Chapter Forty-One: Young Master, Spare My Life

That tiny, trembling figure kept bowing toward the sky, shivering from head to toe, wholly focused and extraordinarily devout. The world was shrouded in darkness, and the magma beneath me still released waves of heat, yet sweat poured from my body, my palms drenched, nerves strung tight—for this was my first time suppressing a treasure.

The sable seemed to be absorbing the energy of heaven and earth, possessing considerable cultivation. Yet the moon had already been swallowed by the celestial hound, so what was it still bowing to?

Murong Ke paced in circles, muttering something under his breath, or drifted restlessly back and forth before Murong Yuan, his demeanor restless yet tinged with a contradictory hint of anticipation.

But that was not what surprised me; what startled me was the presence of so many people in the room. They were all young, either boys or children, and judging by their clothes, well-dressed servants. They all appeared delicate and frail.

Qin Feng, seeing Li Bumei’s face, trembled, and the wine of forgetfulness spilled from his palm, shattering on the floor with the crash of porcelain, soaking the ground.

Bang! With a mighty collision, Cen Heqing used the force of the rebound to leap, slowing his descent. His toes touched down, and he sprang toward a tree trunk, landing steadily after several agile jumps.

To the listeners, his speech was not particularly passionate, but it conveyed genuine sincerity. And the “certain class” he accused was obviously the elite who ruled over American society.

Cen Heqing remained silent, simply gazing at Cen Jiunian, his expression so penetrating that it seemed it could shatter Cen Jiunian’s defensive armor at a glance.

“At present… there’s still no reaction…” Tang Youran swallowed the bean paste bun in her mouth, blinked, and answered honestly.

“Meow, meow!” The dumpling cried out impatiently. At least you have a conscience and remember to abandon me.

Cen Jiunian poured out the contents of the porcelain bottle: two crimson pills, radiating a strong scent of blood.

While Rocky rampaged through the battlefield of the Void Warriors, unstoppable as ever, subtle changes were taking place in the grand theater of war.

“How could that be? I only have one real sister—if I had three or five, maybe I’d be too busy to care for a sworn sister.” I comforted.

She once had thoughts of never marrying; perhaps she was already accustomed to Wang Feng, used to the image of a heroic youth in green military uniform, to the presence of an invincible special forces soldier. She had grown used to everything about Wang Feng, and it would be difficult for her to adapt to anyone else.

Hongyu remembered that Long Zuhai was her father’s younger brother—in other words, her second uncle. She felt her second uncle lived a wretched life, always appearing impoverished. All year round, his face was covered with a thick beard, he wore a knitted cap, and his chest was often adorned with a shiny, oily apron.

“Lin Feiwu, I promise you.” At the back of the crowd, Gale’s voice suddenly rang out. “I promise you too.” “We all promise you!” Soon, all eighty-seven students before Lin Feiwu echoed together.

Chen Xinghai almost wanted to reply wickedly, “Then please do it on purpose every day—I won’t complain!” But he knew that was not something he dared to say.

Black Chrome hurriedly added, “That’s right—the murderer of our family is none other than Qidian, the great demon king! How could it be anyone else?” Le Huan and the others also looked at Yadong in confusion.

In the swamp, the wind howled, and countless whirlwinds rolled across the dim sky, like black eyes sweeping coldly across those seated on the sand, as if searching for an opportunity to devour.

As for Xie Qu’s trial, Wang Ergou understood well. The scene in the mall some time ago was still vivid in his memory, and his gamble today paid off—Chen Xinghai was indeed a changed man, and today, Wang Ergou’s favor was worth something in Chen Xinghai’s eyes.