Chapter 162

“You know about this too?” Lin Ran’s first thought was this.

He quickly realized the other man worked for Soviet Russia.

Either directly or indirectly, he worked for Soviet Russia.

Lin Ran vaguely remembered that Soviet Russia had known Kennedy was to be assassinated, and had somehow tried to warn him—there was something like that.

“Who are you?” Lin Ran asked.

The man pulled a hammer-and-sickle medal from his chest.

“Looking for

“Your eyes are sharp, young brothers,” Sun Wukong sneered coldly, leaping upward like a streak of lightning, closing in on Bei Zhenshan, and delivering a full-force punch straight to his temple.

She understood clearly, opened her mouth, yet could not force out the words, “I agree.”

“Hua,” the blue-robed woman clicked her tongue in regret. “You can’t kill Simu Jiannan. If you cling to this obsession, you’ll likely be killed.”

That cicada call slightly weakened Long San’s assault, for he hadn’t expected Jinchanzi to mimic the cicada’s cry so perfectly—indistinguishable from the real thing. Yet Jinchanzi’s mimicry did not deter Long San’s intent to kill him, for the sword had not stopped.

Throughout the entire motion, Kali’s gaze never once broke from Karet’s, remaining locked in place; that calm gaze secretly harbored a searing, venomous hatred.

Li Tianyou didn’t even glance at Zhang Jietian—he swept all the money on the gambling table into his arms.

Slowly, the Rakshasa State Master, Xiuloshan, who had long lived in seclusion, ignoring court affairs and devoting himself solely to the Immortal Dao, began to hear faint discordant voices.

He unexpectedly spotted Feng Zhuo, the priest, appearing on the floating island, deepening Ding Huo’s sense of crisis; moreover, the Enforcement Team still hadn’t released the Feiniao sisters, still holding them captive—meaning they hadn’t abandoned their suspicion of the Feiniao. All these factors together made Ding Huo realize the situation was dire.

Thanks to thorough preparation, meticulous planning, sound policies, and effective measures that ensured talent was fully utilized and resources maximized, within just a few years, Beiqi State saw farmers owning their land, residents owning their homes, and the entire nation flourishing as never before.

“What happened?” the sect master asked anxiously. In the darkness, their eyes met—he suddenly felt Wuming could see. The sect master lit a lamp and saw the floor in chaos.

“I understand, Mother. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to recall. In a few days, when Ke’r is on leave, I’ll bring him to see you.” Yang Shufei gently wiped her tears, raised her eyes, and spoke to Empress Xiao.

Of course, Yang Chao didn’t understand what he meant—but the others all knew. After exchanging glances, Mao Jianqiu was the one who spoke.

After lying down again, Changsun couldn’t sleep at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he seemed to see Li Yuanji and Li Jiancheng, drenched in blood, eyes wide open in death.

Although this was Wang Qiu’s first meeting with Wang Huai, they were cousins, of the same age, and Wang Huai was now speaking to her wearing his brother’s face.

Yet something was off: Mao Jianqiu’s main team lost another match afterward—this time to the team long considered the weakest, the Chuzhou Geological College Second Team.

But that left Yang Chao in a bind: if not “Senior,” then what? Call him by name? Or “senior student”?

“Father, may I speak a few words?” Li Shimin forced down his fury, meeting Gaozu’s gaze.

Originally, this was a match with no appeal at all—until now, because Zhan Musi had performed poorly in his last match, and many had been debating whether he could recover his form tonight.