Volume One, Chapter 70: The Santana Sedan

Judging by her figure and posture, it was clear that “Mo Suxin” was not very old, yet she spent her days wrapped in black veils and shawls to conceal herself.

“So, what do we do now? Should I pack my things and leave with you?” Hu Qiao’er asked excitedly after coming down.

“However, judging by Qingxin Yu’s appearance, hair color, and voice, everything points to a young man, not someone of middle age, let alone a man of seventy. Could it be that he has taken some sort of elixir of immortality?” Wei Yan murmured to himself.

Bradley bared his own fangs, longer by half than Amai’s. Among vampires, the length of their fangs determined their strength. Amai looked at Bradley in astonishment.

“I really don’t get what’s wrong with me. My figure rivals a model’s, and looks-wise, I’m not inferior to those manufactured celebrities. As for skill... well, you’d know if you tried. So why won’t you give in to me?” Ouyang Huowu said with a playful grin.

In Yuan Mingcheng’s ear, the wailing of sirens was already rising, and he could even hear the roar of helicopters above.

Meanwhile, Han Yang stood aside, already laughing heartily—not because they had intruded on a Yamaguchi-gumi turf, but because it had been so long since they had all relaxed together like this. It was that brotherhood among them that made him laugh.

Zhou Chihu and Xia Qingran bantered back and forth like an old married couple, making one wonder if the two were actors at heart. Han Yang couldn’t help but burst out laughing at their antics.

When the War God League received the report, they went to suppress the situation. After a hard fight, they’d all been injured and managed only to recover the body of a single soldier from that unit.

Jianming stood with his sword, gazing at the heavens. Billows of smoke and mist shrouded the world, concealing its true face.

At this point, everyone understood: in such times, only those with soldiers at hand truly held power. All else—wealth, rank, family background—were no more than fleeting clouds.

What followed was a long wait for both sides, as more and more people gathered, pointing and whispering about those present.

Li Junhong and Wang Can were still his friends. The three of them often played games together late into the night and would frequent internet cafés.

Sun Xiao’s gaze was sharp enough to instantly see that Yun Zhiqing’s entire demeanor was nothing but an act.

Among the attendants, one man silently stepped aside and picked up a black suitcase.

In the glow of the sunset, a striking young man in jersey number 23 caught a teammate’s pass and sent the basketball cleanly through the hoop.

The man picked up his shovel again, scattering the glowing blue objects with a casual swipe before digging further.

They led the way ahead, and soon, they arrived at a strange place under the night sky.

The human wall blocking Wang Naicai toppled instantly, men collapsing to the ground, groaning in pain, unable to move.

The remaining thugs were startled by the sudden gunfire, and before they could react, the muzzle of Yang Jie’s gun spat bullets.

“You dare! If you drag me out, this child won’t survive!” the cat spirit shouted at me.

Impossible! There was no more time for hesitation. I stepped forward and left the golden-nanmu chamber, my foot landing directly on a heart—it felt so real.

“Corpse poison!” Old Five, Meng Han, understood at once, feeling Haibodong’s back, why the man, strong as an ox, had suddenly collapsed.

In the valley stood a grand mansion, one of the few such residences in the entire Muyun kingdom.

Many bonfires were neatly arranged, forming grid-like patterns. Around each fire were several tents, also perfectly lined up. Squads of soldiers marched in unison, patrolling the camp.

The black-robed disciple at the front suddenly realized the oppressive aura from You Lanmu had vanished. In his heart, his respect grew—such effortless concealment of power could only mean she was in the Foundation Establishment stage. His awe deepened.

Seven years had passed since the child’s fate became unknown; most likely, the child was long gone. After all, that child bore the blood of the Han family, and how could the royal family allow a Han heir to survive?

On either side of the shelf stood two cabinets; their contents hidden behind closed doors, so Wan Peng couldn’t tell what lay within. To the right was a bed, neatly made, suggesting this was not merely a place to detain and interrogate important prisoners, but perhaps also a place for Ren Shi to rest on occasion.

Upon finishing, Lan Sheng had already cleared the cups and dishes from the table, leaving it spotless.

In a flash, Wan Peng reached the edge of the formation, ready to dissipate it with a burst of true yang energy and control Qian Tu by other means.

Unlike the alluring and sensual dances at the Luoyang Huji House, the performances at Yong’an Lane were graceful and light. When a hundred beauties swept their silken sleeves, the floating gauze looked like clouds at sunset—one word: beautiful; two words: breathtaking. Even compared to the famous Dance of the Rainbow Garment that would dazzle the Tang Dynasty decades later, it was no less impressive.

After Ye Chen and his companions returned to the courtyard, he closed the main gate and set up a barrier around the perimeter.

Sometimes surprises are pleasant, sometimes alarming. The man following behind a young master, clad in a red robe, pockmarked, with a bulbous red nose and known as Sixth Master, was clearly not the former.

In contrast to the overall dejected mood, the atmosphere among the Chinese exchange delegation was exuberant, growing ever more intense. Bai Su’s victory was not just a win in competition, but brought dazzling honor to China.

The two exchanged awkward glances. Zhang Li gave a coquettish smile: “It’s just a photo, don’t take it so seriously.” With that, she ran off.

Xu Xia drove hurriedly, sunlight streaming across the sky, but his heart weighed down with sorrow. It was hard to imagine that someone as pure and optimistic as Qiao Yueyue, who cherished life, could meet such a fate. Was heaven truly blind?

Though his ears were ringing from the shock, Shentong had pulled his horse in time and avoided charging into the camp, so the impact was not severe. Yet at the tragic sight before him, his eyes reddened instantly. Unfortunately, Qutu Tong gave him no time to linger—suddenly, a bugle call pierced the night and shadows like dark clouds surged from the rear.