Chapter 68: The Battle of the Gamecocks

The Flower Appreciation Banquet at the Marquis of Luyang's residence was not an event that attracted much attention, but the arrival of Princess Huai’an, the youngest and most favored daughter of Prince An, was the greatest draw of all. No matter where she went, she was surrounded by throngs of people. Princess Huai’an wandered about, her face full of disdain, finding nothing of interest. No matter how beautiful the flowers were, they could not compare to those in the palace. In such a vast garden, there were only eight peony plants; the rest were common flowers, not worth her time. She was already bored of the standard pastries served at official banquets and could not be bothered to eat.

The "Nine Heavens Star-Sealing Nether Formation" was an ultimate array that drew on the life force of the ancient Nether Tribe to attract the power of the stars from above, then combined it with the vitality of the Mang Tide, serving as the Mang Tide’s final trump card.

After leaving the Duke of Zhao’s residence, Wang Xingxin went straight to the residence of Qin Qiong to wait for his return. All the remaining perfumes were gifted to Lady Qin, who was utterly delighted.

Lawrence paused, his eyes fixed on Shen Mo’s face, trying to discern something from his expression. But unfortunately, he saw nothing.

Ling’er, who had been eager to seek out the “Winds” for news, had now calmed down. To be safe, it was best not to let Xu Jun know about the existence of the “Winds.”

Meanwhile, in Great Tang, Xue Rengui assembled twenty thousand soldiers and set out from Chang’an. At the long pavilion, Li Hao came to bid him farewell.

Wei Zheng was dumbfounded. He had long since witnessed Li Hao’s shamelessness, but to see it reach such heights was truly beyond anything he had ever heard.

While they teetered between life and death, Shen Mo was lying on a vast grassland within the Celestial Evolution Divine Pearl, leisurely eating spirit fruit freshly picked from the trees, as if nothing could disturb his peace.

Zhao Lin nodded, taking the lead as he guided Zhang Qingyuan and Lu Ping to the rear hall. Someone had already lit the lamps, casting a bright glow across the space, where the servants bustled about, arranging and tidying the area in a flurry of activity.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window onto Lu Yun’s face. He woke, but the brightness made it hard to open his eyes. Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield himself, only to realize his arm was bare. As he lifted it, he discovered another bare arm draped over his own.

For as long as he could remember, everyone had told him that Lady Liu was his mother. Later, he learned this was not the case—Lady Liu was only his stepmother, the mother of his fifth sister and brother Yi, not his own.

In battles between cultivators, it was strength that mattered, not numbers. Thus, whenever King Hasi did not personally lead the troops, the outcome was always disastrous, with losses numbering in the tens or even hundreds of thousands, and the civilian casualties were even more tragic, often reaching into the hundreds of thousands.

One moment, both hands were perfectly intact; the next, they were severed at the wrists. Yet from the smooth, mirror-like stumps, not a drop of blood emerged, as if the wound had been sealed the very instant the hands were cut off.

This meant that the treatment required would be a massive undertaking. As time ticked by, Tang Ye’s strength was gradually sapped, but he persisted with unwavering determination.

“It’s all right. After we inform Luo Fang, we’ll return to the living world. Father won’t be angry with me,” Ai Tangtang said resolutely.

“The villagers nearby said there was a torrential downpour that night, and the floodwaters washed open my father’s grave,” Xu Zhengquan explained.

Immediately, traffic congestion ensued, and the entire square fell into chaos. Yan Biluo was flustered as well; desperate to escape the situation, she simply took to the skies, intending to fly straight home.

Beneath the volcano at that moment, a demon army was stationed. Though their numbers were not large—perhaps two thousand—I could sense among them a demon whose aura was overwhelming.

It was not out of any particular revolutionary zeal—I simply had a vague sense that the corpse fiend had noticed me and was now heading straight for me.

Whether in films or in reality, background characters are always the first to perish in the crossfire between the protagonist and their adversary, pitifully reduced to nameless, faceless cannon fodder with not even a single line of dialogue.