Chapter Thirty: Good, Give It to Her First

A rapid-fire barrage of questions hammered down upon Zhong Chengren.

Stunned by the interrogation, Zhong Chengren opened his mouth, on the verge of concocting a tall tale to align with Meng Wanshu’s previous remarks.

"In my opinion," Song Xingzhi’s cold, clear voice sounded once more, unhurried and composed, "we should interrogate the two of them separately. Let them each give their own account, so everyone here can hear for themselves who is lying and who is concealing the truth."

At these words, Zhong Chengren’s heart skipped a beat.

It was not merely that the boys were beginning to lose their way; even Sun Yifan himself had lost sight of his original intention.

I could not help but ask why we had to stop, but upon reflection, I realized that if Yan Xiang and the doctor succeeded in drawing the police away, staying behind was actually the safest course of action.

The bandit leader let out a lewd chuckle. "I’ve always had a soft spot for the feisty ones!" With that, he lunged toward Luo Shihan.

"He wants his father to hold him," Hanyue said with a smile, seemingly oblivious to his hesitation.

The shopkeeper froze, wondering what could have happened. As the manager of the establishment, he was adept at reading people and knew he must not show any confusion on his face. Nonetheless, he opened the food box to take a look; in truth, he had been the one to hand this very box to Xia Qingxiao just moments ago, so how could he have forgotten or mistaken it?

The palace chamber was thick with an intoxicating scent. Hanyue shrank her shoulders in embarrassment, as if trying to hide herself away.

Since Xie Xiaoyue had long ago made up her mind about Xie You, no amount of persuasion would change her opinion; she would only grow weary and impatient.

During their days at the hospital, she had not rejected or recoiled from his touch, but Mu Yingchen could feel that every time he reached for her, Xiao Zitian would tense up.

It was much like the breeding farm of Brother Long back then; though it held many animals, only a few were truly formidable. The others were merely sacrificial sparring partners for the stronger beasts.

Xia Luo’s body flickered, and in an instant, he was before Lin Shengnan, snatching the short fork from her hand. "Oh?" Lin Shengnan exclaimed in surprise, her other hand sweeping across with a short fork of her own—a fierce, savage strike.

Everyone stared in horror toward the east as two figures charged rapidly into the arena. The one in the lead raised a hand, unleashing a sword aura that struck Wan Ye in mid-air. Wan Ye, who had been busy spinning silk, was pierced through the abdomen by the blast and plummeted to the ground, causing the web that had blanketed the sky to dissipate entirely.

At the Lin estate, Jiang Huairen was busy making preparations. He was crafting a talisman—a "Life-Death Talisman"—a charm designed to save one’s life. With this, one could cheat death; if dealt a fatal blow, the talisman would reverse the cycle of life and death to preserve one’s existence.

Xu Yang formed a shield-shaped mudra with both hands, his fingertips sparking with golden light. Above his head, the true form of the Three-Legged Golden Crow flapped its wings incessantly, its golden feathers raining down like fire, merging into a river of flame that poured into the Buddhist fire shield before him.

Qin Zhao had long heard that Korean dramas could corrupt one’s mind. He hadn't believed it before—after all, they were just television shows, and how could they possibly be harmful? That went entirely against the core tenets of materialist philosophy.

As the man spoke, he approached Jiang Yi and swung a punch straight at his face. The guy had clearly been trained; his fist was calloused, and his strike carried immense force.

"In this situation, seeking him out is the safest bet," Jiang Cheng said, pulling out his phone to call Zhang Tian. Soon, Zhang Tian’s voice sounded on the other end, laced with irritation: "I am not doing anything else."

Cheers thundered through the stadium. The Koreans, meanwhile, sat down in sullen silence, no longer waving their flags or shouting their slogans.

The guests and onlookers whispered among themselves; it was the first time any of them had witnessed such magic.

Jiang Cheng was an experienced traveler who had met many people. He had heard more than once that those who traveled for long periods often developed eccentric personalities, with some even driven to commit extreme acts.