Chapter 42: What Kind of Divine Supplier Is This!

Just as the brother and sister were discussing, Gu Yonghuai walked in from outside.

"Boss, the stall has been set up."

"Is there anything else that needs preparation?" Yu Zui inquired.

"No, everything is ready." Gu Yonghuai was in a fairly good mood. Being able to come out for a walk and see different scenery, even though it was only for seven days, was still quite nice.

Just as he was crafting it earlier, a crowd of tourists had gathered around him, with exclamations of praise continuously rising. This was—

Zhuang Qingqing leaned in for a stealthy look. Huo Ting? He hadn't left? He was actually sleeping inside the car?

Though his movements were subtle, his heart could not suppress a restless agitation—if he wasn't mistaken, this should be a poison.

Political Commissar Wang smiled bitterly to himself. If Deputy Hall Master Zhou Hua were to find out that he was being used as a shield by two opposing factions in such a meeting, heaven knows what his thoughts would be.

The new recruits seemed to have already been briefed, so they cooperated fully with her visit. However, time was rather tight; after finishing their meal and resting for only a short while, they were plunged back into a new round of training.

Nodding slightly, she reined in her thoughts, steadied her mind, and stopped paying attention to the situation of the blood ape on the solitary peak, focusing instead on the heavenly tribulation descending from the firmament.

Looking at her—eyes brimming with tears yet forcing herself to appear strong and cheerful—Tang Huai's heart felt a slight, heavy tug.

Hu Bugui shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, the contents of that letter... according to regulations, must be withheld. Therefore, Zheng Haodong... your Uncle Zheng was unable to read it." Changing "Zheng Haodong" to "Uncle Zheng" felt rather unaccustomed to Hu Bugui.

Hope is fundamentally something that neither exists nor doesn't exist. Because it exists, one wishes to persevere, and the image held within one's memory will never remain entirely unchanged.

"Hey~~ ya, ai-ya-yo-hey-ya-yi-ya-yi-ya-yo!" The elderly orc hit a high note first, then continued to sing in a resonant, lingering voice.

"Both of you are friends, let's not resort to drastic measures." Zaker smiled, the orange-red fire power on his body almost igniting the entire valley, yet he kept it reined in without releasing it.

Zhang Xinxin said somewhat mysteriously, leading Lin Ju to the side wall of Su Hua's flower shop.

Xia Yu was startled. Since the princess consort would not come out herself, why ask her to go in? Nevertheless, she entered the room, only to find Li Yue wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the bed.

"Why not? I don't care whether she is Eastern or Western; since she sacrificed herself to save Disciple Brother Xiao, she is qualified to inherit my supreme skill," said Bai Jinru.

Xiang Fang had just been thinking about the wheelchair. He intended to install prosthetic limbs for the young master of the Liu estate, but Luhua had told Juzi to have him take a wheelchair for the young master's use first, adding that he would be responsible for the wheelchair's sales. At the time, Xiang Fang had found it strange—once people were fitted with prosthetics and could walk again, why would they ever need a wheelchair?

With a trace of sarcasm, Li Ji rose, wrapped her gorgeous cloak around her shoulders, and turned to leave once more with an air of haughty arrogance.

However, seeing Chu Jiao's resentful gaze, as if she understood what the other wanted to say, she hesitated for a moment and nodded.

Muyang finally caught up with Li Yue at the foot of Chifeng Mountain. Li Yue was sitting under a tree to rest when a pair of brocade boots appeared before her eyes.

Yan Shuyan looked toward True Immortal Licuan. Since most of the people had already left, why wasn't she taking out any flying vehicle yet? She was still curious about what kind of flying vehicle True Immortal Licuan used.

Hearing this, Cheng Yang hurriedly reached out, grabbed an outer garment, draped it over her shoulders, and stepped forward to pull open the door.

Only then did Xing'er sit down at the table, open the box, and take out a dagger from within, staring at it in a daze.

If they aren't immortals, why are they all so powerful? And flying swords? If these people aren't immortals, what are they?

Sima Sen's eyes tightened. She had received the clothing last night—had she always known what her father had been doing?

Anran wore the expression of a white-winged angel, looking at him with a smiling gaze—as contemptuous as one could possibly be.