Volume One, Chapter 53: Former Love Versus New Flame, Children Prevail

Lian Hu repeatedly insisted he didn’t dare, but Zhang Yue’s words filled him with delight, and as he withdrew, a pleased smile lingered on his face. Peng Shisan, standing by, however, noticed that Zhang Yue had said “give” rather than “reward,” which warmed him deeply. After the others had left, he stepped forward.

Having finished speaking, the old man paid no heed to the bewildered Song Fan. His figure flickered, and in a flash, he disappeared into the nearby thatched hut.

“Can I really do it?” Itachi asked, lacking confidence. Uchiha Tong had always been his idol, someone he looked up to immensely, and he had never imagined that one day his idol would praise him so highly.

As luck would have it, the final winners turned out to be a “Russian girl and guy,” though not for the same film. The girl herself did not attend, so the director accepted the award on her behalf, but the Russian man was present and naturally took to the stage in person.

Ling Tian glanced downward again, only to find it impossible to see anything clearly. At the depths of his eyes, traces of the Primal Chaos Spirit Flame began to flicker, and the darkness before him gradually brightened. A heavy black iron chain hung down from the stone wall, seemingly without end.

After all, for someone who has risen to such heights, there’s hardly any need to stir up scandal—it’s not only a bit tacky, but in fact, does far more harm than good.

Ling Tian’s eyes sharpened as he spun around abruptly. He saw a handsome, sunny youth lounging casually on the windowsill, his face alight with a radiant, cheerful smile—a picture of vitality.

Giaccherini and Yedasi had only recently learned the word “Heroic Spirit” as it spread with the growing fame of the Sisterhood and Avalon.

Under the hungry gaze of thousands, the green vortex above the island began to subside. Quite a few people could no longer restrain themselves and rushed onto the sea, their vital energy erupting beneath their feet—allowing the deadly assassin Ling to witness firsthand the reality of “walking on water” as described in martial arts tales.

Next, Teng Han planned to leave the restaurant and shake off Yang Yixue. So, as he walked down the steps, he spoke gently to her, “I’ll go get the bicycle, all right? Wait here for me.” Teng Han intended to fetch his bicycle and then slip away through another route.

“There are already two—one more, and I’ll have enough ingredients to refine a full batch of Heavenly Spirit Pills. Let’s take care of the last one and then make a quick getaway.” With that, Wang Lei slipped out of Matsuo Shrine and headed towards Yasaka Shrine.

He’d certainly heard the title “Old Monster Wang.” After all, what Old Monster Wang had done in Japan a few months ago had shaken the entire martial arts world. Nearly everyone marveled at his power and youth.

At this moment, Mu Huanzhang had only one thought: to storm in and take Qin Xiao away. If not for Bai Feiyu and his bothersome bodyguards, Mu Huanzhang would have charged in to snatch her already.

After dinner, Old Yu and the others began packing their things—some daily necessities to take along, since even though they’d be staying in town, the village would still need to be visited regularly. The firewood for the shop, for example, was always brought from the village; buying it was too expensive, and as it was needed every day, they’d have to come back every few days.

“In truth, it’s nothing major. I just want you to keep Bai Feiyu busy, so he’s not so free all the time,” Mu Huanzhang said through gritted teeth.

“Come to think of it, both husband and wife have taken a life with their own hands,” Shen Ze mused, rubbing his chin and pushing his gold-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

The six-winged angels were furious with Wu Tian for diverting disaster their way—they truly wanted to chop him up, piece by piece, for dumpling filling. However, the Divine Codex of the God Clan, which Wu Tian wielded to uphold the new world, prevented the angels from mounting a full assault. Instead, Wu Tian, with the demonized fishmen hot on his heels, plunged straight into the angelic ranks.

But it was different for Mu Huanzhang, who answered the phone—he could see what was happening at the villa from the company. Watching the surveillance footage, he saw Qin Fan not playing with toys but dismantling them, which gave Mu Huanzhang a headache.

In the past, if Bai Wufan had advanced to Nascent Soul stage, as the Supreme Elder of the Divine Cult, he would have felt nothing but joy.

Yu Qingmei did not deny it; even her embroidery had brought her unusual happiness of late, and was it not simply because Brother Yan Yu was coming home?

Sun Jiagan wouldn’t dare criticize fate; his thoughts were snared in Fan Zhao’s logic, unable to break free, leaving him utterly dumbfounded.

“So what if I marry him? Do you believe I couldn’t have him throw open the city gates and let the army of the Great Qin Empire march right in, with just one word from me? Do you really think I want him to become some grand marshal? Nonsense!” Kong Nianci’s gaze swept the surroundings coldly.

He found a quiet spot, sat cross-legged, and settled down. With everything he needed in the Divine Dragon Ring, he would never go hungry or thirsty. He finished his meal quickly, set up the tent, and lay down to rest.

However, the structure of a Portuguese merchant ship was no match for a warship. Though it had cannons for return fire, it could hardly withstand assault from both sides at once.

Mochizuki Sanbei addressed Abe Yukihiro as “Abe Sensei” rather than simply “Sensei,” which, in etiquette-obsessed Japan, was a respectful form of address with a hint of caution in his tone.

“Go over tomorrow and bring her to me safe and sound. I won’t be at ease unless I care for her myself,” Li Muyuan ordered sternly.

As for He Xiaoqi, that marriage had been nothing more than a transaction. He had never truly loved her—or Bai Xue, for that matter.

The house had stood empty for nearly a year, but now its master had returned—reclining in a dragon-drawn carriage, no less. In Tai’an City, how many could claim such an honor?