Don't be angry anymore.

“Ling, don’t forget you still have me!” As she spoke, a young woman dressed in white approached; it was none other than Feng Yulin.

Yin Guohua’s words sounded light and casual, but Li Tianyi caught a hidden meaning behind them.

Just as Wu Chaozong was waiting, pleased and satisfied, for the people from the Square Precinct, the police entered. But they weren’t from the Square Precinct—they were from the Honggou Precinct. Without giving anyone a chance to explain, the officers directly took away Wu Chaozong, along with those involved in prostitution and solicitation.

Meng Ruping couldn’t help but laugh. Although Li Zhi’s method was rather “forceful,” it was certainly effective. If she’d known that a mere two million could solve her problem, would she have gone through all that trouble? She had nearly been driven to the edge.

It seemed clear that the demonic mark had not been planted by the city lord, Chen Ying, but was most likely the handiwork of Zhou Yunluo or another member of the Zhou family.

For a moment, the elders of Yingzhou Island, who had already worked out their strategies and policies, looked at each other in silence, no longer daring to speak.

Since they had come to donate, there was no question of going out for extravagant meals; the school leadership certainly wouldn’t arrange such things. Eating in the cafeteria would better demonstrate their thrift and dedication to education.

That proud and silent head at last drooped helplessly, collapsing before Emperor Qing, releasing the iron rod from its grasp in a gesture both unwilling and resigned.

Therefore, even though Zhao Guangming’s suggestion was rather unorthodox, breaking with traditional ways of thinking, the provincial leaders of Hexi were curious to see whether Nanping City might undergo some dramatic transformation as a result.

Yalan quietly picked up a pair of surgical scissors and hid them behind her back. If Black Lin Nan tried to kill Mo Xiaosheng, she would strike first. Even if it cost her life, it would be worth it to take down a Japanese officer who had harmed her compatriots.

Their clothing, too, was of different colors, clearly representing the five elements—gold, wood, water, fire, and earth.

Who would have thought that someone who appeared more delicate and gentle than anyone else, whose every word and gesture spoke of softness, could utter something so gentle yet so domineering?

“Another meaning? I think so too, but…I just don’t know what that other meaning might be,” the King of the Underworld spoke at last.

“Yes,” Mu Jianhe replied in a deep voice, his eyes fixed on Huoxi, waves of inscrutable emotion flickering in their depths.

Is the Sword of Freedom powerful? Not particularly. It was on the level of a semi-immortal artifact, which was already considered the pinnacle on the Blood Moon Continent, but compared to a true immortal sword, there was still a gap.

Of course, it wasn’t that she disliked Miaoyin Qing or didn’t wish to fetch her—she simply couldn’t bear to leave her own home.

At that moment, the Ancestor God paid a heavy price once again, producing a true god’s talisman. He spat upon it, and a glowing human figure gradually coalesced. As the radiance faded, a young man with a waterfall of black hair appeared.

When Quan Huaichen saw her take the initiative, he was first stunned, then delighted, and immediately gripped her hand tightly.

Now, a human of mediocre strength had managed to break through their ranks and approach them—how could they tolerate such insolence?

You know nothing, yet you open your mouths to spread rumors and slander others. Do you think that just because you got into this school, you’re somehow superior and can wantonly defame people?

In the course of the fight, Yin Luo and Wuji switched positions—Yin Luo now stood where Wuji had been, and Wuji had moved to where Yin Luo had entered.

“Yes, I want to oppose Lin Feng. I want to kill him,” Gu Qingruo said, her teeth grinding, her grip tightening on her sword. Every thought of Lin Feng seemed to turn her into a beast, her eyes bloodshot.

Mu Ting deeply and gently removed her bandage, examining her wound. From Wen Yunqing’s angle, she couldn’t see the storm brewing in his eyes.

Mo Qi was quite agile, choosing a skillful way to cushion her fall; Tan Ju, even more resilient, was like a wolf—no matter how he landed, he survived. But Bai Ma Xiao was less fortunate: unprepared, she was shoved out and landed face-first, nearly knocking out her front teeth.

“Let’s hope so.” Ji Long sighed, deeply admiring Mu Yun. As a high god, Mu Yun was compassionate, willing to sacrifice himself for the world; as a lover, he plotted everything for the one he loved, leaving all possible escape routes open for her.

At that moment, the immortal body began to emit fluctuations of law, distorting the space around it, devouring all the laws of heaven and earth.

Looking up, Achen stood dressed in red, her gown embroidered with spider lilies in black thread—ethereal and bloodthirsty. Her jet-black hair was loosely tied with a jade crown, giving her an air of unstudied elegance. Her face was like the moon at mid-autumn, her complexion like spring’s first blossom, her hair at her temples sharp as if carved by a blade, her brows like ink paintings, her cheeks like peach petals, her eyes like autumn waters.

Her so-called gift for growing vegetables was only to show that she could cultivate crops containing the ABR-1 factor; as for ordinary farming, that was hardly a special skill. Now that this was no longer possible, she would simply have to find another specialty.

“If you don’t have any other business, Sister Qiaosi, I’ll take my leave now,” Zhao Qingying said, unwilling to prolong the pleasantries.

Meanwhile, atop a tree, two cultivators sat side by side. One was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, ruggedly handsome; the other had long, narrow eyes, and though a man, possessed a kind of androgynous beauty—so striking as to seem almost wicked.

The Ministry of Rites? The day after tomorrow she was to be married into the Prince of Jin’s mansion; if officials from the Ministry were coming now, surely it was for matters concerning the wedding.

At that moment, Dong Zhanyun habitually helped his father lie down, saying as he did, “If there’s anything you need, just say it from bed. Don’t keep sitting up whenever you want to talk.” Then, without warning, Dong Zhanyun began to cry softly, tears streaming down his face.

With the other princes gone, the officials looked at Prince Zhe with greater scrutiny. Could someone so rarely seen in public, so silent by nature, so cowed by the other princes that he never dared retaliate, so lacking in any achievement for the realm—could such a man possibly shoulder the fate of Dayong?

Before the hall, the messenger had not yet arrived when he ran into the group that had just broken through the formation.

Suddenly, with a crisp snap, Yudie pulled her hand back, stuffed a candied hawthorn into her mouth, and swallowed it with a gulp.

The entire Yellow Dragon Cave was suddenly suffused with a powerful aura, sweeping away the silence from moments before. As his foot stepped forward, his hand moved as well—a long sword had somehow appeared, and as its blade swept through the air, his form leapt and danced in every direction.

Peng Mo looked at him, puzzled, and put away his smile. “It’s all right; you’ll remember in time,” he said, his gaze falling to the wound on the young man’s neck.