When a pie falls from the sky, it is either poisoned or past its expiration date.

At this point, Xie Yihuang paused briefly before continuing, “But a good friend once told me that a salted fish without capital will ultimately just be dead fish. In other words, if you wish to let yourself go but lack the power to control your own future, it is simply impossible—unless you choose death. Society will show you that if you don’t advance, others will; if you don’t eliminate others, you will be eliminated. So, to abandon all effort, you must stand at a certain…”

At last, a rare smile appeared on Jin Shengwei’s face. Though it remained as eerie and frightening as ever, Lu Qing’er could sense the joy emanating from deep within him.

Chen Bailang’s actual strength was unknown to Chen Qingyang, but the man who accompanied Chen Bailang, Huang Fengming, had once fought against Master Xuanku—a ruthless figure. Chen Qingyang doubted that the old monster living in the Forbidden City with the Ye family was any stronger than Huang Fengming.

Suppressing the origin of the continent’s fortune, Chen Ting raised his head and let out a long howl; thunder rumbled across the heavens, his body quaking as ninety-nine divine beams pierced through. Before every portal of time and space, a towering figure appeared, mountain-like in stature. Countless heavenly sigil patterns shifted, and a vast flood of martial arts converged, evolving myriad worlds, the wheel of life and death turning.

Fu Qingyang searched his memories intently and finally recalled seeing a portrait of Lady Huang in the handscroll.

If this was truly what she thought, it was quite ideal: it solved the loneliness and required no responsibility, just the price of a hotel room—which she would pay.

It had been more than a year since Chen Qingyang last saw Shen Hongjun. He felt somewhat guilty, though he did not regret his resolute decision to leave the Yanhuang Organization.

Faced simultaneously with three Martial Emperors, two of whom had mastered elemental transformation, the Divine Qilin of the Wilderness found itself more powerless than ever.

Of course, neither of them would actually check online; they merely exchanged glances, offering each other comfort and encouragement with their eyes.

Sitting on a stool with his legs crossed, Lang Bin lit my cigarette. Squinting, I asked him a question.

In the end, I let her apply the medicine to my body; from time to time, she’d even type out messages, saying I truly resembled Zhang Hao in his youth.

“Why? Hunting only requires hounds to track, and hunters to point the way. Why must I go somewhere so dangerous?” Zhen Yi reacted fiercely.

“The first time I saw Silver Jade, he was so proud, so dazzling—how could I have imagined that he would be forced to humble himself in this palace of mine?” Sheng Xiyu’s tone was tinged with rare wistfulness.

The spiritual energy was gentle, the foundation of all things; every creature could thrive nourished by its power.

He wore pure white robes, spotless as snow, a jade dragon pendant hanging at his waist, and lightly waved an ink-black fan with a jade handle.

Had it not been for Tang Yang’s explanation nearby, I might never have understood the true power of this formation.

I remember that last year, the Lin Group’s annual revenue was five billion; this year, their achievements should be even greater.

“Well…” Sun Shoutian stroked his chin and pondered for a moment, wanting to say something more. But seeing the bankers approach the chest, he hurriedly nodded, “Alright, I’ll try it next time,” and turned to enter the box.

Brown sugar water was out of the question; Zhen Yi cautiously asked about red dates, walnuts, and peanuts, but was met with refusals each time.

The other travelers in the group were not troubled for long by the elderly couple’s matter. After their meal, they were all smiles, clearly satisfied with the food. Hu Yi led them back to the hotel, feeling utterly exhausted, but since several guests still wished to visit the casino, he summoned his energy and escorted them onward.

With each launch, the Red Army would clap in unison, their applause rhythmic and full of spirit, cheering on their comrades; the Red Army even sang revolutionary songs for the Bells.

Thus, that night, the screams above the Ji residence never ceased. KNE had been struck in the numb point and was hung in the garden. Cui Hua would occasionally lash him with her tail, and Yuan Yuan even urinated on his head.