Chapter 239: The Red Lanterns Launch a Major Counterattack, But First Strike at Floating Smoke; Xianzhong Rises to Foundation Establi

War, war.

Cui Bai lived over one hundred and forty years, and in the first eighty years of his life, he never imagined he would end up here.

As a marginal cultivator from a minor sect, his greatest ambition had once been merely to reach Qi Refining peak.

That was the Qi Refining peak—‘High-Level Qi Refining Cultivator’—after all.

In the past, when the Immortal Alliance’s situation was still stable, ‘High-Level Qi Refining Cultivators’ lived quite comfortably.

Unfortunately,

“Didn’t Xie Jun say that place might affect perception, causing hallucinations? I hope Xie Jun is safe—I’d also like to go in and take a look.” Ma Jianjun had an extremely high tolerance for the fantastical and valued logic highly.

In the past, if a single Lower-Class Spirit appeared before humans, humans would prostrate themselves. But now, they stood here in neat rows, like statues or puppets, as if mass-produced on an assembly line, lacking far less vitality than humans.

Heng Yi believed the best chance of success still lay with the Shadow Emperor; his recent battlefield performance clearly differed from when he fought in the Syra system. After returning to headquarters, Heng Yi reviewed past battle records of the Shadow Emperor—none had ever shown such behavior.

“Who are you to tell me what to do!” Su Xiaoxiao pouted. Perhaps she knew going home early was right, but her inherently playful nature made her truly unwilling to return so soon.

“You refused my toast—sorry, now you’ll drink the punishment wine instead.” Su Yan sneered, then crouched down and picked up the broken neck of the lotion bottle left on the ground. The neck was sharp, its jagged glass shards resembling monster fangs.

His subordinates all flinched in unison, glancing toward that direction, then back at their superior.

Although Americans provided aid to China, this war still brought China many problems. But faced with Soviet attacks, Yang Junran still chose to fight unconditionally—the reason was simple: Outer Mongolia was Chinese territory.

Yet, the moment Manager Wang finished speaking, an even louder crack echoed.

The giant club suspended in midair suddenly veered off, striking the death mage Hof, whose pupils shrank in shock, in Hadis’s stunned gaze.

To embed this tiny force into the homes of officials within Da Chi, how many years would it take? One year? Two? Three? Surely not enough—ten? Twenty? Then when had Lu Lianzhen planned all this?

At this moment, beneath Cheng Qiong’s feet, a strange flame burned—black flame, within which lay a stone engraved with peculiar secret patterns. Raindrops dripped continuously from Cheng Qiong’s eyebrows, nose, and chin, falling onto the stone in the fire, vanishing instantly without a sound.

“Sis, go home first—I’ll contact you once the video’s done!” You Zishi greeted Yang Guang’s wife, who then boarded the business car and left.

After issuing orders to the eighty Dark Gold elites, Tang Ze turned and walked away with heavy steps.

During the battle, Huang Ming was the most conspicuous—holding a long blade, he stood behind the corridor entrance, slashing the backs of enemies charging forward; hardly anyone could withstand a single strike, even those with thick armor were shattered in one blow and lay groaning on the ground.

The surrounding black mist rippled and scattered, revealing the writhing figures of the Fallen Demons—they were Bi Xu Buxu’s ambush force, their spirits severely shattered, now uncontrollable.

A moment? Ling Zhoutian had not timed it—he could only use this term to describe it.

At this moment, apart from the electric hum that still felt intensely real to You Zishi, all other external sounds had become strangely vague and distant, as if his entire brain had turned into a vacuum sealed off from the outside world, oppressively congested.