Volume One, Chapter 86: When Enemies Meet

On the map, three factions stand out as most noteworthy. The first is Wind-Filled Pavilion, an inn open to cultivators, where every room is arrayed with formations that make cultivation inside far superior to the outside world. The second is Treasure Hall, living up to its name; within its storied floors, one can buy any materials or magical tools a cultivator might need. With a fair amount of spirit stones on hand, a visit there could yield weapons and treasures to strengthen oneself. The final force is the Pill Nurturing Workshop, whose name speaks for itself—a place specializing in the sale and purchase of pills and rare herbs.

“Pill Nurturing Workshop.” Ji Die came here in search of Foundation Establishment Pills and paid particular attention to this establishment, lingering a moment longer in his scrutiny.

That worry was never for himself nor anyone else—it was for that man. Tang Hao was well aware of this fact. Perhaps it could only be called shrewd selfishness; never offending his mother-in-law or sister-in-law, always making up the numbers and seizing a bit of advantage when possible.

At the start of the year, Xiao Yunting had stopped taking medicine, but Liu Li, after checking Chu Xiangwan’s pulse, said that bathing in those medicinal waters had delayed her physical maturity, and it would be best to postpone having children.

Zhang Luo was about to speak about those two items, but a chill swept through him, making it impossible to utter a word.

A certain assassin organization, renowned for its strength and expertise in doppelgangers, assassination, and concealment, had once tried to collaborate with them, but the other party paid them no mind whatsoever.

Cheng Junwan’s body trembled slightly. Though she had prepared herself for death, when the moment truly arrived, she realized her fear was overwhelming.

No matter how wildly their imaginations ran, none could fathom why this scene had unfolded.

Zhang Mo swung his sword at the serpent vines entangling him. Though these vines had become monsters, they still could not withstand Mad Wu.

After more than a hundred years of development, the Divine Physician Hall has now become one of the world’s leading orthodox medical institutions.

But Xiao Bohan still dared not be careless. Better to wipe out a village than to spare a single household. Since he was visiting all the bosses of Liulin City, he absolutely couldn’t overlook Lü Jianqiang; otherwise, if Lü found out, he’d have made a powerful enemy.

Perhaps you think that being low-key will spare you trouble, but you forget: if you’re high-profile enough that others fear provoking you, that too will spare you much trouble.

Chen Weiqiang looked utterly bewildered, staring in disbelief at Ye Tian—a young man of about twenty, still a student, yet somehow a master of gambling, ranked among Asia’s best.

Tie Xiangxue felt her heart shattered, yet forced her face to remain calm. Deep inside, countless wounds had already lacerated her soul. She managed a serene smile and glanced toward Yin Junfeng; but tears, bitter and salty, broke free and scattered in the wind, carried away by the breeze.

Qiu Xuan heard the remark, his body unchanged, still staring intently at Saddam.

Everyone turned at the sound to see a man in blue sitting on a branch of a nearby green tree, swinging his legs and occasionally gesturing impatiently for the fight to begin. This was none other than “Flower Picking Demon God” Yin Xiangle.

Though the sand-shadow was a super-powerful figure of the Mystic God, secretly allied with the Divine Emperor, perhaps she herself could not harm him.

“You’re versed in the art of tea as well?” Hearing Qiu Xuan’s praise, Rong Tian felt a touch of pride—the tea was his own cultivation, painstakingly roasted countless times to yield leaves of exquisite quality. For ordinary guests, he would never serve such tea.

God-Slayer Cloud Sky smiled faintly, nodded, and naturally followed Mingxi’s words.

The sound was like a beast’s suicide, signaling the end of a drama and jolting the young man awake. He glanced at the wooden door; even the delicate fragrance of huanghuali wood could not mask the faint trace of blood in the air.

After being gravely wounded, Wu Ling gradually regained consciousness under Ling Zun’s healing, and the first thing he saw was the white-robed youth tending to him.

“You and Lu Qi managed to rescue Father, that’s enough. You’re no match for it.” Audestin said, excitement causing him to vomit blood again before he dropped to his knees.

“My mid-range shooting isn’t great right now. They’re forcing me to score in ways I’m least good at,” Sun Zhuo grumbled, knowing his own limitations and not daring to shoot repeatedly. He relied on defense to attract passes, only now realizing how well Phil Jackson and Kobe understood him.

Suddenly, where the arrow pointed, a fissure appeared, light filtering through. As the wall engraved with two arrows slid inward and opened sideways, a secret passage was revealed.

On the carriage, Uncle Wei pretended he saw nothing, squinting at the moon perched atop tree branches, seemingly lost in deep reminiscence.

Last season, Sun Zhuo had exhausted all his challenge cards, so he had to accept missing games due to injury. This time, even if Artest’s ill luck caused him harm, it wouldn’t affect this playoff series.

Lu Qi realized his lower body was unguarded, tried to dodge, but it was too late.

But the villagers cared nothing for these things. Soon, they pressed Lu Qi further, forcing Lu Qi to lead Ling Zun out of the village.

Dr. Zhang explained at the side, but cold sweat poured down my back as I listened: the eerie horn, blue smoke, the undead army—my god, could that legendary Bixian also have an ultimate form?

Then, regaining composure, I strove to appear calm and followed Wenren Qianjue’s footsteps.

But she wasn’t finished—she stomped hard on my foot, with such force that I cried out in pain. She snorted and ran straight into the classroom.

Yet no evidence had surfaced; my mind was adrift, shadowed only by a fleeting gloom in my dark eyes.

At that moment, I saw the Silent Oil Bottle glance at the rearview mirror again, as if something was behind us. Since I was crouched beneath the seat cushion, my angle gave me no clue what he was looking at.

I stared at the blood-soaked figure inside, skin peeled as if flayed. I tried moving to the right—it moved too. I lifted my hand—it did the same. It was like a mirror, but how could a mirror reflect such a monstrous thing?

The man whipped around at the sound. My great-grandfather swung his rifle butt at the man’s face; he grunted in pain and staggered back a step. Before he could react, my great-grandfather pressed the muzzle against his chin once more.