Chapter Seventy-One: Homeland and Family

Luo Chengying was taken to the guest room to change his clothes. Still wounded, he hadn't bathed, merely washed his face with cold water. By the time he descended the stairs, Mu Chengyao was already seated at the dining table, waiting for him.

Despite living in a Western-style villa, Mu Chengyao favored Chinese cuisine. The table was soon laden with steamed buns, soy milk, fried dough sticks, and seafood porridge. The myriad aromas mingled in the air, forming a commanding fragrance. Whatever little Luo Chengying had eaten the previous night was long digested; earlier he hadn't noticed, but now with the stone lifted from his heart, his stomach clamored. As the servants finished setting the table, he didn’t wait for the host’s invitation—he grabbed a bun and bit into it hungrily.

Neither spoke much, both immersing themselves in their meal. Before long, the once ample table was reduced to a pile of empty bowls and plates.

After finishing his drink...

Qian Duoduo patted her forehead and promptly slipped back to her seat to busy herself with her reports.

As these words left her lips, Su Qiao met Si Yuzhou’s intense gaze with embarrassment. She loosened her grip on his hand, her fair feet poised to touch the floor.

The battle prowess of a consciousness avatar was no different from one’s own. The only distinction lay in the ease with which it could be destroyed, unless it found a body to inhabit, like a wronged spirit.

Wei Chengyan’s brows furrowed slightly. He seemed concerned, but his slender, gentle eyes were half-closed, his sculpted profile raised with an aloof coolness.

Sheng Wen had never witnessed such a vexing family. Seeing Cai Shu’s lips so dry they were peeling, he found a paper cup, filled it with warm water, and handed it to her.

“Come in!” A voice sounded from within the sect, followed by a giant celestial hand reaching out, grabbing the beast egg, and sweeping the two blue-robed cultivators into the sect as well.

“You know everything?” Su Yichen probed, step by step, wondering if his father had learned about his investigation into their blood lineage.

Su Qiao looked up, sensing dozens of eyes upon her. She smiled gently, expressing goodwill—she was not there to compete for a man.

Even those who volunteered to battle demons on the divine battlefields did so in teams, honing their skills together. No one dared face the monsters alone; no one would risk their life in jest.

After a brief deliberation, the decision was made to visit Peach Blossom Immortal Sect, to see if it matched their expectations and was fit to serve as the tomb of a native immortal lord.

If he publicly let go of her hand, she’d have a reason to feign heartbreak and leave this “place of sorrow.” The outcome would be nothing more than maintaining the old rumor—that a certain someone did not care for his fiancée, nothing more.

If things went on like this, there would be no hope of coaxing useful information from this rogue’s mouth. Red Lotus, suppressing her embarrassment, steeled herself and, with a dazzling flush, pressed her lips heavily against his.

He did not suffer from the affliction of softening his attitude at the mere mention of “wanting family.” He was one of those who would absolutely refuse anything he disliked—a social misfit.

“Hey, there’s something—well, a little something, but it’s not urgent... I’m actually stalling for my father, delivering you a gift…” Feng Luoyu smiled, and pulled a delicate wooden box from his backpack.

Such thoughts belonged only to a Demon King, wishing to force all things in the world into submission beneath his tyrannical might.

Just as Luo Chengying was devouring his bun with relish, Yan Yaoqing struck his head hard again. He saw stars from the pain, nearly crying out.

In the office, Han Qiming leaned against the sofa, nodding slightly to the black-clad youth beside him.

When Dingyuan Marquis heard this, his expression stiffened. His gaze swept over the disciples, a hint of helplessness in his heart. Those who had just taken the stage were the elites of the Blood Marquis’s younger generation, and even they were defeated with ease. No matter how many direct descendants remained, what use were they?

Although they knew they shouldn’t attend the Great Zhou wedding, the rulers were powerless. If they didn’t go, it would give Great Zhou a reason for war. With Zhou’s overwhelming strength and military might, their nations would inevitably perish.

Gu Xunyi smiled without speaking, clearly not believing He Qingfan’s words, but refrained from exposing him, preserving his dignity—she had long suspected as much.