Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cruelty

Madam Xie sat cross-legged, a string of prayer beads draped around her wrist, holding in her hand a letter sent by the servants of Lady Jiang. Her gaze had already shifted from the letter to the woman standing before her.

The woman appeared to be around thirty years old—dignified, beautiful, and composed. She did not overly stiffen her posture, yet an unmistakable air of nobility made it impossible for anyone to underestimate her.

Madam Xie was all too familiar with this temperament. If her guess was correct, this woman must hail from an old and distinguished family.

Even the Swordmaster’s aura could not suppress the shimmering golden ripples unleashed by that fellow’s hammer. Was he trying to defy the heavens?

At last, the commotion on their side caught the attention of the temple attendants. Yi Nian found the person in charge and explained the situation to them.

After half a month of intense, continuous construction, the fortress’s defensive perimeter had essentially taken shape. Whether for defense or stationing troops, all had met Yan Long’s exacting standards.

Nie Yang remained unmoved, doting ever more on that cat. The rare flowers grown in the garden had all become the cat’s playthings.

A willful pitcher is like a labyrinth with no pattern; you can never guess what might happen next.

Strength is not measured by economic or military power alone, but also revealed on the Olympic field in the realm of sport.

In the Moonlit Garden, shadows danced beneath the trees. Yan Long, gripping a sword of fine steel, began to circulate his energy according to the technique of the Reckless Sword Aura, slowly opening the “Gate of Opening”—one of the eight meridian gates: Opening, Resting, Life, Wounding, Blocking, Fright, Scenery, and Death—within his own body.

Madam San gazed at the palm-sized box of rouge, amazed that Doctor Han possessed such skill.

Aside from the book, which contained few words yet managed to attract all manner of prominent patrons, what astonished people even more was the caliber of those who had come to bestow their rewards this time.

“Ah, don’t!” Yoon-ah tried to pull her hand back, but Qin Ming’s grip was too strong for her to break free.

His diehard fans could still stubbornly insist, “Our idol never plagiarized! It was all a mistake by the courts—you’re just bullying him.”

Although everything had been arranged in advance, in the urgency of the moment he had acted rashly and could not ensure perfection. The resentment Liu Songqing had long harbored in his heart had yet to be resolved, and he had no wish for such discord to take root in both their hearts.

At the northern border of Western Wu, three hundred and twenty li to the northwest, lay a marshland of death. In the heart of the swamp, a dense, sinister mist rose eerily into the air. The Shura and Rakshasa had been ordered to halt at the edge, watching silently as Xisa, cradling the ice-sealed Yi Zhi, stepped into the mire. Their bodies sank slowly, stopping abruptly at the waist.

No sooner said than done. After all, you’ve always coveted my teacher Liu, pestering me every few days for swimsuit photos of her.

So it turned out that after being listed on the Investiture of the Gods, mortals became slaves to the Celestial Court. Yet, this servitude was not eternal but lasted two cosmic cycles. In other words, disciples of the Jiejiao sect, after being listed following the great battle, could return to the sect once two cycles had passed and be removed from the list.

But given the current circumstances, self-preservation was paramount. He could not guarantee how much goodwill remained with the three immortals. Seeking their aid was a gamble, and he was far from confident.

The burden of using the “Intermediate Spatial Consciousness Trial Permission” this time far exceeded his expectations. He lasted only two seconds before his divine sense was nearly exhausted, never even glimpsing the space in its entirety, and hurriedly withdrew from the god’s-eye view in fright.

A few weeks prior, while away from home, Chen Feng received word that his father had been hospitalized and rushed back. By the time he arrived, the hospital had confirmed that Chen Mingyuan had reached the end of his life. Grief was hard to bear, and soon anger followed—brought on by the actions of certain others.

Yet this was a last resort, a measure he would not use unless absolutely necessary.

No words were spoken. In the midst of such fierce battle, words were unnecessary. At this moment, even the heavenly order had been shattered.

Seeing the excitement of the elders from both families, Yi Han and Lin Qingwan realized that even if they remained, they would go unnoticed. So, they gathered their things and returned to base.