Chapter 214: Fierce Battle

After leaving the ice chamber, they circled outside once more; snow still fell in thick drifts, and finding nothing unusual, they turned to head back.

At that moment, from halfway up the Kunlun Mountains on this side, a faint, distant howl echoed through the air.

They turned toward it and saw, far up the mountain where snow met dark green, two figures locked in combat.

Jiomo Zhi said: “That’s the monk and the white-clothed man—how did they circle around to that side?”

Huo Ling

“You haven’t gone through the initial training; joining them midway will be unbearable. You don’t need to train in all their drills—just follow Wu Jing in exercises focused on balance and flexibility.”

A thousand fine threads of water cascaded from the showerhead, glistening as they fell, forming a curtain that raced down her fair, smooth, tender skin.

After three hours passed, Jiang Zaiyuan finally completed his cultivation; as he ended the practice, he exhaled a thick breath. Though the process had been turbulent, he had largely succeeded. Yet body refinement is a long, grueling path—not something achieved in a day—and to reach this point already was remarkable.

“Sister, why did you bring this guy here? Didn’t you hate him?” Shangguan Yu asked, puzzled.

The drone operator was fully absorbed in controlling the drone, seemingly oblivious to all surrounding activity.

Thus, the more he looked at that sword, the more he loathed it; its very presence seemed to mock him, each gleam driving him to destroy it utterly and erase his shame.

“Momo, you—” Ze hesitated, still wanting to speak, but Momo, too excited, had already turned away, continuing her spotlight tour.

Blood is the life force of the Blood Clan. If two-thirds of his blood flowed out, did he still retain one-third of his life? Momo didn’t know. But the Elders’ expressions—some worried, others seemingly calm, even their sharp words mentioning Lucifer—told her this was an ordeal, and not one belonging solely to Ze.

Yet the voice in his mind still softly called to him, like a mother calling her son, like a wife calling her husband, like a cry he had once known well but had since forgotten.

A sharp gunshot rang out from the pistol in my hand; the recoil jolted violently, forcing my hand to jerk backward.

But Gao Shan disagreed; he believed the root of this racial discrimination must be eradicated—make the trainees and the highly talented human and demon race students take notice, make them realize that humans and demons alike have many powerful individuals, and promote equality in the environment to greatly weaken such racism.

His identity was unremarkable—a common demonic cultivator. He’d advanced through previous rounds thanks to luck, much like Bai Ling’s earlier situation: either facing opponents of equal rank, or ones severely injured from their last match, their strength diminished enough for him to win. He’d stumbled his way to the fourth round.

But reality is always merciless; Xiao Bohan’s reckless ways had plunged him from the peak of happiness into the abyss of pain, and now both sides faced a brutal battle, leaving Su Manqian’s delicate emotions hazy—she didn’t know whether to support or oppose this war.

If he knew Lin Suyi was the company’s largest shareholder, his expression would be priceless.

Now the creditors are selling off these products cheaply—all daily necessities like tissues and shampoo, still reputable domestic brands. He sets a minimum price; whoever buys them can sell them for whatever they want—he doesn’t care. Any profit above the minimum price belongs entirely to the seller.