Seventy-Five. Victim of Rumors

Pei Xiunian stepped down from the carriage, his foot landing on the crossing stool, and was immediately greeted with enthusiasm by the attendants of Scented Crisp Pavilion. He hadn’t even changed out of his prince’s court attire, his identity plain for all to see.

He cast a casual glance around the pavilion. Amidst carved beams and painted rafters, the building glowed with bright lanterns, the flower-patterned lattice windows exuding an antique charm. To put it a certain way—though perhaps not quite appropriate—he was, after all, in a cultivation world with an archaic style, so for the locals, such architecture was considered… modern.

Most striking of all was the mist, which had spread across the entire sea, weaving a scene reminiscent of the immortal realms, shrouded in clouds and fog.

“Enough with the nonsense. If you really could kill us, would you bother with all this talk? Just do it. If you defeat me, if you prove that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be your equal, then I’ll make sure he gives you whatever you want! Even if you kill him, I’ll have no objections!” Lu Ding said.

He pinched the cigarette butt and rotated it slowly. It was empty—just a plain, unremarkable cigarette.

Zheng Feng thought: Don’t try to put a halo on my head, Zhuge the Trickster. Jiang Xia, watch carefully—if you lose it, you’ll be the one to answer for it.

The next day, just as Yin Junfeng stepped out for some air and a bit of relaxation, he happened to run into Yin Jianwei, who was descending from the sky.

There was still ample time until their appointment with Fang Ang. The group ate leisurely and chatted idly, in no rush like Fang Ang had been.

Liu Chuan truly didn’t know how to describe his feelings at that moment. His master was simply inhuman—well, he’d never really been human—and had driven people to such extremes. If it were him, he figured his legs would have turned to jelly. How was one supposed to deal with martial skills that so far exceeded the bounds of imagination?

And for most men, their own bedroom—where they kept certain secrets—was the place they visited most frequently.

Yet Su Zheng followed every procedure by the book, leaving no room for her to discover any flaws.

He followed Lin Chen, examining each marked spot one by one. Every marker was laid out on the map like predetermined chess pieces, and in a sudden moment of clarity, he finally understood what Lin Chen meant by his so-called “chessboard.”

On the plane, when I suddenly had a heart attack, Aunt Wen said you merely grasped my wrist and brought me back to life.

The tricky problem made Zhang Tianyang scratch his head in frustration. It was just as they said—at the peerage tournament, anything could happen, the situation ever-changing.

Yet Zhang Tianyang noticed a slender sword of muted color placed at the head of the bed; it lacked a tip, a hilt, and a scabbard. It seemed utterly harmless, but from within, a faint, sharp aura emanated.

Ye Bugui stepped forward and made a gesture of invitation with his sword, without uttering a word, his brows furrowed as he gazed at Ruo Hua.

But Quasimodo’s expression was tangled; he held the invitation in both hands and remained silent for a long while.

Speaking, she casually picked out a garment—plain at first glance, but held up to the light, its springtime beauty was boundless.

“Sister Mei,” Chu Yueting peeked at Jing Jian. Even now, she still felt a bit embarrassed.

How could anyone dare to ignore the illustrious Young Master Gu during a meal, laughing merrily without a care? Gu Jingchen was certain he hadn’t encountered such a person in years, but today, by chance, he’d caught one.

I’m not exactly a caring person—most importantly, I lack the ability—so I’ve never thought much about such things. But I always took it for granted that Xiao Si possessed that kind of kindness. It’s just my assumption, but it’s true nonetheless.

Xue’er had secretly asked Feng’er for her thoughts again. Feng’er admitted she didn’t dare approach Chu Min—just getting close made her whole body cold and her feet unwilling to move. Yet, happy to talk with Xue’er, Feng’er agreed with everything Xue’er said, all just to keep her happy.