Volume One, Chapter 24: The Recording

Lin Wantai carried the bowl of medicinal soup, walking through the long corridor toward Murong Yunyi’s sleeping quarters. Along the way, she kept pondering who might want to frame her. Was it the young maid? Or Zhao Qian? Or perhaps someone else?

He was a spirited man, sharp and shrewd as only a merchant could be, recognizing the significance of the laboratory. Jiang Xuan’s earlier performance in actual combat left much to be desired, but after she followed Dr. Geng and participated in other training projects, her progress was unmatched.

Director Yuan, evidently in good spirits, was no longer secretive and explained in detail the unique features of this Yao puppet. On the first floor, after entering a room, Uncle Tong pressed a button, and instantly the entire room rotated, flipping to reveal a space between the first and second floors.

Apollo picked up the thin flatbread smeared with sauce, took a bite, and after a few chews closed his eyes in blissful enjoyment.

Could a person’s sins be washed away with their blood, dissolved by their death? Xu Shuo gazed quietly at the blood staining the ground, watching Lazhu slowly die before him, lost in contemplation.

The records noted that the grain disappeared at a branch of the Yangzhou Canal, near Misty Mountain.

As for the sects, it depended mainly on martial talent. Families who joined usually ended up as servants or dogs; unless one was a direct disciple, it was difficult to access the core techniques. Joining the court was somewhat better, with specific paths for advancement.

“Die.” Wu Gen slashed fiercely forward. In ordinary times, his blade energy could have cut dozens of yards, but suppressed by the dense blood aura around, it barely reached a few yards before fading.

Zhuoke and Ha Ying clasped their hands in agreement, nodded to Xue Xin, selected twenty frail horses, and slipped behind the Black Tower family’s troops.

Wei Mingjie could no longer endure it; he clenched his fists and charged at Bai Li Hongzhe with a gust of wind!

“One heart is still a heart.” No matter how outstanding the Heartless were, they were ultimately failures. The ones with hearts were no longer under control, perhaps it was this very heart that made them exceptional. For a time, she had even been fond of the Heartless.

Ling Wushuang said nothing, simply raised a hand and gently patted Princess Qingyang’s hand, then continued walking forward.

A sound, half dragon’s roar and half serpent’s hiss, echoed through the empty underground space, lingering long after Second Uncle’s words ceased.

“I knew the first thing you’d notice would be the box,” Lu Tingwei beamed, instructing his men to open it. Inside was a bamboo basket.

Instantly, even the admirers of the young master felt that having someone like Shu Jingrong around was a good thing—at least there would be someone to help deliver things in the future.

Both took out their fire-starting tools. Unlike Sumu’s clumsy hands, with a gentle tap, a spark ignited.

Noble Consort Wen tried to argue, but Consort Hui quickly left, not being foolish. Cradling the Eighth Prince, she returned to guard the entrance of the Palace of Eternal Spring; the Niohulu clan would not be climbing over the walls again.

“It’s all thanks to Second Brother.” She sat beside him with her spoils, rested her head on his shoulder, and chattered away.

Lan Qi felt a tremor in her heart. The ruthless strength hidden beneath Juechan’s easy smile was what she lacked in her bones. She dared not hope for Juechan to be her lifelong ally, but she needed such an arm to help her accomplish what she herself could not bear to do.

Long Luo cast a grateful glance at Zhu Ning. The power of the Black Cauldron needed no explanation; its force was at the peak of the Divine Emperor. Had that attack struck him, it would have meant certain death, but Zhu Ning had shielded him from the black beam, saving him from annihilation.