Chapter Forty: The Ordinary and the Extraordinary

At dinner time, Ling Qixi, who had been sleeping in Qingzhi’s room, was finally awakened by the knocking of the servants. The two girls had talked late into the night, almost until dawn. Qingzhi, who was responsible for household affairs, rose after only two hours of sleep, while Ling Qixi, with a clear conscience, slept like the dead.

She rubbed her eyes, stretched leisurely, and, feeling refreshed, washed up and changed clothes before following the servants to the dining hall. There, a group had already gathered around the table. Ling Qixi glanced around and, noticing Chi Xiaoxiao was absent, asked, “Where’s Chi Xiaoxiao?” Though she posed the question to the room, her gaze settled on Cheng Yu.

Cheng Yu eyed the braised pork on the table, picked up his teacup for a few sips, and replied bitterly, “Last night you—”

Back then, the issuance of bonds was handled specifically by Zhang Shaoqiu, and the excess portion never made it into the accounts but was left off the books. When accounting later, the timing of the bond issuance didn’t match with the time he reported, nor with the time reported by others, and during that period, they had been continuously issuing them—thus, the issue slipped through.

The Lu family manor was vast, but completely enclosed by towering walls. Though the walls were high, they might as well have been nonexistent for someone half a step into the innate realm. At one end by the main gate was Miyahiko, with the old servants; even if the Golden Wheel King had all the courage in the world, he wouldn’t dare break out from that side. Ahead lay Ye Suan.

He had missed it—the black wings stained with darkness, wild and immense, a symbol of power, those awe-inspiring black wings that once shook his soul and had long been lost.

His expression darkened; suddenly, he shook off my hand, crossed his arms, and looked down on me from above, yet said nothing.

“Mr. Satan, can you win?” The host, microphone in hand, held it out to Satan, casting a fearful glance toward the center of the ring, not daring to look at Cell at all.

“To request something? Everything in the Helian Five Tribes belongs to you, young master. If you need anything, just ask—there’s no need for such courtesy!” Mumu Lin, relieved, smiled, having feared Helian Nuo would ask him to accomplish some difficult task.

“Damn it, hurting my father.” Bula, witnessing the scene, was filled with pain and fury. He was about to dash out and risk his life against Cell, but Miyahiko held him back, saying, “Just watch quietly.”

Seeing this, Chu Tingchuan hurriedly waved his whip and rushed toward where the emperor was. Mo Liang and Chu Xuhua followed closely behind, hoping desperately to make it in time—otherwise, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Lu Qingyu’s body stiffened, but he didn’t look back; he simply nodded thoughtfully, then resolutely walked out of the room.

The time was not yet right. Wu Shisan didn’t wish to tell Yuyan just yet, but Yuyan was an indispensable member for the journey to the Bermuda Triangle. Without her, the difficulties of the expedition would only multiply.

With that, he struck a palm forward, and in an instant, a massive palm of true energy appeared and pressed down from the sky.

The two palms met in midair with a dull thud, and immediately, a storm swept out from their clash. Countless Dao patterns shattered in the air, dissolving into wisps of smoke.

Lin Yi even saw many beings—hybrids of humans and demons—who bore human forms but were marked with demonic patterns or had demonic horns growing from their heads.

Ye Zixin’s meaning was clear: Grandpa must have fallen ill suddenly because Ye Lan angered him.

Lin Yi’s gaze remained fixed on the battle between Corpse Chill and the Chi Dragon, never once intersecting with Yue Gucheng’s.

“Congratulations, miss, on taking first prize. This is the Emperor’s gift, the Ziyang Flower. Please accept it.” The official on the stage handed the wooden box to Yucheng.

After all, Tathagata was the strongest figure on the surface in Journey to the West; by those standards alone, he was absurdly powerful, enough to strike fear into anyone.

To the assassins, Ling Yu gave a definite sense of someone well-trained—his footing was extremely steady, as immovable as a mountain, no wonder he was impossible to seize.

Lost in a fog of tangled thoughts, Qin Yibai felt a growing restlessness. At that moment, the power of the void swirling around him suddenly stirred, and in his consciousness, the figure of Zhong Sheng silently appeared before him.