Chapter Sixty-Nine: Acupoint Striking Is a Delicate Art

At this moment, Third Brother strode confidently up to Zhu Dachang, but when he caught sight of Zhu Dachang’s wound, he paused in surprise.
“Fourth Brother, did you provoke someone you shouldn’t have?”
“Third Brother, how did you know?”
Zhu Dachang was taken aback by Third Brother’s words.

Indeed, both films released by United American Pictures this year achieved astonishing success.

Nangong Okuda didn’t think much about it. A faint white light shot forth, and the Needle Saint responded, adapting as needed. He had no concerns beyond this.

Heh, I agreed to such an outrageous condition for you; surely you can take the blame for me once without complaint.

The snow fell all night before finally stopping. Gazing out, the world was blanketed in white, dressed in silver, exuding a desolate beauty. Occasionally, a crisp crack sounded as the weight of snow broke the brittle branches, sending them crashing to the ground.

Qingqing smiled as she took the cup without saying a word. Her turning silhouette was as enchanting as Lady Yang’s graceful dance.

A proud Audi sped toward the Chinese Wellness Club under the morning glow. On the way, Zhao Zixian looked around eagerly, hoping to catch another glimpse of that heroic figure he hadn’t seen these past few days.

Honestly, it’s ridiculous to get beaten so easily. I’m an upstanding young man—how could I stoop so low? I wield my mighty broadsword, not some cheap trick, and this system is utterly blind.

As soon as Nangong Okuda finished speaking, he felt his body sink. All the insights he’d gained from the rules vanished, as though stripped away. Could he now no longer use the prophecy technique?

But it’s not hard to understand. Ever since that “urgent appointment” day, Lin Jingxuan had devoted all her energy to the soon-to-open clinic.

Many flowers in the palace’s corners had already withered, the leaves fallen, leaving only bare branches. Apart from the evergreens like pine and cypress, only the Imperial Garden retained a touch of vibrant green.

The Xuanwu Shadow Spirit sneered, “You refuse the wine of courtesy, so it looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson.” As Ni Duoshi spoke, black smoke billowed from him, releasing a chilling aura that pushed the flames aside and forced the fire skeleton out of its body.

“This time, we’ve struck it rich!” Yi Xuan gazed at the garden full of spiritual herbs, so excited that his blood surged and he leapt with joy.

The referee felt uneasy, but he couldn’t change the rules. If Xia Jing and Ashik staged a bitter deception, or if they possessed some talent that made them stronger after being beaten, the referees couldn’t intervene without disrupting the match.

“We never touched these items, yet the exit control is right here,” the Viper sighed.

Wild air currents blew Motian’s long hair skyward, and the flame pattern on his brow grew brighter, burning like a real fire.

Is it the continent from Miyazaki Ishikawa’s sci-fi manga? How could that term appear in a world from three thousand years ago?

In the void of the night, a figure darted through the darkness. He wore a white shirt, floral shorts, and white sneakers, clutching a pair of sunglasses.

At this moment, Yang Bian was full of spirit, his scythe sweeping in wide arcs, a sharp contrast to Yang Yunqian’s precise spear technique.

Even in his dying moments, his eyes were filled with disbelief—he couldn’t fathom that Chief Si dared to kill another chief openly.

A burst of crimson light illuminated the arena’s dome. In Yi Xuan’s hand, a jade talisman displayed the number “forty-nine,” heralding the birth of the “Fifty Consecutive Slashes” title. The arena erupted, and many cultivators who had bet on Yi Xuan screamed his name in frenzy.

Zhang Xianzhong deliberately emphasized the phrase “sole heir for four generations,” his eyes sharp as arrows, stabbing straight into Luo Bao’s gaze.