Chapter 42: Fatty Pork (Part Two)

The scene unfolding before them was utterly absurd.

They were all ruthless mountain bandits, accustomed to arson, murder, pillaging, torture, and extortion to extract wealth and provisions. Yet now, they were being held at sword point by a teenage girl who demanded to know the whereabouts of the stronghold's hidden treasures.

The targeted bandit wanted to stall for a moment before giving in. "I don't know..."

Swish!

The long blade pierced straight through his chest.

The stubborn bandit let out a miserable scream and crashed to the ground.

Pei Qinghe looked at the next one. "Do you know?"

Cang Yuan looked at Mo Beihan with genuine bewilderment. It seemed Mo Beihan wasn't entirely certain what kind of snake that was either, so why would he claim it couldn't be killed?

Bai Yunshan raised her hand and gave a gentle wave forward, causing the two "musclemen" to advance menacingly toward Han Shui'er step by step.

Using Flash and Moonlit Solitary Rain, he appeared in a secluded corner within Cloud Sea City, wiping the sweat from his forehead as a few dark lines etched themselves across it.

This attack against them was merely launched by a tributary branch. If their entire force were to assault this single city of theirs, it would crumble into ruins in a fraction of a second.

Cang Yuan was in no better shape; his body was already covered in numerous scratches. He even suspected that the people who had gone before him had slowly bled to death in this manner. After all, there was simply no shaking off these dense, intertwining thorn vines. Cang Yuan had considered flying up, but was instantly yanked right back down by a stretching tendril.

The net result was that two loyal subordinates spent the entire afternoon doing no actual work, devoting their total energy to keeping Mao Feifei under surveillance.

"Hmph, trash," came the low, cold hum of Heavenly Wrath. His massive, towering physique looked even more imposing under the glare of the sunlight, while Iron Soul, standing right across from him, felt as though he were facing a blinding myriad of lights.

Ever since the incident involving Han Shui'er, Bai Yunshan had been locked away for about a week. She had also gone without a proper meal for roughly that same week.

"Now that we are divorced, Mr. Jing, please keep your distance from me." After finishing her porridge in one breath, Han Shui'er once again prepared to leave.

Therefore, at this moment, Baili suddenly spoke up to Jiu Huang, hoping to find out from her whether that person was a friend or an enemy.

Aside from him, she had only ever seen that kind of gaze in her mother's eyes—gentle, warm, and brimming with an unshakeable, deep-rooted affection.

In truth, right upon arriving in the capital, quite a few people had already put this request to Qian Lele, who was in charge of receptions, only to be brushed off with the excuse that she lacked the authority to make that decision. According to Qian Lele, reaching the second floor of the laboratory fell within her jurisdiction, but anything higher strictly required Tian Lu's personal approval.

"General Liu is truly bold and heroic, Twelve admires you!" Liu Heita at this moment was brimming with an imposing, towering spirit and looked full of vigor. Even the Sword Lord, transformed into an evil Confucian scholar, couldn't help but voice his praise. Although his tone remained twisted and peculiar, the young man's efforts had ultimately paid off, making it sound somewhat less grating.

Clearly, Leng Lie's mood today was exceptionally fine; his mouth hadn't stopped curving upward from the very first moment he laid eyes on Tian Lu.

Her mother's voice was soft and gentle. Even when delivering instruction, it bore no resemblance to the cold, disdainful side-eyes she used to endure in her past life when she secretly went to ask the needlework matrons for guidance.

By that time, the U.S. military was already well aware that the Chinese navy would undoubtedly cover the landing of the Marines, meaning the invasion fleet remaining at Arakan Port was bound to head south.

Ren Yuan looked leisurely as he stood at the intersection, though it wasn't as if he had nothing to do. Resting beside his feet was a piece of cardboard on which were scrawled the bold, sweeping characters: "Fortune Telling, Physiognomy, and Feng Shui." Ren Yuan's current identity was that of a wandering mystic and fortune teller.

The red horse galloped across the grassland for over ten minutes at full sprint, its pace never slowing in the slightest. It had already left Qiqi and the others far behind, completely out of sight, yet it still couldn't shake off the ultimate piece of stubborn plasters clinging to its back.

"Hmph! If imperial officials all went to work looking like you, the entire court would fall into chaos," Wang Ying remarked as she casually sought out a rattan chair and reclined in it.

At the heavy cost of roiling Qi and blood throughout his entire body, Lu Xuan finally probed the baseline of his opponent. The adversary was far more formidable than he had imagined; despite leveraging the downward momentum of a several-hundred-meter plunge, the peak attacking pressure had actually reached 1,500 kilograms.