Chapter Forty-Seven: Which Hand Did You Just Use to Strike?

At that moment, Yu Lan was completely stunned. She stood there blankly, her small hand suspended in midair, still poised to receive something, while a flicker of confusion crossed her beautiful amber eyes. She had never imagined that simply agreeing to help deliver something to Shen Zhuoran would lead to such a commotion. The potion should have been smoothly caught in her palm, so how had it slipped and fallen so carelessly?

Unaware of the true value of the humanoid restoration elixir, Yu Lan remained oblivious.

Seemingly still caught in a dream, Yongjiu was abruptly awakened by a shout. Nothing was more effective than the words "enemy attack"—he would leap from his slumber no matter how deep the sleep. Dressing swiftly, he listened intently to the reports from the imperial army’s dispatchers.

Yet, the young man refused to give up. Though this battle was not a decisive, life-or-death confrontation, he was determined not to lose—and he did not believe he would.

Bai Muchen lifted a hand to stroke his chin, watching Bai Muxin carry the bag of food toward the kitchen. Unable to resist, Bai Muchen took a step toward Qin Wanyi.

“But there is still one question I hope Elder Mu Yi can answer,” suddenly said Dongfang Tian.

The immortal spirit had transferred all its negative emotions into a killing intent tightly bound with spiritual power. The innate fierce attack and corrosive properties of the killing intent manifested even more vividly through the immortal spirit—effortless, unrestrained, and executed in one fluid motion, without the slightest hesitation.

Ling Yun praised silently in his heart, admiring the noble aura that radiated from him—a heroic spirit that boldly declares, "Even if a thousand do not go, I shall go alone."

The four brothers finally sat together once more. After the initial excitement faded, they all clamored, asking one another what exactly had happened to Wei Xiao. They were completely baffled by Wei Xiao’s "resurrection."

After speaking, Zhao Yuan extended his right hand toward Bai Lu, opened his palm, and with a mere wave through the air, Bai Lu vanished into thin air, absorbed into Zhao Yuan’s Universe Ring.

Li Xu glared irritably at Tang Song. “Watch your words!” he snapped, his mood darkened.

Meanwhile, tens of trillions of miles away, at the Jiuxiao Sacred Land, Long Yue was unusually cultivating atop Tianxuan Peak. Without Chu Tianjun around, she could finally settle her mind and focus on her practice.

The sharp pain in his finger brought Boris to tears, his sobs uncontrollable as he screamed, dropping his dagger involuntarily.

Lin Sanlang blinked to show he understood. Wei Zhonghua felt uneasy and turned his back, folding his hands before him as he faced the door.

Perhaps there was another consciousness, like a soul, residing in the same body. Using a power akin to magic, she unlocked the shackles—undoubtedly helping him to break free.

Laughter burst forth uncontrollably, causing cups and plates to clatter, dust to rise, and the room to sway as if the very structure tilted from east to west.

Brother Long had nowhere left to run. Forcing a smile, it was less a smile than a grimace far worse than crying.

“Hahaha.” Seeing Junjun’s tangled expression, Chen Luyang grinned mischievously, thoroughly amused.

From the first to the fourth round, and now forcibly pushed onto the shelves today, except for Sanjiang who hadn’t competed, all the other recommendations had been completely consumed.

At first, these Nascent Soul elders and Golden Core attendants praised Chu Tianjun’s extraordinary talent, grateful that the sect had produced such a prodigy. But gradually, the tone shifted, and by the end, it had turned into outright doubt.

Nalan Haotian spoke coldly, then slammed his palm down. The dark night was tense—he had never seen such an overbearing father. Indeed, the Nalan clan was full of ill qualities; with a son like that, it was a wonder the father was considered a good man at all.

Suddenly, the sect leader of Xuanmiao Sect, Yue Chan, soared upward, hovering beside the valley. Raising an arm, she carved a smooth surface a hundred meters wide and long on the cliffside. Pointing her finger like a sword, she prepared to inscribe Long Xuankong’s words onto the rock face.