Chapter 86

“Old man, mind your own business—I’d better not see you meddling in mine.” He understood perfectly well why Shangguan Jing had suddenly come to the country, then appeared in France.

Ning Ruyue flickered forward, pouting: “Let me feed you—lie down and be good.” She fixed her gaze on Luotian.

“Alright, no more nonsense—aren’t you treating me to a feast? Watch me eat you dry—my stomach’s telling me, ‘Master, I’m hungry!’” Xue’er joked.

“Come in!” A stern male voice rang from Qingfeng Hall—soft in volume, yet echoing like a bronze bell in their ears, lingering long after it faded.

Xiong Xiaobai felt her hair was smoking; her blazing red face was hot enough to scorch the pillow.

Zhiyun watched, chuckling—admittedly, treating the Imperial Consort’s letter as mere amusement was surprisingly entertaining.

“Fei, but worth no more than 150,000,” Wang Haitao thought, recalling how many slips had already been thrown in—price must’ve far exceeded a million. He secretly sighed in relief: thank goodness he hadn’t bid—if he’d won, he’d be ruined.

“Go on—I believe in you. You can handle it.” Wang Haitao clenched his fist, flashing a bright smile to spur him on.

Indeed, Zhao Yu started with enthusiasm, took a few bites, then stopped. It wasn’t that the food was bad—in fact, it was fresh, so even if mediocre, it couldn’t be terrible. But everyone at the table had refined palates; calling it “average” was already generous.

“Tang Xuanye, second son of the Tang Corporation—how do you view yourself?” Shentu Haolong pressed.

“Then thank you, Master Zhan,” Li Weiguo began, but was cut off by Zhan Tian.

“Xuanye, invite them in,” came Ku Qi’s voice before Shentu Haolong could answer.

Murong Kun didn’t dodge—he merely blocked left, blocked right, keeping Feng Tao from landing a single kick. Feng Tao’s assault was fierce; I thought he’d land a hit soon. But before Feng Tao finished his strike, Murong Kun landed two or three punches on his ribs.

I’m not doing this to make Qi Yue’s life easier—I’m doing it to ease my own conscience. I once loved Qi Yue to the bone—but that was long ago.

Hehe—Ye Qing activated Wind-Thunder Step, appearing instantly before Zhao Min, grabbing her throat.

Qian Shuishui turned her head, saw the boy, and froze—she had no memory of him whatsoever.

The Exile War was a method devised to resolve hatred between great clans without triggering large-scale armed conflict.

“We have another mission—this one, not even you, let alone them, may stay.” Shentu Haolong gestured toward Wan Lei and the others.

After a long while, Shang Zheng’s laughter finally ceased. As he finally closed his mouth, Ji Lingsheng lowered his hands from his ears, poking at them to check for lingering demonic echoes.

Yan Zibing lowered her gaze, avoiding Qin Yang’s eyes, muttering a vague reply, then carried the two bowls of rice out the door.

Of course, if Yunxi could lend us a hand along the way, that’d be even better.

The instant he opened his eyes, he roared, clenching his hands against the earth and yanking them upward with force.

Yet after these past half-months, through his actions, how could we not have noticed the signs?

“Report, my lord—yes, right in the central tent!” The deputy general was sharp-eyed, having noticed Wang Kang’s glance—he answered without hesitation.

Xue Ying was his most gifted child, bearing all his hopes—he had once placed the entire Snow Ogre clan’s future on her shoulders.

This hot spring was surrounded by mountains, roughly four meters wide and five meters long; its reflection under the moonlight resembled a slab of white jade, save for a row of lotus leaves and reeds growing in the center, dividing the spring in two.

Then, during the day, gather the pure yang energy radiated by the sun; at night, collect the lunar essence spilled by the moon—blend the two into a single spiritual energy. This energy is called Yin-Yang Spiritual Energy.

Ji Lingsheng nodded solemnly, meeting the elder’s kind gaze, then straightened his clothes—he always cared for his appearance, and today he wouldn’t be careless. Ji Changfeng watched his energetic grandson, nodded slightly, then turned toward the gate. “Let’s go,” he said.

No one dared to film—or rather, no one dared to even try—but Song Zheng refused to believe it: so what if it was the darkest chapter in Chinese history?

A thunderous explosion erupted, vaporizing the water vapor; a crater dozens of meters wide surfaced on the water’s surface, surging steam and towering waves sharper than arrows. Then a colossal figure was flung through the air, roaring—before it even stopped, it whirled again and lunged at Yuan Hong.

Getting rid of Liang Kun isn’t urgent—we’ve got a year and a half before he’s even out of prison.