Chapter 16: The Target of All Arrows

The youth who sang, “Listen to the breeze, echoing by the ear, sighing over falling flowers and flowing water—whose music lingers in the mists?”
“Does it have to be a cultivator?” Cong Yi asked tentatively, worried that, as an esper, he might not be allowed to participate, which would really be a disaster for him.
At that moment, the assassin retreated into the restaurant and, less than half a minute later, emerged again, now in a different guise.
“This is the sister I know.” Ye Qingcheng finally relaxed a little when she saw the calm return to her gaze. Though her words had been harsh, she was truly afraid of losing Ye Qingcheng as both a sister and a friend.
As the song rang out, Zhang Yuan suddenly felt an unprecedented clarity and ease in his body, as though, after three days and nights of training, he had finally soaked in a hot bath—sheer bliss.
Yet, even though Mo Lingran placed such importance on this, Ouyang Qing still did not believe the matter would prove especially troublesome.
Mu Ximo waved his hand, truly feeling defeated by them. They had insisted on having a proper match with Mo Lingran, and now they wanted to wait again. Suddenly, Mu Ximo felt that being the mediator really was an impossible task.
“What now? Should we call the police?” Qiao Anming did not concern himself with Du Ruo in his arms, but instead shielded her with his arm and addressed the drunken men before him. His voice was not loud, but it carried strength.
Just as Bai Nuohang sighed and prepared to open the door, the sound of a guitar suddenly came from behind him. Curious, he turned his head.
A shifting radiance flickered and shimmered, swirling endlessly around the mecha, creating an indescribable sense of splendor.
Within the city of Northern Tomb, in a cave-dwelling of the Grand Luo Sect, Duan Yixie gazed grimly at the message stone in his hand.
Commander Liang’s attitude had taken a complete one-eighty, leaving all the students around utterly astonished.
“Second sister-in-law, at the very least, Yang Fan will get into Shuimu next year, right?” Yang Yiqing compared her own son and grew more and more exasperated—they were no match in looks or grades.
“Huihui, let’s duel. If I win, will you come back with me?” Early in the morning, Youyou arrived at Luo Yi’s courtyard, pulled Huihui out of bed, and declared.

Because there really wasn’t much in that bowl of noodles, Xu Qing polished it off in no time, like a whirlwind sweeping away the clouds. He couldn’t help but tap the empty bowl and gaze at Lin Ye with longing.
Ming Dao was a bit confused. How did the military district know about him and even send someone to support him? Still, he saluted in return.
Suddenly, a phrase exploded like thunder in Ming Dao’s mind. Of course—the ceiling, above. He realized that all their searching had been within human height or on the ground, but no one had thought to look higher up. Perhaps the mechanism was hidden there.
Right now, he had to call Zhang Wenwen, urge her to rally the villagers to tap bamboo water, pick ginseng fruit leaves and ginseng fruits, and arrange for Li Desheng to transport everything to the city.
“You’ve got it wrong. This doesn’t seem to be your turf,” Lu Yang said.
Wu Fan and the others grew cautious; over a hundred thousand years ago, the Profound Dao Pearl had been fought over by countless races from the myriad realms. If Old Ancestor Jiu Ying leaked this, wouldn’t it cause a sensation among the demon clans? Then the upper echelons of the demon race might ignore the tens of thousands who practiced the Overlord Dao.
“No worries. I have body-tempering arts to protect me. Just bring the hot water,” Mo Kui said indifferently.
Grandmaster Xuantian gazed at Ma Chengteng, nodded slightly at Yue Yao, and said, “Layman Ma’s brow is dark; that is a dire omen. Your filial piety is commendable, but the dreams you’ve had serve as a warning.” Grandmaster Xuantian seldom read fortunes or told people’s fate.
“Master, should we send troops in immediately to begin defensive preparations?” Zhuge Liang inquired.
A faint wisp of smoke curled from the censer, filled with lily incense that calmed the mind. The scent easily lulled one to sleep, but no matter how much was burned, Guan Jingshuo could not doze off.
“Junlin! What happened?” Lin Qingyu suddenly darted out from a nearby street.
“My good sir, come, come, come and ravage us,” the captivating spirit fox said in a coquettish voice.
“I don’t care. Your Lan family must hand over the murderer. My son cannot have died in vain!” Fang Ping roared in fury at this moment.
“All right, I understand. Take me up to have a look,” the old man said, watching the prince’s expression and having already guessed most of the truth.

Outside the Wu family’s gate, Zhao Cunzong had arrived in person. Smiling, he dismounted his horse and watched as the family arranged ten sedan chairs’ worth of gifts at the door. Each was draped in festive red brocade, embroidered with scenes of a hundred children at play.
Yet Yang Ran’s gaze was cold and ruthless; his black hair stirred without wind as he raised his right foot, ready to stomp down on Sun He’s head.
But even merchants were heavily restricted in the Flying Phoenix Kingdom. They simply wrote down their long-term sources of goods and had locals act as their runners.
“Tianzheng, send a few brothers from the back to circle around through the fields and check for any ambushes. It’s best if you cross that middle road and see what’s on the other side,” Hei Zuo said to Tianzheng.
I looked down at Miao Yi in my arms. Her complexion seemed better, a hint of vitality shining in her skin. At that moment, her body was shrouded in a gentle spiritual glow. Wen Ying would remain in her sea of consciousness until she was out of danger.
Zhong Qihai, princess of the Oirat Mongol Dzungar tribe in the Qing dynasty—her father was the renowned Boshoku Khan Galdan.
Thinking back to what happened at the school gate, Chen Feng realized he must be at the place where Sister Hua lived.
Where did Zhang Guolao’s little donkey actually end up? That’s right, here’s a hint: it must be connected to the protagonist.
Chen Yang and Ito Yoshio locked eyes. It surprised him that Ito Yoshio did not fly into a rage or glare like daggers… his calmness only made Chen Yang more uneasy, for such composure made him unpredictable, and an unpredictable opponent is all the more dangerous.
Originally, we could have left on flying swords, but there was a shortage of gifted individuals in the army and we still had to protect the remaining people.
Yet after a moment’s calm, I suddenly realized something was wrong. That wasn’t the archpriest. If not the archpriest, then who could it be?