Chapter 113

"What on earth is going on? How did you end up here? Who attacked Bai Su!" Empress Dowager Shu demanded sharply.

Perhaps Feng Xinlan hadn't yet steadied herself, or perhaps Yang Ruoli had struck with exceptional force—after being slapped, she collapsed straight onto the sofa.

Hearing Ling Dongwu's casual remark, Xiao Haotian's face turned pale. He looked down at Ling Dongwu's belly, still barely noticeable beneath her loose gown. His pupils shrank repeatedly. He clenched his fist and slammed it hard against the colonnade pillar, emitting a dull "Thud."

"You mean…" Qiangwei's eyes widened in shock, barely believing what she had just realized.

"Qin Fengzhan, you can't go that way!" Qin Fengzhan finally heard it, turned back, saw Yang Ruoli, and was stunned—before he could speak, Yang Ruoli was seized by Feng Sanshu's bodyguards, her mouth covered as they dragged her backward.

Facing Su Zichuan's skepticism, Gu Yu merely smiled faintly; he understood perfectly well the feelings of Mu Yun and Su Zichuan, for when he first heard this news, he too had doubted and refused to believe it.

Chu Qiao's lips curled slightly. She closed her eyes, trying to forget the pain the fire had inflicted—but found that even after three years, many things remained unforgettable.

She still stared blankly at her blood-smeared hands. Memories of the past surged uncontrollably into her mind, one scene after another, all stained with blood.

When he awoke, the moonlight flowed like water, and there, faintly standing by the window, was a slender glow that instantly outshone the entire room's jade moonlight.

Dressed plainly, scholars tended to favor linen garments; the Zhongshan-style tunic naturally gave one an air of deep learning.

Ten meters from her husband, Zhang Jiaze pressed his hand to his forehead—he was clearly in great pain. He turned his head, saw his wife approaching, and turned to meet her.

Beneath his black robe, Xiao Yan spoke with an aged, weary tone; the sound startled the big men, who then stepped forward one by one, leading Xiao Yan inside.

I wonder how Wan Xi would react upon seeing him? Would she be moved by his magnanimity and fling herself at him to kiss him? Or, after obtaining the antidote, would Wan Xi still find him preferable, touched by his forgiveness and vast generosity, and willingly give herself to him?

What does life cling to? Love? Hatred? The song at your ear? The lanterns in the night mist? All whisper softly: What do you cling to in this life?

The maid in the pink-green jacket finally emerged, still holding the tray—the clean white gauze lay untouched upon it, the reason unknown.

Xiao Yan's eyebrows twitched slightly, but he said nothing. Though it was his own doing, Song Yintong could not suddenly change his stance—even if he wished to join the Su family, he must now project his own dignity, forcing the Su family to earnestly seek him out, rather than him groveling to beg for their acceptance.

As Zhang Jiaze spoke, he clutched his stomach again and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a bang.

Under heaven, only Fu Yue had ever matched him—he too had consumed two Life Fruits.

Eventually, the Chu nobility could no longer endure it; led by the Qu clan, a branch of the Chu royal Xiang family, they overthrew the Xiang regime and established the Qu-led State of Chu.

Seeing this, Yang Chen couldn't help sneering inwardly—this guy had no courage, but his acting skills were top-notch?

Luo Muzhi's view from horseback was entirely different; she felt uneasy, but as she looked at his face, her heart calmed. She pressed her lips together and nodded to him.

Fei Ying had always deeply respected Prince Gong; his words were sincere, with no intention of interfering in the southwestern military affairs.

"I, Li Zichen, have no father." His voice rang cold as winter frost, striking deep into the other's heart—knowing that force is reciprocal, hurting others inevitably leaves one's own soul riddled with wounds.

He knew the banquet's caliber—those invited were either wealthy or noble; even Ling Song had only been invited because of the Marquis of State Protection's name.

The Three-Eyed Toad wanted to kill Hua Jianyu, but valued his own life more—he knew his whereabouts were exposed and would flee the Spirit Spring Mountains before Hua Linglong arrived.

Tian Youcheng felt for the first time how close death was—he felt as if he were dying of rage. Gazing at the solemn Wu Yuchen, he clenched his teeth so hard they chattered, then simply sat down on the ground, motionless.

"Yes, Great Deity!" A sudden voice pierced her ear. Instinctively, she sat up straight and shouted loudly—her demeanor was absurdly comical. She blinked her eyes, staring fixedly at him without moving.

Counting the days, today was the fifteenth since Father's burial; for the past half-month, Yang Chen had spent all his time—except for nighttime vigils—training within this space.

Chu Ye smeared a layer of mud over the Devouring Rat; its silver fur and golden whiskers were completely obscured, its entire body filthy, resembling a field mouse that had just crawled from a mud pit.

Xu Zhenhai was terrible at holding children—he'd always dropped Xu Zhu—but Chang He was quite skilled at it.

In less than a month, he had lifted me up and made me a local leader.

Duanmu Deshu's chopsticks nearly slipped from her grasp—but she couldn't let anything slip. She couldn't.

Ye Jinxuan's face darkened completely; even her gentle, soft expression could no longer be maintained.

The girl selecting silk flowers glanced at Duanmu Deshu, saw her veiled hat and fine fabric, snorted inwardly, put down the flower, and walked away.

At first, I could rely on instinct and that faint, elusive trail to ensure I wouldn't lose my way. But later, even the Yin-Yang Compass began spinning uselessly, offering no true direction whatsoever.

The facts later proved Feng Yun's fears correct—it had done to Guo Yanxi exactly what it had done to Zheng Qingfei.

"In the end, you still thought of reopening this project—traveling back to the past?" Feng Jianming asked again, glancing around nervously, fearing something might suddenly appear.

No curse came from Young Master Meng Dais. The three young masters turned to look at him—and saw he still held the posture of cursing: right finger pointed at Li Que, face twisted in rage… but what truly drew their attention was the crimson spot on his forehead.