I won the lottery; please grant me a day off.

"Absolutely not," a booming voice interjected. It was Ge Xiong, the artilleryman. The three huts over there had already been built, and one of them was being used to store gunpowder.

This was not a place she should have come to. But her parents were elderly and had both been injured during an outing; they could no longer sustain her life, and she had to rely on herself. Entering the forbidden zone might lead to certain death, but it might also yield some miraculous medicine to neutralize the untamed, raging fire within her, granting her a sliver of hope.

After Brother Jiu pulled the Golden Cup van into the parking lot, he told us, "Everyone, grab your gear. Remember, as soon as we finish the job, run straight to the entrance. I'll be waiting for you there."

He knew his mother was worried about him, even though First High School was not far from their home—only a single bus ride away.

That pressure did not hold them down for long; instead, it gripped their bodies and dragged them forcibly into a realm of chaotic aura.

Chen Feng had to manifest his secret divine light; only with it could he reveal his adversary in the darkness. However, the more he condensed this light, the more severely his own consciousness was corroded.

The Divine Miracle System provided only a brief, cryptic answer, then countered with a question, leaving Bai Yuling to figure it out for himself.

People had only ever seen his likeness in images on earthen walls and notice boards; it was hard to imagine him appearing in such a remote place.

Ling Zuotian had already observed the energy within their bodies—it was only slightly higher than that of a normal person. He used a mere trace of his lightning ability to strike their temples directly, enough to destroy their brains.

Just as Dorothy was hesitating about how to broach the subject, a ripple emanated from the dark gold scarab.

"I know they are butterflies, but I mean, what do you use them for?" Lan Ruoshui asked, puzzled.

The rainy night was desolate, with all things hidden away, leaving only two figures supporting each other as they gradually vanished into the darkness.

"I sit in the watchtower and gaze at the mountain scenery..." Fang Daxian sat on the sofa, eyes narrowed, head swaying, crooning the aria of Zhuge Liang from the Peking Opera *The Empty Fort Strategy* in a dissonant, off-key manner.

"Hypocrite. It’s not like that at all. Isn't it just because of Xia Ruoxi?" Ling Shixuan listened to the excuse Lin Feng had fabricated and retorted with a look of annoyance.

"However, the Demon Realm has long been hidden in the Demon Mountains. We have no idea of their true strength. To provoke a war lightly would likely be disadvantageous for our sect," the Sword Spirit said.

Hearing this reply from the Flame Dragon, Fu Yan was truly incensed. He had no knowledge of any such matter—he didn't even know who the person was or what they looked like—yet he was being saddled with such responsibility for no reason.

"Why is it so easy to communicate with Bruce, but so difficult with Fang Li?" Arno was truly frustrated. It wasn't that he hadn't tried to communicate with Fang Li, but every time he attempted to touch Fang Li's soul, it was as if he encountered an invisible barrier that sent him back empty-handed.

Grant, the organizer and chief steward of the banquet, never imagined he would later hold such a high opinion of this event. For now, cleaning up the mess was enough to keep him busy; he had no heart left to ponder such things.

Xia Ruoxi didn't even glance at the documents in the official's hand and replied firmly, "I appreciate your kindness, but I'm afraid our company cannot reach an agreement with your province." As she finished speaking, the car Murong Xue had called to pick them up arrived, and she immediately ordered the others to load the luggage quickly.

For a time, Lin Ying found himself growing increasingly fond of the Ghost God Alliance. This ranking system served as a form of motivation for them, driving the cultivators within the alliance to strive to become the leader while building relationships through their sparring, making the members of the inner alliance ever closer.

The Furi Festival sacrifice was a major celebration in Yiluo. On the sixth day of the sixth lunar month, people would seek shelter from the intense summer heat. "The farming folk toil, observing the rites at the summer solstice; they cook sheep and roast lambs, sharing wine to reward themselves." Because Yiluo had always valued agriculture, the royal family would personally hold a grand ceremony at the ancestral temple whenever the Furi Festival arrived.

Luzon did not have a large population; the population of a single town was comparable only to that of a rural township under the Qing Dynasty. The bulk of the tax revenue came primarily from merchants and artisans in Vigan and Laoag.

In the Great Ming, cattle were used for farming; eating their meat was considered a waste. Sheep were prohibitively expensive, far costlier than pork, and by the end of the Ming Dynasty, they were no longer considered food for the common people, so there was no need to import them.

She had secretly climbed the wall to peek into the Prince of Suide’s mansion. Apart from a deaf-mute servant left behind to watch over a pomegranate tree, there was no one else; the grounds were filled with withered grass and crumbling walls.

Because producing black powder was far too dangerous, Huang Youde dared not keep it in the village, opting instead for a flat area downstream.

Seeing that their sneak attack had failed, the foreigners retreated like a receding tide, abandoning fifty or sixty of their dead behind.

Long Qi was momentarily speechless. Damn it, there was no need to say anything more; the guy had saved him the trouble of a 2,000-word explanation.

Nie Wanluo was well aware of how busy Qiao Neng's life was. But when she woke up and saw the text message on her phone indicating that Qiao Neng had arrived at the office and was preparing for a meeting, her heart ached for him once more.

In the same era, Western sailors would spend years at sea without a single opportunity to dock for supplies; encountering an island in the middle of the ocean was considered a gift from God.

That evening after dinner, Peng Yulin, Yang Zaifu, and Zeng Guobao arrived in Changsha with a battalion of Xiang braves they had recruited.

Inside the Wang family's grand hall, Mu Yuan’s cold voice rang out, instantly causing many to tremble.

Once outside, they saw that a strong gale had kicked up, blowing yellow dust across the sky so thick it was impossible to keep one's eyes open. Although the temperature had cooled down, the dust-filled air was unbearable.

Among the various commanderies in Jingzhou, apart from the battle-hardened Huang Zu, the troops in Changsha, Wuling, and Lingling lacked combat effectiveness due to the scarcity of conflicts in those regions.