Chapter 122: Your Grandfather Is Here

I finally managed to endure until the sun rose the next day. Old Man Cripple urged me to get up and cook early in the morning.

Since arriving here, I had been in a state of constant, high-strung tension. Having barely slept for several nights, I felt dizzy and lightheaded as I set about cooking, my eyes rimmed with red. The stinging smoke from the firewood made the experience feel like a living hell.

The villager who had come asking for medicine yesterday returned. Old Man Cripple put on his usual charlatan act, muttering prayers to the Grand Supreme Elder Lord for alchemical elixirs...

It flew back to the bed and crouched down. Under the control of supernatural power, five scrolls unfurled simultaneously before it.

I did not know if the foreman was truly terrified of committing suicide or if he was being tormented by a vengeful spirit, but Second Uncle felt that escape was impossible. He told me everything, fearing that if he met an unexpected end, I would be left completely in the dark.

She was truly terrified that other strange things might be hiding in that room; she dared not return there to sleep ever again.

The commander of the Imperial Guard, once in his prime, was now gaunt and withered, a pale shadow of the nobleman who had once led the guards through countless battles and dared to defy a tyrant on grounds of conscience. He lay sprawled on a straw mat, his only garment a tattered linen robe.

With that, he manifested a stone axe, approached the red-haired fake immortal, and methodically hacked him to death.

The young Confucian scholar, clearly unaccustomed to such vulgarity as that displayed by Ying Chengjiao, turned bright red with indignation.

Many companies and factions would collapse in the face of such a major event, yet they only seemed to grow stronger.

In the original work, whether it was Brother Yi’s cigarette or Old He’s, they were essentially mostly filter, with only a tiny amount of actual tobacco—a detail that highlighted their stinginess.

Xiao Shenjin lay sickly in bed with a cloth pressed to his forehead; at first glance, one might have mistaken him for a pampered imperial concubine.

The man destined to die was half-dragged, half-guided to the wooden block in the center of the platform. He was forced to kneel before the stone slab and press his head against the dented, stained surface. A leather strap was fastened over his shoulders, pinning him to the wood so he could not break free.

Li Wan looked toward the sound and was immediately consumed by rage. He saw Zui Ye struck by a golden-masked assassin; his chest had already caved in, and he lay gasping for his final breaths upon the crane carriage.

This was because the Dark Moon Cemetery had once been the resting place of heroes who died in battle. Not long ago, an evil sorcerer had arrived from parts unknown and, through malevolent arts, awakened the remains of the sleeping heroes, turning them into fierce, baleful undead warriors.

"What... is the matter with you?" Could she still be angry at the General's wife? Zhou Yan sighed; in truth, that affair could not really be blamed on the General's wife.

Ye Zhuo had no intention of returning to the group to work; his mind was entirely occupied by the image of Lin Nuannuan. He did not know why he wanted to see her so badly, a longing he could not suppress.

He hurriedly pulled Mu Xing by the arm and took her inside, handing her a blue battle robe as they passed the door.

Yang Ye was lamenting the ironies of fate. Just that morning, she had been furious with him, and by nightfall, he was the one saving her. She opened her eyes and gazed at him with a faint, detached look.

Qin Zhenghuang would not allow her to rise. He lunged forward, pushed her back down, and hovered over her, pinning her tightly beneath him. "Isn't this what you wanted? To leave? Then get out and run as far as you can; I never want to see you again."

His smooth, fair face possessed sharp, cold features; his deep, dark eyes held a captivating luster. His thick brows, high-bridged nose, and perfectly shaped lips all radiated nobility and elegance, yet he emanated an icy, ruthless aura.

A power capable of destroying the world descended, its immense pressure and combat strength shaking the entire scene. Even Ling Yun, far away in Wuji, felt the earth plunge into darkness.

It could be said that this was Ling Qingyun’s massive advantage over other prodigies: by absorbing the wisdom of all paths, he could compensate for his flaws, draw parallels, and steer himself toward perfection.