Volume 1, Chapter 37: A Nocturnal Visit to the Boudoir

The study was enveloped in a profound silence.

Beside the writing desk, the wick of the lamp crackled as it burned, the melting wax unable to contain itself, sliding down the lampstand in thick, heavy ribbons.

The searing waxlight illuminated the face of the man seated behind the desk—his eyes were half-closed, his sharp jawline tilted slightly upward. The reflection of the candlelight in his eyes glinted like shards of cold, hard ice, yet the corners of his mouth held a faint, ambiguous smile, making his true emotions impossible to discern.

Word had come from the Yun household that very afternoon: the Zhou family wished to take Yun Xi as a bride, seeking to forge a marital alliance.

Perhaps he had been wrong, but having made his choice, he would see it through to the end. Lin Yi decided he would look back no more. His avatar had already emerged; he would cultivate the path of the immortals and the path of the void simultaneously, regarding neither as more or less significant than the other.

"If the Jingzhou army departs, we cannot simply sit here and await our doom. There are still over twenty thousand elite troops in the city. Should the Shanyue tribes join forces with the Jingzhou army, we may not be able to prevail."

Hu Zizai belonged to no sect; there were others like him in the Wizard Realm who answered only to the Wizard Association.

"Is that for real?" The muscular man eyed the Ferrari—factory paint, a 1987 F40. It had to be worth at least a hundred million yen. Impersonators of Tuxedo Mask had become rarer in recent years; seeing someone willing to place such a wager, he began to suspect that the man in the car might truly be the genuine article.

Watching the other families in the village enjoying their happy, harmonious lives, Ma Chunfang felt an ache growing deeper within her heart.

Xiao Mufan fought hard to suppress a laugh. He had to hand it to Beichen Xi; every time they met, he managed to smear his hands with the powder on Gu Qianyu’s face.

As the gray mist completely enveloped the black shadow, a sinister force began to coalesce, as if forging a suit of demonic armor before the shadow’s very form.

In her heart, Qin Muyao felt that not only did the things she was stir-frying consume a great deal of oil and salt, but her other dishes were equally demanding. However, she never complained that the household supplies were running low, and Jiang Yan’an never brought it up either—though, in truth, he was well aware of the state of their provisions.

Lan Feihong was anxious to scout for news of Bai Leng’er and had intended to refuse outright, but after a moment’s thought, he decided to go. After all, Feng Yao did possess some information, and consulting him was better than flailing about like a headless fly.

The mouth of the bag radiated a brilliant light, and the bodies of the skeletal generals lifted from the ground, clearly about to be sucked into the white cloth sack.

Several forum veterans were busy posting and bumping threads with great enthusiasm. If they were to hang a sign here, what should it be called? The Public Relations Department, perhaps.

Chu Ling lowered his gaze to the ground beneath his feet, his pupils constricting violently. The obscure, blurred patterns on the floor had suddenly become exceptionally clear, weaving and coiling in an incredibly bizarre fashion.

At first, Chu Ling had not understood Leng Wushang’s actions. But later, he finally grasped the profound intentions behind the man’s painstaking efforts.

Mr. Mo scrambled to help Mrs. Mo up. Seeing the injury on her face, he hurriedly opened the medical kit to apply ointment, but in his haste and distress, he knocked the kit over.

A moment later, a thunderous roar erupted as the room where Shentian had been staying was reduced to ash. The strange phenomenon at the Pavilion of Rules immediately drew the attention of the resident cultivators, who, along with the local inhabitants of the city, rushed toward the site.

Watching Ouyang Yan’s god-like swordsmanship, where a single stroke transformed into an ocean and ten thousand blades rang out in unison, one could see it had already become a world of swords.

The taverns and brothels that remained in business were either official establishments or had intricate ties to high-ranking court officials, some even being properties owned directly by the nobility.

The youth of the Primordial Heavenly Dragon tribe lay trampled underfoot, unable to move. His heart bled; he had failed to obtain the Divine Fetus of Precious Jade, his dharma-treasure-grade war bow had been seized, and more gravely, his very life was now in jeopardy.

Having long ceased operations, the sign of the "One Pot Tea House" was thick with dust, and the doors were sealed with strips of paper. Passersby walked with hurried expressions, looking utterly desolate and forlorn.

The assassin flew into a rage, his dagger flashing repeatedly in the cold light. In an instant, a dozen armored guards lay decapitated.