Chapter 87: Treasure Elixir, Final Battle Begins, Five-Color Purple Mist Qi (Twelfth Update, Maximum Limit)

Before Chen Lu could fall, Wang Xianmao appeared behind her.

The clan chief extended his arms and gently caught his body.

The spectators in the racetrack, upon Xiang Yuan’s shout, had long known what had happened.

Seeing this resilient mother collapse, even the most steadfast Pure Cultivators couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.

People always hope to see heroes overcome hardship and reach success, always hoping their kind in despair can...

Li Xi could understand Liu Niangzi’s thoughts, but she couldn’t empathize with her; their educations differed, their minds differed.

Master Zhang laughed heartily, unconcerned—even if there were beasts stronger than the Emperor Realm, could they possibly eat all ten thousand warriors of the Emperor Realm?

Yan Rui’s wife felt a faint pang of bitterness; if Shen Cheng wanted her, he could simply call her—she’d arrive instantly.

Jiang Yingyue immediately turned hostile, cursed, prepared for battle, and used hypnosis to make those behind her retreat, lest they be injured by accident.

The city’s people didn’t know they had walked past the gates of hell again—Zhao Wuji was already waiting for them atop the great lake outside the city.

I’d long realized Liu Cheng was just outwardly rough, but inwardly quite sentimental.

“Who is Xing’er?” Yu Mengdie’s face was full of confusion; her two disciples were each more disobedient than the last.

Chen Ge clasped her hands together, “Thank you, thank you, thank you for your favor, but I’m just an internet celebrity—just watch for fun.”

Countless cultivators surrounded Tianyuan Sect; the old Sect Master, under pressure, surrendered the Saint-level prodigy, who was killed on the spot.

This was within Fu Ling’er’s expectations—even after giving Shen Shanhe shares, Fu Zhengchao had always been wary of him, fearing mishaps, yet Shen Shanhe had concealed his true intentions for so long, a smiling tiger no one had ever suspected.

He had already given Xuesha a chance: confess everything, and he’d fight him openly and fairly—but this old man refused to show him any respect.

After all that, Mourinho still couldn’t stop Henry; now he should know, Kajman couldn’t play Henry, stopping the Frenchman was simply too hard.

“Old bastard, watch the sword, watch the sword, watch the sword!” Lin Xue, furious, swung her Ice Sword, slashing wildly at Xiong Kun and Han Feng.

The eleven Celtic players in this match were called the “Lions of Lisbon”; later, Celtic Park’s east stand was named after them.

“Huh? Why should Furanda listen to you? Do you just say ‘stop’ and she stops?” Furanda blinked, no longer hostile or fearful toward Anpei Tōya, hence her blunt tone.

Why didn’t they have such good fortune—to entice a young, powerful noble mage?

“Don’t know.” If one didn’t know, one wasn’t an enemy; Wu Laogui looked bored, listless.

In a week, United dropped from top of the league to five points behind Arsenal; the fans’ grief over the air disaster memorial grew heavier still.

This experiment took two hours; after tidying up, Ye Feng began meditation to restore his depleted spiritual qi—the black pearl aided the spiritual flame, yet the flame’s growth undeniably accelerated the consumption of spiritual qi in his spiritual sea.

This is war: from the moment you mount your horse, all lives are entrusted to the battlefield—general or soldier, none know if they’ll return alive the next moment.

Ge Wanchun was about to speak when, in the pitch-black night, countless whistling sounds erupted—he, even with only Great Primordial Completion realm cultivation, clearly sensed warriors surrounding them from all directions, dozens upon dozens, over a hundred in total, startling him badly.