Chapter 137

"Xiao Fengyun… he didn't die?" Luo Feng gasped, remembering how three thousand years ago, he had personally joined hands with several Holy Emperors to drive Xiao Fengyun down into the ten-thousand-zhang abyss of Zhu Ri Cliff, searching for three days with no trace—surely he had been crushed to dust, his soul annihilated, and thus never pursued. Yet how could he now appear upon this battlefield?

He had intended to beg the opposite phantom to demonstrate once more, but the illusion flickered and vanished; within Xingyu, the star blazed with brilliant red light.

Li Ning looked at Du Wenwen and said, "He must have given it to me on the day he left, because after that day he never came back to school—he said nothing to me." As he finished, I saw Du Wenwen lower her head again.

The fragrance of spiritual herbs and plants, mingled with the clean scent of soil, gave a refreshing, invigorating feeling. Throughout the entire spiritual herb garden, everywhere teemed with vitality.

Footsteps clashed chaotically; the clatter of metal armor and weapons echoed. Under the glow of Yue Mouxing, the armor reflected intricate, interwoven beams of light.

Time passed slowly; three days slipped away. Gu Xi's bodily injuries had fully healed, and even a portion of the dragon-shaped essence within his body had coalesced—his cultivation had advanced considerably. Yet to fully manifest the dragon's form would take far longer.

Even at night, Lan Duoduo saw Zhao Cheng's face flush red then pale in fury, and within her heart surged an inexplicable excitement and uncontrollable joy.

Xiao Qiuyu's mind raced, and suddenly he remembered the serpent's core of the Death Poison Viper—the sensation of eating it had truly been the most exquisite thing in the world, unmatched by anything else he'd ever tasted in his life. It was simply delicious.

The thatched hut was pushed open, and Jie Mo Shen stepped out, calm and detached, untouched by mortal dust, like a divine being from the ninth heavens, radiating an aura of profound mystery.

Ye Fan had already chosen the second path—he had chosen it long ago. The day he left police academy, he had unhesitatingly chosen the second path. It was the path he must walk. It was his path. Now he could say he had lost his family.

Han Guanji always acted with meticulous care; cleaning windows was something he did more diligently than she ever could. How could he possibly lose points?

Lin Yu and the others were assigned to the second defensive line. Before even half a morning had passed, the enemy had launched over twenty assaults.

The left flank before him suddenly blurred. Ge Le Changping shook his head, his limbs went limp, and he fainted.

A surge of warm emotion welled up in Chen Donghui's heart, and for a moment he could not find words.

Su Ruibai was weeping uncontrollably, struggling as he gazed out the window. The moment Yi Nanchen finished speaking, the figure on the rooftop plummeted down like a giant bird. Piercing screams erupted everywhere.

"Lady, have you chosen yet? What kind of cake should we make?" Han Guanji stepped over and asked Jiang Yuan yuan.

Regardless of whether the Feng family was responsible, Feng Duwu herself must go and demand answers. Neither he nor his son could judge the weight of this matter properly—because in their hearts, the Feng family could not compare to even a single hair of Feng Duwu; any action taken without her would be biased.

In the eyes of the Qingyun Sect Master and others, the two stood in direct opposition, with continuous explosions echoing across the previous several meters of space. The middle-aged man's figure was ethereal, yet his aura was solid; Tang Zhan's stance was steady, but his aura was utterly insubstantial.

Under his burning gaze, Yi Ran nearly wanted to flee in panic. The dim yellow light stretched their shadows long. Though cool breezes brushed all around, Yi Ran felt as if trapped in a sealed space, suffocating.

"That makes sense!" An Chuxia nodded in agreement, her gaze shifting to the cheerleading squad led by Xiang Mankui—they were dancing energetically. Once they finished, it would be Han Qilu and Luo Fanhui's turn.

She thought: people are naturally herd-minded. If the Sect Master had given a gift, the other elders would surely follow suit—especially since it was a True Sovereign one level higher than them.

But he had to admit—he, Chen Fusheng, had truly been enraged to the point of fury, and only then had he flown into a rage and decided to cut down Chen Jingshu.

This coupling, devoid of any foreplay, and with the man showing not the slightest tenderness, left her lower body feeling as if torn apart.

"Very well, let's go down together." Ye Yanchi no longer pressed, politely gesturing for her to go ahead.

Shen Maomao looked up helplessly at Ling Qing, then lowered her head again, whispering only: "I'm sorry." The soft words carried deep helplessness—and yet seemed unavoidable.

Both knelt and banged their heads against the ground—bang, bang, bang. The hospital floor was tiled with ceramic bricks, not dirt. Their foreheads instantly turned red.

"Zhang Zhihe is right—among the new generation of martial artists, there truly are few like you!" Yue Yiyuan said.

Looking back, he had indeed always catered to Chen Jing—late at night, if she wanted bubble tea, he would rush to the county town to buy it for her, rain or shine.

The four were roughly the same age—at least fifty or sixty—and looked no different from ordinary people. Yet their essence, energy, and spirit clearly revealed profound, unfathomable depths.

"There may still be hope. Think again—exactly where is the problem?" Zhang Ning encouraged.

As his longtime friend, he had watched firsthand how Jiang's mother had opposed his relationship with Chi Wan.

And now, she was also buying her time—while speaking, her hand behind her back did not stop moving.

As Shu Huaye spoke, someone emerged from the hospital and walked over to him, whispering something low.

"Troublesome. This kind of thing is hard to remove—unless you can find a being of Emperor-level power to help… " Hei Ze shook his head.

The hall was silent. No one had begun fighting, for all waited—for the final moment.

Ling Feng watched as Manager Zhang wept and sobbed, yet felt not a trace of pity. If this incident had not happened to him, would Manager Zhang have groveled so humbly to apologize?

Tang Yiheng's mind went blank—he suddenly felt this adopted son's brain structure had mutated completely.

"I won't say more on this matter. Let Lao Gu decide. If everyone agrees, I have nothing to say." Elder Gao said.

The underground fighting arena was not actually underground—it was inside a magnificent, gilded building. The structure was not tall, yet extremely imposing; under the glow of LED lights at night, it felt like a palace.