Chapter Thirty-Seven: The New Bride

The shadow guards have been dispatched! Yesterday, that little brat was clearly... He was pretending! All that fear, all that cowardice, Lou Dalang was putting on an act! “He’s only seven years old, usually so unruly, so ignorant, and yet he’s capable of such cunning and composure?” “Could it be that Lou Jin secretly had someone write him a letter, revealing the ‘truth’ about the marriage alliance with the Dugu family?” Madam Cui’s expression was as cold as water, her eyes icy and unforgiving.

In recent years, however, the situation had improved; many members of the Zhao family had regained their positions, and Zhao Chuchu was about to return to the capital. Fortunately, Xu Xing remained unaffected. Some candid photos circulating online drew praise, with many saying that Xiao Nai seemed to have come alive again.

The corridor lights were broken, and with towering buildings all around blocking the daylight, it was so dim one had to use a phone flashlight to walk. Even after Aunt Tao Yinghong died, the bomb’s fuse had already been lit—the bus still exploded, and there was still an accomplice on board.

“Uncle Qin?” When Nan Qing heard Uncle Qin had come looking for her, her first thought was that something had gone wrong at the funeral home.

As soon as the call connected, Liu Cheng got straight to the point, calmly and wisely detailing the results of his work.

Faced with her sudden friendliness, Ji Mingche didn’t react at all, only curling his lips in mockery.

For some reason, he had a feeling he could transfer the great fortune he possessed to Fang Yunxian.

The physical body is the foundation of cultivation, but the body itself does not define the path. The road to enlightenment is vast, and tempering the body is only one of many ways. Among these myriad paths, there is no absolute strongest—each has its strengths and weaknesses.

Mo Yishen gazed at her, his eyes deep as ink, a meaningful smile flashing across his lips as he spoke in a low voice, “I don’t mind lowering myself a bit.” The implication was clear: he didn’t mind sharing a bed with her.

As with the nine great divine clans—Qilin, True Dragon, Phoenix, and others—though blessed with extraordinary gifts and fated to be prodigies, their growth was much slower than that of other cultivators, with childhoods that stretched on endlessly.

While watching a movie, Qianshui wanted to see a detective film, but Mu Ziyu pointed to a medieval romance instead.

After finishing my first art class that afternoon, I deliberately went to Class 5, Grade 1, to check on Zhao Xuanxuan. I hadn’t seen her these past two days and wondered if she’d recovered. I found her leaning against a stone pillar outside the classroom, lost in thought.

But now, she seemed to sense something. Of course, at this moment, Mo Yishen would never confess.

With me acting as a human shield, Li Yanyan and her sisters couldn’t get close to Zhao Xuanxuan. Frustrated, they cursed and tried to push me aside, but I refused to budge.

“The current president of the Mo Group, Mr. Mo, has bid ten million! Is there anyone with a higher offer?” The host shouted excitedly from the stage, spittle flying with every word.

“Well, that’s true. It took a year of hard work,” Qian Zhian replied nonchalantly. Even though his family later went bankrupt, he still had his sister, the pillar of their home. Whatever reward she gave, he felt it was nothing much.

The system displayed the name and prompted that, after removing the venom gland, it could be eaten—delicious, free of parasites, safe to consume raw, and snake blood would even slightly enhance physical constitution.

In the end, he simply chose to use Gu Chen’s method to deal with him—just pretend Gu Chen didn’t exist.

Sirran let out a cold laugh, downed a glass in one go, and felt a warm rush as the hot wine slid down her throat, though it did nothing to dispel the sadness—just as when she’d fled the Study of Accumulated Words, and Xuan Zheng had looked at her, speechless, as she left.

In that moment, blood surged to his head, his body trembling with rage.

Yi Chuanzong lounged leisurely on a bench, a pillow sewn for him by Sister Hua tucked under his head.