Chapter 88: 087 Write a Half-Assed Paper

For the past few days, Fang Qingye has been busy with this matter.

Although he doesn’t understand programming, his comprehension of Bitcoin as a virtual digital currency runs deeper than anyone else’s.

He often discussed it with the Dongguan girl on QQ, listening as she described the programming process and the problems she encountered.

He didn’t fully grasp the technical side, but mining itself is a computational algorithm game; in the future, such software became extremely common, typically developed using the Python language.

The low-level magic he had cultivated his whole life seemed no longer as docile as he once knew it.

So even if Lu Heng firmly insisted he had been framed, he had no way to refute it—only grit his teeth and accept the investigation.

“This isn’t urgent. Since the other side is playing dirty, we’ll use their own method against them—let them end up losing more than they gain.”

Father once said their ancestors had a saying: talking about toxicity without mentioning dosage is sheer nonsense. Aconite is a cure when used within safe doses, but becomes poison if taken in excess.

Before he could exhale, the steel needle in his hand shot out a cross-shaped fine needle from its center, instantly piercing his palm until it bled profusely.

Dong’er’s expression flickered, as if her thoughts had been exposed, yet she denied it repeatedly, visibly flustered.

As a member of the Night Veil, she knew better than anyone how precisely they controlled Xinzheng; though she was aware of spies from other states, all were visible to her eyes—but the Night Veil had no knowledge of the force that had revealed so much to Ying Zheng.

For instance, his billions of cells now seemed suddenly alive—synchronized, cheering, trembling—causing even the void around him to shake.

“But…” A Cike hesitated, then saw Cyril reach out and place his hand on his shoulder.

Hearing Lanqi’s words, Murong Zheng smiled—an uncommon sight. If Lou Yun was Pan An, then Murong Zheng was Song Yu. His smile was extraordinarily beautiful.

In that instant, Old Xu clearly felt every hair on his body stand on end as he realized something.

These two mysterious men weren’t human—they radiated powerful demonic energy, having come from the Demon Realm—but their cultivation was weak, merely at the Fourth-Level Ghost Demon stage. They had just arrived in the Human Realm when a powerful warrior brought them here.

Outside, he still had a whole crew of brothers. As long as the green mountains remain, there’s no shortage of firewood—this ancient truth was timeless and utterly practical.

As the Nine Pure Boy exited the battle circle, Bodhi suddenly snapped back to awareness, staring in surprise at the broken sword on the ground, then at the Nine Pure Boy nearby. A flicker of confusion appeared in his eyes—he didn’t understand what had just happened to him.

A chilling, eerie voice rang out. As the Black Wind Patriarch roared, the black mist surged violently, slowly being drawn into the withered corpses, and the entire hall instantly cleared.

“Looks like I overthought it.” The head chef sighed in relief as Qin Yang’s behavior showed no abnormality.

Yang Tian channeled spiritual energy into the puppet, shattering it—Wang Yue tumbled out and landed on the ground.

Even as Feng Ye spoke these words, his feet never paused; his figure vanished from the spot, and in the next instant, after two sharp “ding! ding!” sounds, Feng Ye had already returned to his original position—and instantly lifted his spiritual elevation state.

I exchanged a glance with Lingdang, made a helpless expression, then joined Mo Tianli in searching. After several minutes, the three of us had thoroughly felt every inch of the wall from top to bottom.

Mo Zhendong parked his car and waited outside Shuimoyi’s house for a long time, fuming, until Mo Wanxi’s vehicle finally appeared.

Zhang Liuan slowly raised his hand and rubbed the red ring on his thumb—visible only to him.