Chapter Thirty-Two: The “Attention” of the Heir of the Yun Family

Geng Pingqiu heard this but gave no reply, merely nodding as his gaze fixed on the Audi not far ahead.

In the next moment, Scythe Li would be rushing forward, closing in on his target, his hands already clutching the handles of the sickles at his waist. He couldn't help but lick his lips, as if he could already taste the blood of his prey on the tip of his tongue.

The offering of fifty thousand taels had indeed worked. Wang Zhenxi, after seeing Qian Baijiang and listening to his account regarding Long Yinle and Chu Ye, secretly mocked him for his foolishness. Outwardly, however, he was all sympathy, offering consolation before allowing him to stay temporarily at the Prime Minister’s residence.

“It’s all right now. Don’t wake my dad—he’s exhausted,” Ye Feng said softly, shaking his head and turning to glance at the other side. Ye Tianhong was sound asleep, yet his brows were tightly furrowed, as if even in his dreams he could not rest easy over his son’s illness. Such is the bond between father and son; who wouldn’t worry for their child?

He carried Yinle through the stone gate, not bothering to ask whether Wang Xiangjun or Chu Kun were hurt, but surveying the place before him. As Chu Ye had said, in the corner lay a heap of bones, sending a chill of terror through everyone present.

Under such psychological pressure, the results could be dreadful—often leading to erratic behavior, inferiority turning into arrogance, or seeking solace in alcohol, even drugs, to numb oneself in hopes of gaining some mental balance.

“I can’t be bothered talking to you. I’m going back to bed.” Long Yinle leapt from the wall, shuffling away toward Yingxiang Courtyard in his embroidered slippers.

The man known as Black Ghost couldn’t help but look back. He knew the position of the sentry, about sixty meters from the pier, while he himself now lay a hundred meters away, clutching his broken leg and rolling on the ground, flattening a swath of wild grass.

In terms of practicality, the dimensional transfer chamber seemed superior, capable of sending the demon’s true body to other planes.

Lightning looked at her mournfully, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “Princess, congratulations on your recovery. Let me call you ‘Princess’ one last time. After I am gone, please bury Lightning’s sword on Songhua Ridge.” With that, the sword slipped helplessly from his grip and fell to the ground.

Yesterday in the Netherworld, he had single-handedly battled nine masters of the dark arts, but they were too weak, and the fight ended before he’d even had a chance to truly kill.

By now, both Dugu Jian and Huo Yan, as well as Long Teng, knew well the stature of Xiao Fan, Cai Miao, and Xu Guang within the country.

As he finished speaking, a faint trace of lingering fear crossed Sun Zhiming’s face. He wasn’t lying—perhaps time would erase these anxious suspicions, but while watching the film, that feeling was immense and striking.

As he spoke, a hint of anxiety crept into his expression, his eyes glancing backward.

Zhao Fuguo swept his gaze over the languid Lan Si, then at Leng Junhao, whose face was ashen. He understood perfectly well that Zitong was special to Leng Junhao, though the man himself had yet to realize it. But Lan Si’s behavior now left him puzzled.

Lele wondered if she’d stepped on a landmine—how had she managed to get Lian Aotian involved? Wasn’t this just making trouble for herself, and now everyone was dragged in? The old man had even mentioned the neighbors next door.

“Come on, let’s change and go swimming—the sun’s so warm, and the water’s just right!” Now it was Tian Lu’s turn to be impatient. She was eager to show off her beautiful figure in hopes that Zhang Glasses would notice her—he was the ‘perfect’ man, and she longed for a grand, passionate romance with him.

Ye Qihai raised his head, his face twisted in grief and remorse, blood running freely from his forehead and sliding down his cheeks in crimson rivulets, making for a ghastly sight.

“It’s all right, I came prepared. Besides, I don’t like soft drinks. Don’t worry about me.” Chen Xinyi smiled as she opened her own thermal flask, releasing a faint, elusive floral fragrance.

A crack of thunder echoed from the sky. The Child of the Forest wrenched his left hand free from the shackles of the spatial bonds. He reached out, gripping tightly at the White Snake’s neck, intent on breaking its restraints.

In a world guided purely by the twisted principle of “as long as you catch mice, it counts,” the so-called traditions of elite schools had long been cast aside. The memory-imprinting program could turn any student who made it in into a genius. Few cared anymore about character or effort.

Information—this was the key for Lin Jian to convince other players to unite against the Game King.

Xia Meng was right beside him; the person T0 had just described was Xia Meng herself—a human more powerful than the robot emperor. Su Lin felt conflicted, his feelings toward Xia Meng impossible to untangle.

Ling Qi swallowed hard, her instincts warning her that an astonishing secret was about to be revealed.

As a world-class metropolis, the Imperial Capital’s population surpassed that of many mid-sized European nations. In such a vast city, one could encounter all sorts, and tall people were hardly a rarity.

A one-ton warhead and its remaining shell crashed hard into the yellow sand, kicking up a wave that submerged the maneuvering target not far away—a Federation Army Big-Tray land artillery ship. Yet, it sustained no substantial damage.