Chapter 70: Don

Seeing Xiao Mei’s reaction, Chen Changtian’s expression remained unchanged, but a flash of anger passed through his eyes as he opened the brocade box and examined its contents carefully.

But the Japanese, proud and arrogant yet with lives thinner than paper, did not think so. They viewed their annual tribute as a disgrace and yearned ceaselessly for ascendancy, for liberation from the Celestial Empire’s control.

Three great poisons entered the body, splitting into six, then converging within Chen San to form two, making it even harder for him to suppress the destruction these poisons wrought upon his flesh and soul.

Qian Gou’er did not press further, instead recalling the villagers who had offended Immortal Master in the past—tortured with cruel punishments never heard of, begging for death—and his heart chilled, forcing him to stop thinking.

Ji Ke saw this and walked over, kindly pulling up her hoodie’s hood and sealing the collar tight.

Had he known he’d attract such a demon like Chen San, Yin Gu would never have accepted Zhen Yu’s invitation. And after merely a moment of combat, Chen San had recognized his Yin Bone demon lineage—and now looked as if he had no intention of letting him go.

When the door opened, Qiao Yang stepped out; having arrived after Liu Rongjin, she saw only Liu Rongjin entering that room.

After ascending to the second floor, before Chu Yu could even glance around, Lan Xin roughly yanked him into a corner—this time, Chu Yu had learned his lesson.

Yet this kind of “guidance” was not her duty at all; even though they shared the bond of “different minds, one body,” their positions were utterly opposed.

Ou Yuye carried Mu Xiaoxia to the sofa and set her down, his gaze landing on her pale, slender legs—his pupils instantly changed color, and he awkwardly tugged down her white shirt.

On the city wall, Qu Chongyi stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed on the slowly approaching carriage procession.

He had given her nearly every good thing under heaven, yet she treated money as if it were dung.

“What nonsense are you speaking? If I’d known you were coming, I’d have prepared a seat for you.” An Jinlan was thrilled to see Tangyuan enter, but her timing was ill-placed—this was her bridal chamber; had she come a moment later, she might have witnessed her own wedding night—how awkward that would be.

The thin paper chilled his fingertips; Meng Youran felt a flicker of fear—he both longed for and dreaded opening it.

A supreme prodigy, one who had awakened a divine ability, would have been untouchable by Wang Dingzhou on the Nine Provinces—or even within the heavens of Naye.

Upon hearing this, the three princes glanced at Lan Jing, then took their seats; Yu Feipeng hesitated briefly before sitting down as well.

Seeing Lin Lang approach, Lang San naturally moved behind him, effortlessly assuming the role of protecting Lin Lang’s safety.

Over these thousand years, his cultivation had advanced considerably; now, he had barely crossed the threshold into the late stage of the True God Realm.

Mu Lijian was a woman who cherished blessings and knew contentment; she never demanded what was not hers. Though she deeply regretted the inevitable, permanent farewell ahead, she felt even greater gratitude for the chance encounter fate had granted them.

Yet what deeply saddened Lian Shi Yi was that the Red Demon King had no intention of following the script laid out by Yun Jing or himself.

“Fool! You and I both know what Princess Kunyi is like—why did you hand her your own weakness? Do you think she’ll let you off so easily?!” Zheng Chong cursed his incompetent ally; Zhai Shen’s face fell, but he dared not speak a word.

“These damned Ming people—they’ve sabotaged our campaigns against the Gamalan tribe multiple times in Taiwan. Now they invite us here under the pretense of trade talks—could this be another Ming plot?” Alkalaro roared in fury.

The Red Child on the sixty-fifth floor is modeled after the son of the Ox Demon King and Iron Fan Princess from the Buddhist Western Journey—born with mastery over the Three True Fires, capable of melting all things.

The main issue was with those who had just planted rice—they told Ao Muyang that the village’s chickens and ducks kept running into the rice paddies.

The Emperor’s expression didn’t change; fishing in the Pokémon world was simple—just pull hard. The fishing line was top quality… as long as you weren’t trying to catch something like Whiscash.

If the ant mound were a volcano, a single eruption might bury all these enemies in hell. Beyond that, the two thousand-plus besieged soldiers showed no sign of being able to defeat the army before them.

Killing Ye Bei didn’t require great power—only the resilience to withstand his mental assault.

Sunlight warmed his body, a rare comfort. A gentle breeze brushed the fine hairs on his face, making the monkey want to inhale even more of the fresh outdoor air.

Breaking away was impossible; retreating now would likely mean being completely swallowed by the New Army. Even if they escaped, fewer than thirty percent would survive—assuming no ambushes.

That Tai Chi move was beautifully executed, especially that cold snort—it made Li Changqing believe Ye Bei knew everything.

But every era produces a handful of visionaries; if they dared a little more and seized the opportunities their age offered, they could become legendary figures etched in history.

Yet the Heaven-Earth Alliance had never vanished—its disciples merely changed professions, thriving in every trade and industry.

As for the real Song Mo, she now sat inside an old factory, surrounded by people knocked unconscious by electric shocks.

She forced down the surging murderous intent within her and walked slowly to the lab table, staring at Shen Junqing’s pale, bloodless face, then extended her hand.