Chapter 381: Each One

Just as Lin Mo thought the Daoist of the Replatform would, like those elderly teachers, lavish details on his past experiences, the man suddenly changed tack:

"Those prodigies find cultivation as easy as drinking water, their cultivation base surging upward without pause."

"But the technique I cultivated was simple yet convoluted—I spent a full sixty years just to advance from Foundation Establishment to Golden Core!"

Hearing this, Lin Mo couldn't help but whistle in astonishment.

Though in the Great Cultivation Era

"I think, compared to you, Sister Qing'er is the one who's truly worrying," Long A said, glancing at her.

He even suspected this was the mad flat-face's greatest malice toward him—deeper than the afternoon attempt to suffocate him with the tripe skin.

Song Yan shook her head, about to find a spot to smoke, when a voice came from behind.

"The knife is fine, but you still need to come with us," the officer handed the self-defense blade back to Chi Weiran.

Of course—her cousin was the only son of her uncle and aunt; daily, he was treated as if held in the mouth lest he melt, cradled in the palm lest he fall—how could they let him suffer even a little?

Thinking of this, the old man could no longer swallow his anger—he must find a way to teach this worthless son a lesson, and scare that slut too.

A sound came from behind; the next instant, his waist tightened as a brown whip coiled up like a snake.

Yang Ruxin set out before dawn, without waking her family—she merely informed Du Chengfeng, then departed overnight with Du Juan, Du Man, and Ying Seven.

"You've been swamped lately with the Zhang family's affairs, constantly complaining about which bastard did it, right?" Xuan'er's eyes flickered with cunning as she grinned.

"Brother, let me send a text first," Song Xiaoxiao tried to pull her hand free, but her brother gripped it tighter, dragging her forward.

After a day of chaos, the imperial capital had slowly calmed—the frantic crowds had ransacked every trash pile in the city, uncovering many noble secrets—but Ai Mo and Weiwei's figures remained absent.

Stand-in Envoys, also called Shadow Waves, are manifested images born from a person's internal life energy or spiritual force, transmitted through bloodline.

"Compared to defenseless civilians and soldiers standing at the city gate, there's really nothing to fear," Jiang Li replied.

"Too late." He drew his dagger and cleanly severed the rope, shouting toward the two figures already losing stones and sand.

Her pale face flushed crimson from tension and running—like peach blossoms dusted with snow, white tinged with pink, pink streaked with white, the two hues blending beautifully.

That confidence was not the usual kind, bound by convention—it surpassed the confidence befitting her original nature.

"Feng Yichen has finally arrived. Since everyone's here, let's go eat," Tang Kexin said.

"Boom—" At that moment, the "mountain" beneath their feet suddenly shifted; the colossal beast stirred, and everyone atop it tumbled head over heels.

"Holy shit, you can do that? How do you even capture these two forces?" Yan Kong was stunned.

Zhang Sheng wasn't the type to worry needlessly, so he now knew exactly what he must do.

After the red carpet ceremony ends and they receive the iced drinks Fan Kai bought, they'll probably cry even harder.

Zhang Sheng went straight to Uncle Li's office in the Mist Capital Military District; Uncle Li sat in his chair, legs propped on the desk, smoking a cigar—this was his habitual pose.

Ao Zhan, Jin Ye, Di Lingyuan, the silent jealous one—all regarded Feng Yan with obscure, unreadable gazes.