Chapter Seventy-Three: A Tool

Yuan Xiangdie gently tapped Julie’s arm, watching Lida as if she could use a bit more force, but in the end Julie’s wish was not fulfilled—for she too now had someone to shield her. Jin Yuan, with a beaming smile, turned and greeted Mr. Mi behind him with respectful humility.

“Mr. Mi, you seem younger every year. Life grows more comfortable, and I suppose having such a lively daughter plays a part in that.”

“Mr. Jin, you flatter this girl. We’re just grateful not to mind her quirks; lively, you say, but if anything, she’s like a wild goat… Only your wife would be willing to befriend her.”

Zhao Ziqian remained unmoved, but Menghui pursed her lips ever so slightly. This task had originally belonged to Linglong. Now, with the sudden announcement that the Witch Clan would recall the “Ten Witches,” the entire world of scholars and nobility was stirred, as were royal powers. Protests began to rise, for the “Ten Witches” were all figures whom everyone longed to see destroyed, and dissatisfaction echoed from many voices.

The way she was bound resembled a method of torture: ropes crossed over her chest, accentuating her proud silhouette with stark clarity.

A few seconds later, she was poisoned to death, leaving only Wang Zhaojun. Li Mingyou, knowing her strength, felt no fear and went out to confront her directly.

“I’ll take you to the Divining Hall. They’re desperate now; it’s time you showed your face.” As Shi finished speaking, Xiao let out a roar, transforming into a tiger’s howl, its lingering echoes hanging in the air for days. Everyone in the street was stunned, some dropping to their knees.

Motian had lost much of his magic, his expression wan and weary. He shook his head. “Ah, I am far weaker than in my past life. My current strength is simply too low!” Clearly, he was deeply dissatisfied with himself.

Next came poetry to enliven the gathering, with silk music as accompaniment, continuing until the moon rose above the treetops, and only then did Hunluo return.

The entire region soared to a height of one hundred and eight thousand feet, piercing the clouds. Standing there, a tremendous celestial force pressed down upon all present; wild winds howled, and the temperature abruptly dropped by several dozen degrees.

Jinpeng’s removal was orchestrated by Qin Jian, who knew well what consequences would follow if the interrogation yielded no one today.

Of his second son’s cultivation, Liu Wencang was most aware. If all went as expected, Liu Shengkuang would likely reach the threshold of the Body Refining Grandmaster, or even higher realms in the future.

Seeing that Li Yan had not deceived him, the Red Sun Daoist smiled faintly, summoned a stream of true energy, and sent the Jade Qilin back to Li Yan’s side. Such celestial treasures held no interest for him.

In his eyes, young and accomplished cadres like Li Tianyi rarely possessed true ability. Either such a person had connections or background, enabling them to rise quickly, or they had certain talents—but often lacked a solid foundation. Their foresight was keen, yet it was difficult for them to devote themselves fully to their work.

The five hurried down the tunnel, where three more turntables awaited. The three replicated their previous actions, closing the secret passage’s doors together.

From the Great Buddha statue to the mountaintop, a plank road followed the river. Though rebuilt many times, it remained perilous. Duan Lang, led by Qingqiu Die, admired both the scenery and the beauties, journeying in silence.

Gu Beichen’s mood grew increasingly heavy at the thought, yet for what reason… He did not seek it, nor wish to probe the cause of such feelings.

Rong Zheng glared at his father, his eyes nearly popping out. “Your son’s face was slapped so loudly by this brat, and you still laugh and praise the child for reaching a certain level of bear-like mischief. Whose side are you on?”

When pushed to the brink, people grow calm. Even if the road leads to death, she would see it stained with his blood.

Chapter 18: Father and Son

In the hotel room, Zhuo Ling emerged from his shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His lean, upright physique was on full display. His hair was damp, droplets falling from the ends, trickling down his spine and merging into a stream that slid along the contours of his back muscles.