Immortal Dust

As soon as the radiant light of Quasi-Ti swept forth, a great seal shot out from the side. On the surface of this seal, the true meaning of martial arts manifested. At first glance, it seemed unremarkable, but where the uninitiated saw only spectacle, the discerning recognized its depth. That seemingly simple martial intent was, in fact, a return to the fundamentals of nature—this seal was in no way inferior to the sacred light conjured by Quasi-Ti.

The dragon vein was an irresistible temptation for him; should he succeed in obtaining it, it might well transform his very foundation and fate.

Along the way, many who observed Ye Han, exuding an extraordinary presence from head to toe, could not help but narrow their eyes in surprise.

Qinghui’s gaze flickered briefly, then she regained her calm, even taking the leisure to brew tea. Her movements flowed like drifting clouds and flowing water, brimming with grace.

In theory, with her and Lu Feng—two peerless masters—joining forces to intervene, none should have been able to resist.

Meanwhile, as the hunt for the chaotic beasts continued, Minghe kept a watchful eye, observing everything: the habits and territories of these beasts. Everywhere he passed, Minghe recorded their details onto his map of chaos, marking all information for future use.

Every time Zheng Xiujing received her New Year’s money, she would flaunt it before Cheng Shiyuan, counting and recounting it with delight.

The city’s patrolling guards served more as a deterrent than a real fighting force; they rarely needed to act, so their weapons, apart from being sharp and sturdy, had little else of note.

In truth, he envied Xiahou Yu. Though Xiahou Yu had awakened only a fifth-grade celestial bloodline, which was far inferior to his own, there was something admirable about him.

At this moment, inside Shen Xing’s villa, Qin Ming suddenly looked up, a faint, disdainful smile curving on his lips.

You Fu, touching his nose, rose to make tea, telling himself once more that being scolded by one’s father at his age was, in its way, a blessing.

Yet Bai Xinyu did not realize that many things would not pass her by simply because she chose not to involve herself; but that is a matter for another time.

Su Qiuyi instinctively refrained from saying much about her own situation. Her injuries were not fatal, and she was still taking medicine, so she brushed it off, telling the other to await news before logging off.

With a hint of threat in his words, Wen Song steadied his mind and glanced at Shen Mingyi in the arena. The latter was wholly absorbed in polo, paying him no heed.

A maid had long been waiting at the door with a basin of water. Wen Song took it, entered, and, rounding the screen, met a pair of resentful eyes.

“Me?” Jiang Cixue was unsure herself—whether it was she or her predecessor, it was the first time either had tried forging weapons.

They all remained in the dark, watching her fade day by day, until now her face was gaunt and withered.

Leaning on the window frame, Wen Song reached out involuntarily, and a jade-green leaf drifted down, landing squarely in her pale palm.

Ming Hongguang’s upbringing taught him to avoid killing unarmed surrendering foes if possible, and his current power did not allow him to slaughter the nobility at will, lest he draw too much attention.

The buns and porridge before Mo Canghai remained untouched, betraying how anxious he truly was beneath his calm exterior. He quickly rose and said, “Let’s go together.” After paying for breakfast, he left with Xiao Yang.

Though they were cultivators of the Nascent Soul stage, if faced with a hundred thousand physically powerful beastmen, it would be impossible to wipe them out in a short time.

Ye Han chanted in a low voice. In an instant, the ghosts that had been lurking nearby seemed to be struck by lightning, panicking and scattering. They were deeply repelled by the power released from the Soul-Sealing Array, fleeing far away.

He had often asked those who delivered goods to them where they came from, but every time, the old man would only smile and refuse to answer. If pressed, he would prevaricate, so to this day, Lin Yifeng still did not know their true identities.

For so many years, she had lived in torment; now, disappointment felt like a kind of release.

“Yes, sir!” the subordinate answered in excitement and immediately rushed out of the tent. The general’s intentions were clear—likely a night raid. He would finally get his fill of killing.

The ancestral house had sunk dozens of meters, forming a deep pit.

“Well done!” As Huang Xuanling hefted the stone pedestal, Huang Zhentu and others cheered loudly, while Nie Cuifeng and the others echoed their praise with forced smiles. Yet none of their hearts were truly at ease.

“I’ve never had a drink before,” Yang Xue said to Lin Yifeng after the server left, pursing her lips.

By then, I had already darted out of the cornfield, but I did not stop running. I knew that, with those two dog dealers out of commission, there was no way they would ever let me go now.

Just as a scholar was about to respond, several graceful figures flashed past the door—Xia Ji and her companions entered.

Every time, when Salon and his men transported cargo to East Turkestan, they would also bring goods back; this was called “never returning empty.” In every SUV’s trunk was a wooden crate. Opening it revealed weapons and even rocket launchers and heavy machine guns.

He was about to succeed; soon he would no longer need to fear Sikong Yanfei threatening his throne.

Ling Xiquan instinctively rose and looked back, but after crouching for so long, her knees were numb and sore. She stumbled, quickly reaching out to steady herself and prevent a fall.