Chapter 75

Cheng Xinyan’s pupils contracted sharply. She immediately raised her hands to search herself, then pressed her fingers against her own pulse. In the next instant, her face turned ashen, her feet faltered, and she staggered back a few steps before sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

Moments later, as the seal was completed, he felt as if he was utterly imprisoned within a confined space; every current of air around him had frozen. His body was completely immobilized, as though countless iron chains and cords had bound him in an unbreakable cell.

Her words were half in jest, half in earnest. She remembered then that the mistresses of the third and fourth branches each had their own formidable skills. In her heart, she thought that if there had to be a main mistress, a monk would be preferable to demons and monsters. Everything was prepared; now it depended on whether they could persuade the old matriarch to set aside her prejudices.

“It’s nothing,” she replied softly to Elma. Nordland’s gaze slowly swept over the group. In the coming days, their time together would become rare indeed.

The last trace of color drained from Ye Wuhuan’s face. With a bitter, self-mocking smile, he thought to himself: to sever the root of affection—hah, so this was all just wishful thinking on his part.

“There is no medicine,” Qing Ying sighed. She truly wished for a cure-all to heal her master’s illness, but such miraculous remedies are not easily found. She had attended just now, and saw that his face was poor and he showed little respect to Master Yu. Still, she had prayed continuously and treated him with utmost reverence, even pleading for a prescription at the end.

Gao Jingjing trembled violently. If she’d known her provocation would elicit such a response from Jie Yifan, she would never have made such a foolish mistake.

A silver bolt of lightning struck the magic staff in her hand, her grip loosened, a sweet taste rose in her throat as she spat blood and staggered back several paces, staring in shock toward the source of the roar.

In real life, I’ve met two people with mental illness—one was this relative, the other a colleague. Both were under intense pressure, crying themselves to sleep, only to wake up deranged.

The weather in the twelfth lunar month was indeed frigid. The biting wind felt like knives. Yun Zhen wore a fur jacket and pants, and driving the sled required energy, so he didn’t feel too cold. Jinxiu, sitting still on the sled, wrapped in a quilt, found it was still not enough to keep warm.

Wei Sa glanced sideways, the corners of her mouth lifting. Lady Yu was becoming ever more reckless, lying with such conviction even in front of Wei Ying.

She never expected Ji Ruyan would commit a crime against her own father, letting him die without lifting a finger to help, and even leading others in ransacking the Ji residence.

“Empress Dowager, please don’t say that,” Consort Liu, Consort Jing, and Luo Qingrong all knelt by the Empress Dowager’s feet. An elder expressing lifeless despair was tantamount to accusing her descendants of filial failure.

Back when Lin Jingrong was alive, Du Zicong, the glutton, was just the same—snatching countless delicacies from the solitary An Hexuan’s plate.

“There’s not much we can do. Even though we’ve long known the truth, we’re powerless. All we can do is wait and see,” Luo Shuncheng said, his brows furrowing.

An Bo’s question made Han Jingxuan’s heart clench, and even the usually expressionless Duanmu Hao’s eyes took on an icy sheen.

“Do you think I’ll believe a word you say?” Duanmu Hao idly ran a fruit knife over an apple on the table.

“To the city hospital.” Duanmu Hao, holding Han Jingxuan as blood still gushed from her shoulder, felt his mind thrown into chaos by her actions. Someone would actually use their own body to protect him? He was a man abandoned by the Heavenly Emperor—how could anyone risk their life for him?

Liuli barely suppressed a shiver and quickly said, “How could I dare?” She had always found Yiyi cold toward her, and this sudden change unsettled her.

Just then, the back door of the bar opened and a burly man stumbled out, apparently drunk.

The synchronized sound of twenty thousand heels striking the ground became a mighty torrent, thunderous and grand.

After Yu Xinyu’s heartbreak, she didn’t hesitate—she tilted her head back and downed her drink in one go, making Xu Minglang frown.

“Senior brother!” The young man, a peak-level second tier, froze for a moment before gritting his teeth and pressing his hand to the Bloodthirsty Demon Flute.

Old Tang solemnly bowed to his father as thanks, left him dazed and speechless, and turned to walk out the gate.

Zuo Yunshang shook her head. On the field of competition, things changed in an instant—who could truly foresee the future?

Mo Shu hurriedly knocked on the minister’s door. She was supposed to supervise that day’s matches, and could conveniently catch a glimpse of Fan Yuli through the internal broadcast.

“Don’t you understand, sir?” Lady Li let her gauzy robe slip from her shoulder, speaking with a suggestive tone.

Infuriated, Zhao Tao hurled his milk tea at the table’s edge, where it burst open, splattering milky liquid all over his face. As it dripped one bead after another down his cheeks, Li Hao could only pity him.

Without another word, he walked to the bedside to check Su Yingzhi’s pulse. The man on the couch opened his eyes a sliver to observe the doctor, weak to the point that his voice was barely a breath.

Hearing the lively, unmistakable voices inside, Conan allowed a faint smile to appear on his face.

Red-Eyed Senior, kneeling before you is what I should do! You’ve entrusted me with this treasured legacy, you’ve given me the Snowflake Sword—so now, I am your disciple and successor.

Wherever he was, whenever it was, if the sect master called, he would appear instantly. Xing Shachen had never seen this man take a second step.

Before long, Zhang Facai’s smile grew wider and wider, finally blooming like a flower.