Chapter Fifty: One Must Not Be Too Arrogant

"You, you, you..." President Li nearly spat a mouthful of blood on the spot. Only now did he realize how much of a fool he had made himself out to be. When Zhu from the Apothecary Hall contacted him earlier and asked him to play along in this charade, he had agreed without a second thought. Who would have thought, in trying to curry favor with the other party...

Zhao Yi and Liu Bei both agreed to send troops in support. Zhao Yi asked, "How many Yellow Turban rebels are there?" The Prefect had four thousand soldiers under his command, so Zhao Yi estimated the enemy must number between eight and ten thousand. If they were fewer than eight thousand, the Prefect would not have cowered inside the city but would have marched out for a decisive battle against the rebels.

She was venting her anger and thus failed to notice the reflexive alertness and fleeting murderous intent that flashed through Han Tan's eyes.

Shen Huai stared in disbelief at Shen Shiyi's departing figure. The standard of the gift was so refined—he refused to believe Shen Shiyi couldn't see that it definitely wasn't something handed out by a hair salon.

He still wore that now tattered Shu brocade. Even during campaigns north and south, he would don his armor over this robe, wearing the brocade close to his skin. The Shu brocade was of excellent quality, and Fu Yue cherished it greatly. Though it was worn, it was far from falling apart.

Upon hearing the words of the Grand Elder, Xiao Yan was momentarily taken aback. He carefully examined the golden imperial Phoenix Heavenly Flame within the apparition, and a layer of fiery golden light gradually welled up in his eyes, allowing him to see ever more clearly.

Batu gave Dian Wei a once-over, then, seeing Zhao Yi's confidence, sneered, "You're courting death!" With a wave, he summoned a soldier. "Call for General Lou Man," he ordered, all the while watching Zhao Yi with a smirk.

In order to make her mother spend more time playing with her, Zhang Yinuo deliberately let her mother win. She thought, if her mother won, she'd be happy, and if she was happy, she'd play with her more.

The silent song had ceased; the ruined walls were webbed with spiders, a trail of scattered bones wound westward, and even beneath Jinkui's feet lay a heap of blackened, decayed ivory and shattered gold-leafed jade trinkets and colored crystals... The ancient land of Jinsha Shu was nothing more than a ghost city in memory.

"Truly? If so, then the matter is settled. If I have someone in mind, Princess, you must not stand in the way," Prince Chen finally regained his composure and smiled.

"What happened?" Su Wuyang suddenly recalled the time he chased Li Mofeng, got into a car accident, and injured his leg. What about this time?

Though he had once thought that nothing she did would make him leave, her cold indifference still left him anxious and unsettled.

"Exactly! Things are a bit complicated, but he really is a good person! And those photos—you peeked at them! I didn't show them to you, okay?!" Mo Jiahao immediately clarified.

She gazed at his ever-smiling face, her heart steeped in sweetness. His warm chest, his strong arms, all gave her a profound sense of security and trust.

Jimmy was outside collecting money, grinning from ear to ear, deeply proud of his decision. He was so glad he'd chosen to trust Wang Kai—otherwise, he would still be delivering pizzas under the scorching sun.

He looked calmly into the void, not rushing to make a move. He wanted Shi Hao to witness what true power was, to spur him on and force his rapid growth.

Dazzling light flickered, the sky trembled, myriad weapons flashed with divine brilliance, clashing and surging in all directions, murderous intent piercing the heavens, divine power surging—the ancient temple's forecourt was nearly boiling over.

Xia Yang spoke with utmost seriousness, reminding that in the early stages, Daoist arts cannot match martial artists. After all, the cultivation of the soul is fraught with too many taboos in the beginning. Even if one breaks through, there is little self-protection to speak of; only after mastering the art of manipulating objects can one gradually contend with martial artists.

Ling Yang stood at the doorway for a long time before the man in black finally spoke. But his voice was harsh and grating, like two pieces of iron scraping together, producing an unbearable sound. Moreover, the man's words were awkward and clumsy, as if he had not spoken for millennia, making his speech sound utterly bizarre.