Chapter 427

"Hehe, whether it's true or false, just test it and you'll know."

Lin Mo smiled lightly and said.

Long A clapped his hands and said: "Exactly, if all else fails, we can always turn back—it won’t waste much time."

Verifying the entrance isn’t difficult at all.

Feng Geng no longer asked further; the group headed toward the teleportation array at the end of the gorge.

During their earlier search of the gorge, it hadn’t felt strange, but now, as they walked deeper, Lin Mo felt increasingly that this scene...

Chu Yixin kept a bowl of mashed potatoes for herself; she sprinkled some salt and ate it happily, only approaching the others after everyone had finished their meal.

Seeing this, Chu Yixin sighed helplessly, quickly pulled on an outer robe to conceal the bloodstains, and set off toward Master Huitong.

Over time, the American-controlled Eastern Depot squad grew increasingly large, with many talented cultivators reaching bottlenecks in the Evil-Exorcising Sword Scripture; the scale of the Grand Eunuchs now far surpassed last year’s.

Although Chen Yanrun had been desperately concealing his inner joy, the smile in his eyes could not be hidden—and Chu Yixin happened to notice it.

Before they had walked far, a chaotic clatter of footsteps approached from behind; Chen Yanrun frowned and turned around immediately.

But after the transmigration, burdens kept piling onto his shoulders—he had to rescue Oswald, and now he must also rescue Gordon from the cyborgs.

Judging by this, even if he indirectly fell from grace, he’d likely be given some Jianghu nickname like “Tank Driver.”

Hearing Chu Yang speak this way, it sounded as if there was more to the story; the Sect Master furrowed his brow, about to speak, but Luo Zhong cut him off.

"Why would I lie to you? Consider it repaying your earlier favor." Chu Yixin laid her thoughts bare; Ma Liu finally relaxed.

Otherwise, this trash movie would never have had the guts to release during the Spring Festival slot—it’d be torn apart until not a shred remained.

Ye Tian scanned the surroundings; his cold gaze finally settled on Shi Zhenxiang, who trembled violently, face ashen with fear.

What the hell, I’m wearing a hat, you haven’t even seen my face, yet you say I look like a sneaky, rat-eyed scoundrel?

There were eighteen princes with official titles, including sons of the Ninth Sui Emperor Yang Guang, who had built their own factional power—this count excluded the sixth prince, who was never granted a princely title, and the underage sons of Emperor Yang Guang.

Chang’e stared at him blankly, emotions churning inside her like a storm, yet her reluctance to part from Tang Zeng always dominated; finally, she nodded and threw herself into his arms, refusing to let go.

How did the entire incident unfold? Let me hold back that detail for now—let’s first turn to a certain street.

Xing Shachen wouldn’t let them lead him around by the nose; he simply refused to alter his course. When they noticed their path had deviated too far, they’d naturally turn back—otherwise, it’d be tantamount to fleeing.

"The day I went to challenge him, our conversation turned to you. I said he probably wasn’t your match—he disagreed, claiming he could defeat you even without a spiritual weapon."

Xing Shachen stared intently at the Guide-Xuan Fire for a long while, then finally drew a deep breath, as if making a decision, and walked unhesitatingly toward the Guide-Xuan Fire.

Alfred didn’t want to be as reckless as the Swedish commander; he was always meticulous and cautious. Moreover, he had little enthusiasm for this war between the Soviet Union and Finland—he now felt more like a spectator, a passing observer.

No one had walked down this street in a long time; from afar, it looked like the Yellow Spring Road of the Underworld.

Yang Ting pulled her head back; Jiang Kai had left her a terrible first impression—he seemed like a thug. Would her brother be taken advantage of by him?

Mo Fan knew deep down this man wasn’t evil; his actions revealed him to be someone with great ambition.

Murong Fu and Sima Hui froze; they shrank back, clearly frightened of Princess Anqing.

"Then let’s not pressure Shi Hang. Get a good rest tonight." Song Zhi Gao remained calm, as if nothing had happened, smiling warmly at Yang Shimin.

"Cheng Feng, don’t look down—look ahead!" Naxiu knew his best friend suffered from vertigo and quickly warned him.

A flash of cold light; Xie Lin vanished from his spot in an instant, his form as spectral as a ghost, a razor-sharp sword streak aimed straight at Fei Bin’s throat.

Nu Yalaha understood: having seized the throne, they must strike while the iron was hot to stabilize the situation—otherwise, Mengke Temür would stir up trouble.

Besides, they had watched with their own eyes as Ximen Kuang was shot, his feet blown into ruins.

The two gritted their teeth, straining against each other; after only four or five seconds, Ming Chenzi began to falter, his feet pushing backward against the ground, his shoe soles nearly worn flat.

That sword strike seemed capable of piercing mountains and shattering peaks, crashing heavily onto Lei Ting’s spiritual spirit’s Great Cang Shield.

His fingertip traced a tassel she knew all too well—the very one she had woven not long ago, and on which hung the jade piece Shen Yu had asked her to find.

Houses or not—he never cared much; as long as Qin Yumo and the others were happy, that was enough.

Yan Qingyi treated her kindly enough, but she wasn’t a blood sister; only before Rong Jin could she indulge freely, cooing and teasing, pushing boundaries without restraint.

After spending one night in Taiyuan, the master and disciple headed to the dock, hiring a large boat for thirty taels of silver; they sailed down the Fen River, and within four or five days entered the Yellow River. Two more days later, they docked at the Kaifeng wharf.

No one accompanied him; he sat alone in the waiting area, his expression nearly numb with blank detachment toward what was about to happen.