Chapter 590: Wrapping Up

Sunlight pierced the last darkness of dawn, scattering golden fragments over the earth, while the morning breeze lifted birdcalls, the first note piercing the silence.

The once-quiet world now seemed alive; the mist over Binyue Square began slowly to dissipate the instant sunlight touched it.

Zhong Xiaonan immediately rose and headed into the square, where security lines had already been erected around its perimeter, forbidding all entry.

Behind her, Zheng Min and Huang Lancai hurried to follow.

People were too excited to shout anything coherent, yet cheers and applause never ceased—Beya had never been this lively before.

Zhang Han was stationed in Johor, integrating all able-bodied tribesmen into the military and establishing military colonies there.

“Lord Bai, I apologize for the disturbance today—I take my leave!” The black-clad man, his breath ragged, bowed and clasped his fists.

The “True Strike” and “Shadow Strike” of the Zhushen Sword now rested in Yuan Chen’s hands, but even a semi-saint artifact drained a mortal emperor’s strength excessively; even with his innate celestial body, Yuan Chen could unleash less than one ten-thousandth of the Shadow Strike’s true power—far less effective than using a true divine artifact.

Legends say the Holy Emperor, in his youth, studied the Wordless Sword Stele and attained a level of the Cut-Heaven Sword Dao—but after his battle with Yuan Chen, it was proven that the Cut-Heaven Sword Dao he mastered was not one of the five sword intents Yuan Chen knew.

Fan Zhao organized volunteer teams among the disaster victims, enabling them to self-manage and maintain daily order, significantly reducing administrative costs and saving resources. The social management experience of the 21st century finally found application among 18th-century Qing disaster victims.

What they faced was the power of Huo Ziying’s spiritual talismans, not merely the damage from war chariots.

Even more astonished was Lin Shuiyue; she had already witnessed Yuan Chen unleash a King-level sword intent at Ye Tianfeng and should have been calm—but the two King-level sword intents Yuan Chen had just displayed were utterly different, leaving Lin Shuiyue speechless.

On the northwest highway, a large procession marched toward the capital. Among them were Fang Jiyeh, commander of the Western Garrison, and Zhang Ruming, Inspector of the Capital’s Celestial Surveillance. Of course, Duan Lang and his eighteen personal guards were not absent.

That’s it? We won? Huang Yuan turned to look at the Hu Mao duo being carried away by medics, then at the retreating figure of Jun Moye.

They were few, and couldn’t afford direct confrontation—better to use the beauty trap to extract useful information first.

Yet unlike his outward frenzy, Drus was inwardly extremely calm—even indifferent.

No sooner had the words ended than a familiar figure flashed past the alley ahead; she frowned and immediately gave chase.

“Let’s go,” Han Xiaoxue said cheerfully, her tone making Lin Juan want to reply, “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

After witnessing this scene, Marshal Malashenko immediately signaled Vasily to stop saluting; utterly awed by the Red Army lieutenant’s unwavering resolve, Malashenko cared nothing for such trivial formalities—military deployment was what he urgently needed to address.

“I have evidence.” Fang Tang did not grow angry at Lu Dashi’s cold demeanor; she only felt pity for him.

Tonight’s banquet would surely be turbulent—after Zhou Jie and Shi Yucai forged ties with Master Song, they had bullied Fang Tang into surrendering the adhesive.

“Ugh!” Kuang Long staggered back several steps, crimson blood gushing from his mouth like a fountain.

Next, Tiya’s limbs grew weak, and she could no longer control the direction of her flame blasts—her speed clearly slowed.

Wei Renwu said nothing, his eyes constantly scanning Yue Ming, making Yue Ming feel uneasy—as if he’d just bathed and stood naked under a staring gaze.