Chapter Sixty-One: Long-Standing Accumulation

Realizing the tide had turned irreversibly against him, Liang Zhicheng quickly assessed the situation and began to yield. He was clearly no fool; he understood the present circumstances and knew exactly what was in his best interest.

“It was me,” Liang Zhicheng said quietly. “It truly was me.”

Han Duoduo shrugged. “See? He arranged everything himself. I was just one of his pawns.”

“You’re no pawn. Between us, who’s really using whom is still uncertain.” Liang Zhicheng looked darkly at Han Duoduo. “You seduced me first. Do I really need to spell out your intentions?”

“You wanted to possess me!” Han Duoduo snapped back, as if wounded by the accusation.

“Enough. Your hatred for Yin Nian has long been—”

While Lei Yu pondered for a moment, the Emperor-grade Breakthrough Pill had already been bid up past ten billion, and the bidding still went on—proof of how rare such elixirs were in the world.

Indeed, seven years ago, he had spoken those very same words to her. Just now, he had simply spoken from the heart, but she had remembered every word, hadn’t she?

Recalling the battle in bed last night, Fu Chengjue’s thin lips pressed into a line. Though he had taken great advantage then, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been the passive one—a strange, inexplicable sensation.

Yet she couldn’t blame Aunt Tong for any of this. That woman had always treated her with genuine kindness; everything she had done was truly for her sake.

Han Yunlin blinked, gazing at Fu Chengjue, tears falling onto the white bedsheet and immediately spreading in a blurred stain.

People like Lei Yu, minor lords at the end of the line, could only sleep on grasslands, plains, or valleys, pitching their own tents, or paying to rent a place to stay.

The towering city gates, with their exotic style, bore a resemblance to the White Palace Casino in the imperial capital. A man in white dismounted his horse, stopped, and looked up.

Wei Li held a glass of lemon liqueur, biting on a colorful straw, his long eyelashes fluttering like fans.

Fu Qingdong, meanwhile, glanced discreetly at the ceiling above the gaming table. At a forty-five degree angle to each side, tiny pinhole cameras emitted faint, blinking red lights.

Naturally, the main focus was on climbing the mountain, passing the trial, and encountering the black dragon.

Perhaps there had been a great upheaval, as if some enormous beast was charging and leaping across the snowy mountain—or perhaps a trial-taker was shouting wildly.

Muller shook his head, gesturing that time didn’t matter, as long as the iron canister could be improved and made reliable—then everything would be negotiable.

He had only walked a few steps when he saw a group of three or five young men crowded at the street corner, fists and feet raining down on someone lying on the ground.

“I also got myself a bunch of rifle grenades with armor-piercing warheads and blanks to boost my penetration ability… With this, that semi-automatic won’t be nearly as useless in those tight spots.” Su Kui emptied out his backpack—apparently, that was all he had.

“Members of the Ghost Sect!” Upon seeing the newcomers’ attire, Wei Zheng’s face darkened, his eyes flashing with both wariness and a killing intent.

Yu Muyang placed the guitar in his hands, adjusted the angle slightly, and tested the sound.

All at once, a powerful aura swept through the previously lively association hall. In the morning light, Wugeng Liuli, holding a golden invitation, looked toward Fischer—who gazed back in delighted surprise.

Ling Tian didn’t even need his spiritual sense to know that this black-clad thief possessed the supreme power of innate perfection, far beyond anything an ordinary person could handle.

At these words, Qing He shot the two a deep look, her eyes dimming just a little.

Lei Ming’s team was headed to a place called the Sand Camp, said to be one of the harshest locations in the Northern Frontier.

“You—you’re Deputy Commander Xing.” Mo Lin had seen Xing Yu’s photo in the ministry office album before. Now, facing this legendary war god in person, he was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Of course, it’s not necessarily the number nine. Some have speculated that the Great Dao is fifty, of which the heavens calculate forty-nine, leaving one unaccounted for. But no matter how you look at it, there are far more than nine Daoist arts.” The old scholar continued, but Jiang Yu and the others were still too stunned to recover.

Yang Wudi halted, let out a cold snort, then slung his weapon over his back with his right hand while unleashing an endless golden light with his left. The light formed a massive cauldron before him, blocking the Blood Queen’s assault.