Lu Chengye figured it out on his own.

After speaking, Zhang Chen stepped forward, taking Li Murong’s arm, and offered a warm smile.

“Yin Qing did not know that the senior’s true form had arrived. If I acted inappropriately, I hope for forgiveness.” Forced to bow under the eaves, Yin Qing was desperate to survive, adept at adapting to the wind.

Since the Dragon Gate had not yet been dragged into the matter, he needed to find out who was behind the crew-cut man.

Hu Jiao probably hoped Tang Chu would encounter such a company, get shelved, and be unable to do anything in the entertainment industry.

But Xu Xing had already spoken; even if Ji Chenyu called him now, it would only make the situation more bizarre.

A sudden voice jolted him back to reality, and he turned to see Xi Zhan waiting by the car.

“There are many with high cultivation, but most are major offenders. Without the emperor’s decree, I can’t make decisions on my own. Aside from the beast tamer, there’s a martial saint who just arrived. Do the two elders need a martial saint?” Zhan Jian tried to recall the prisoners on the fifth underground level.

Shadows of bullets and gusts of fists battered the shield, continually testing its endurance. Waves rose again and again, keeping the audience below worried.

So even now, Lian Chun’s heart was somewhat frustrated; the county magistrate hadn’t come in so long, he’d forgotten many things.

In this struggle, Emperor Zhao Qi was already in a passive position. If he didn’t leave some means behind, the King of Jin’s power would be hard to balance. Now he could only trust that Cang Feng could help him discern truth from falsehood and protect himself.

When he heard of a master arriving, and that this person had appeared when he confronted the county magistrate, Hong Qitian spent the whole winter washing himself with eight buckets of cold water before calming his mind.

“All right, then tell me—why should I trust the two of you?” The county magistrate looked at Yu Pianpian. Yu Pianpian replied, “Because…” She looked at Floating Clouds Warm, who shook her head slightly. Yu Pianpian was confused.

“Fine, since you all say so, I’ll trust you for now, Tian Qian!” Lei Zhen’s words gave Di Kun a way out, and Di Kun took the opportunity, thinking Feng Xun was right—the feeling of heart-pounding danger hadn’t been felt in a long time.

If Li Hexian hadn’t mastered the power of the East Sea at that moment, he would have died right then.

As Liu Xinyi walked out of the set, she saw Sun Yue beside her, and a genuine smile bloomed on her face.

All the officers and soldiers present were stunned. They stared at Xiahou, who remained perfectly still, as if nothing had happened. The one who had tested Xiahou was a sixth-grade high-level witch warrior. A newcomer had managed to withstand his attack? Among barbarians, witch warriors were rare.

Executives of entertainment companies watching the live broadcast on TV were sweating, shocked at the sight of Chen Zhiming.

Hua Xiang, empty-handed, challenged two Ghost Emperors—a display of utter disdain for them. The Eastern Ghost Emperor flashed in the ghost mist, sending ten thousand beams of dark light shooting at Hua Xiang. With a flicker of light, a delicate soft sword appeared in his hand, its spiritual energy fluctuating wildly, clearly an extraordinary ancient spiritual artifact.

I was puzzled. Leng Moxuan grabbed my hand, probed me with his ghostly energy, and was surprised: “You have no spiritual power in your body, but plenty of yin energy—like a spirit.” He tilted his head to look at my feet, confirmed my shadow was still there and not a ghost, and relaxed a little.

“Indeed, tonight is a special night, for it is the night of your demise.” The man’s voice was deep as the blackest night.

“The Ghost Emperor is dead.” The Eastern Ghost Emperor’s raspy voice came, and after the Tai Chi seal, his cultivation was now no different from an ordinary late-stage ghost immortal.

“Come then. I am not dead yet,” Murong Ruthless said slowly, as if he had forgotten pain, standing in the sky, as solemn as a sacred statue.

Suddenly, a grand mansion from the Republic era flashed before my eyes. The black wooden gates were half open, half closed, Leng Mohan’s yin energy lingering there.

The Heavenly Emperor slew the demon army around him, but more and more demons surged forward, like trying to cut water with a knife—the more you cut, the more it flows. Endless, inexhaustible, no matter how many he killed, they kept coming.