Chapter Sixty-Seven: Wronged

After all that had happened, the wontons were finally served. Luo Chengying, clutching his hollow, hunger-stricken belly, called out, “Let’s eat first—everything else can wait!” At once, life seemed to return to him.

The wontons were wrapped in delicate, translucent skins and filled to bursting. Each one was plump and round, bobbing in the milky broth like little treasures. When you picked one up with your chopsticks, you could see the green vegetables peeking through the nearly see-through wrapper, and at the slightest tremor, it seemed the savory filling and broth might break free at any moment. A few bites of wonton, a sip of rich bone broth, and soon a fine sheen of sweat broke out across the forehead—comfort spreading through every limb.

Lu Yalan tasted a spoonful and her eyes lit up. All her attention turned to the food, and she ate with such focus that she could barely lift her head.

The portions at this restaurant were generous; even the small bowl was enormous, far more than one would expect.

He was not making excuses. To cross swords with another is a matter of life and death; when the gap in strength is so great, and the situation is not urgent, there is no sense in throwing one’s life away needlessly.

This year, the Gu Enterprise annual gala had taken a different turn. Instead of the usual Western style, they had chosen a distinctly Chinese motif.

Although all the stars of Hong Kong would usually gather at the Gravel Club, Jacky and Ye Ping were celebrities on an entirely different level—a true constellation of giants.

The two exchanged bewildered glances, struggling to comprehend such a feat of skill. Though it was beyond their understanding, their hearts swelled with pride—for Wu Yong had accomplished this marvel, bringing honor to them all.

He saw that the fat man beside him had fainted from pain, yet Jiang Tiandao remained utterly unmoved.

“Brother Rui, work’s over—should we go to the restaurant to find Sister Linlin?” Lin Siyu asked.

Qin Yu understood the minds of these people well. Curling her long legs beneath her and hugging a cushion on the soft sofa, her features as delicate as a painting, her words were gentle and warm.

If that were truly the case, then with diligent cultivation at Happiness Star, amassing inner strength to a profound level and opening up all the vital channels of the body, one could become a genuine master of the martial world. To roam freely then—what a splendid prospect that would be!

Even on the morning after their wedding night, when she was not feeling well, he had not spoken so much to her.

At this moment, Jiang Tiandao seemed almost demonic; they feared that the slightest sound might draw his wrath upon themselves.

“Big brother.” Ye Baobao looked up at him, her tears ceasing at once, her large, dark eyes shining with light.

Zhuo Bufan regarded him with a glance. This fellow was clearly not as simple as he appeared. To possess such composure at just over twenty, unfazed even when refused to his face, spoke of considerable cultivation.

“The Emperor’s Sword is a supreme treasure,” the Triangular Demon God raged. “If I possessed such a thing, do you think you’d still be alive to spout nonsense? Don’t push your luck—if it comes to that, I’ll abandon this avatar altogether!”

Sensing that the black mist around him had been nearly consumed, Zhou Ran finally whistled. He failed to notice, however, that after absorbing so much ghostly vapor, his Phantom Garment had acquired the faintest tinge of ash.

In truth, Lei Zi had only fought in a single underground match—and nearly died in the ring. Yet anyone skilled enough to qualify for underground fighting was no ordinary thug; on an average day, he could easily take on five or six street toughs.

This time, Mo Shang found himself in an awkward position. He was penniless, not a single tael of silver to pay the “horse rental fee.” As for the corpse cores he had obtained before, which were worth a fortune, he had left them at his lodgings and not brought them along.

Bai Zhantian, too, was thrown by the shockwave of the explosion, but a shield of true energy encased him, leaving him completely unharmed.

When the fighters heard the call, they flew over—by then, they had already made significant contributions to the battle, shooting down over thirty Japanese planes. Their fierce attack brought down several more Zeroes, forcing the remainder away, and they arrived just in time to relieve the torpedo-bomber squadron.

Following the embankment to Gate No. 1 at the southwestern end, seawater surged in through the sluice, its roar even louder than the northern wind. From the mouth of the gate, a foaming stream, two zhang wide and several dozen meters long, rushed into the fishery.