Please come to my house for dinner.

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Meanwhile, Xie Ci happened to be in the Hundred Flowers Garden with Feng Yalong, gazing solemnly at the plum grove dusted with accumulated snow.
“Where is Xuanyuan the warrior?” Tang Huan rubbed his temples and asked the maid standing nearby.
Moreover, the scent was not the usual thick fragrance of rouge found in brothels, but rather a subtle, elegant sandalwood aroma.
“Household affairs will be taken care of by the servants. Taipu, why don’t we first discuss our official ranks?” Li Ru smiled, his gaze still sharp and piercing like arrows and lightning.
After ensuring the memorial tablets were properly placed, Ye Wushuang stepped back, bowing respectfully, only to be struck again by Wang Yifan wielding a stick.
Shen Mochen’s lips curved into a confident smile as he gently rubbed her head without a word.
Nie Xiangyuan had no choice but to stand, light another incense stick, then resumed his icy, unyielding expression as he walked away.
But for Qingyu’s sake, she had no choice but to continue deceiving. At this moment, Sulanxu’s confession came at just the right time. No matter how conflicted or guilty she felt inside, she could not refuse him.
Under the ambiguous gazes of Zhang Bo and the servants, Yun Nuannuan swallowed her breakfast with a lump in her throat.
The four seasoned experts sat around a fire, a pot-shaped stone vessel simmering over the flames. They were engrossed in discussion, completely unaware that Xiao Ran was slowly approaching.
Zhang Jing visited Hobbes just to inspect his personnel and equipment. As long as production remained saturated, she would withhold funds to prevent him from acquiring more staff or gear, not allowing him idle time for research.
She looked helplessly at Su Bingye; he was too impulsive, but after all, he did it for her.
Qin Luo’s network this time was exceptionally effective; the presence of Zhao Liying, Hu Xue, Yang Chang, and others was unexpected but generated considerable buzz.

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In fact, Zu Dashou had observed over two years how Zhu Yong implemented tax and military reforms in the Ming Dynasty, gradually revitalizing the nation’s strength, showing signs of restoring the empire.
A white mystical light descended from the sky, accompanied by a golden sword carrying overwhelming platinum energy, slashing toward Xi Ruoshui.
The Empress Dowager rose, intending to join Shen Huo, but Hesuo rushed forward to support her. The two left together, leaving others with varied thoughts yet no desire to continue.
Behind them, Mongol cavalry retracted their bows and arrows and charged alongside the Tatars.
Jian Tianshi nearly wanted to strike down the two girls, but this was not the southern border—it was Shengjing, a place where he could not act recklessly.
The newcomer’s shout pulled Gu Zhiheng from his memories. Glancing at Zhao Lai before him, Gu Zhiheng nodded approvingly; he was growing more imposing, even more so than himself in this stance.
“Hello, do you have photography equipment here?” Just as the plane was about to board, a curious girl approached. She carried a small camera bag, likely containing a DSLR.
At this moment, the three killers had reached the stairs of the infiltrators’ base but did not rush up, waiting for Ye Fei’s command.
The sudden silence made him uneasy; four pairs of eyes staring simultaneously left him thoroughly uncomfortable.
They clearly saw that when the voice sounded, all the Polos shuddered in unison.
In an instant, twelve figures appeared in the sky, glowing with radiant light. Some bore divine rings on their backs, some stood on auspicious clouds, others carried strange auras, while some had sun and moon hovering above their heads—each profoundly mysterious.
“One!” He Hui stated confidently. Despite the opponent throwing a red smoke bomb, escape from his sight was impossible.
Upon seeing the information above, Ye Fei’s face darkened immediately, a glint flashing in his eyes as his gaze sharpened.

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The ancient battlefield was vast, rivaling any continent within the Judgment Land.
Immediately afterward, the wound on Tokugawa Kairyu’s shoulder visibly began to heal—a result of his practice of a healing technique from the island nation’s Yin-Yang art.
But the Drunken Sword Immortal was genuine in character; his love for wine was true love. He would throw caution to the wind, never feeling that trading a sword for a jug of wine was a loss.
Anyone witnessing this would be astonished: the Drunken Sword Immortal, so devoted to wine, was willing to exchange his mysterious iron sword for a pot of liquor.
Unfortunately, he misunderstood Fang Zhengzhi’s severe injury and underestimated his strength, making a decisively wrong decision.
The day-and-night wandering spirit supervises the mortal realm and naturally requires extraordinary eyes—otherwise, how could it discern good and evil among humans?
In former times, even if the two were unconvinced, their resolve would waver. Under the Four Great Saint Monks, victory would be near impossible. Yet after Song Lingyun’s training, their will was no longer comparable to the past—a steadfastness as solid as rock would not be an exaggeration.
—Of course, no one in the army dared say such things; anyone who did would be crucified and humiliated the next day.
“Damn it. Why aren’t you chanting Amitabha now?” Zhang Zhengfan spat harshly in return.
Fang Zhengzhi had no other choice, and likewise, no time for further thought. As the cycle of reincarnation moved, he soared upward into the sky.