Chapter 43 (Short Chronicle Year 1): The Cycle of Convergence

After rolling his eyes at the ceiling, Mu Yu’s eyelids twitched violently in perfect accord, as if to ask: blessed or cursed, with a mother such as this? Tightening his embrace around Yun Jing’s arm, his hold grew ever more possessive, a silent proclamation of his claim.

As the clothing slipped away and skin was revealed, the moment he caught sight of the scar on his legs, Mu Yu drew a sharp breath, his eyes glinting with a fierce yet delighted light.

The Xuanwu Tree, beset by the crowd’s assault, seemed unable to withstand their onslaught. Suddenly, its trunk burst from the earth, four oddly shaped roots extending from its base. Like animal limbs, they supported the tree’s massive body, propelling it swiftly through the throng.

Zheng Qizhi released his kiss from Twenty-Seven’s lips, tracing her ear down to her neck, then planting one upon her chest.

The royal banner was indeed crucial to Kui Head, but at its core, it was merely a flag. Under ordinary circumstances, its loss would have been trivial. Yet the manner of its disappearance today was intolerable—Kui Head could neither accept nor dare to accept it. Should word spread in the future, he’d lose all face and be unfit for the promising career of a Dan Yu.

As Ye Fan advanced, the pressure and intensity of spiritual energy surrounding him grew ever stronger. After covering twenty paces, he halted, sitting cross-legged on the ground to continue absorbing the potent energy from the river.

Dou Ran’s computer wasn’t shut down, merely in standby. As soon as it woke, her photo popped up.

“Move over there!” After a brief silence, the man known as Brother De narrowed his eyes, consumed by jealousy.

Beneath the lamplight, her fingertips glowed like jade. In Leng Yixiu’s heart, a subtle turmoil stirred; reluctant to let go, his fingers brushed hers, and that faint chill seeped right to his core.

“The Lich King has already discovered what we’ve done in Manopus City. The Western Demon Realm will certainly not let it rest, but now is not the time to break ties with them. So we returned first to destroy the poisonous mist teleportation array here, leaving them with no evidence,” Yun Longjian explained.

The leader in black barked a command, then plunged his plum-blossom dart again into Mu Muzi’s neck.

All these people wielded mechanical weapons; the Brain-Eating Worm could not easily ambush them, and the Gu Controller Nara had never used the Brain-Clearing Gu corpse worm. Thus, their deaths were truly peculiar.

Liao Dongfeng’s explanation was vague, but Zakanaqi understood clearly. The War Pillar had brought her here for one purpose: to eliminate foreign enemies—and everyone fell within that definition.

Although this was merely a training session, Aban had no intention of being perfunctory. After informing the two students that the trial had begun, he immediately swiped at them with his claws, showing not a hint of mercy.

Leng Feng blinked at Dotes, the necromancer, then gave a cold smile and strode after the instructor.

The flying car squadron formed up in midair, and then led the formation himself, heading toward Xuzhou.

Long black fur, large build, reeking of foul odor, its movements ghostly and unpredictable—how it managed such stealth was a mystery.

Thus, the ever-chivalrous Chen Hao patiently peeled away the painted skin from Zhichun Ying’s cheek.

His reaction suggested something had gotten into his boot, causing him considerable discomfort.

Especially such stories of heroic demise, occurring to someone he had once supported—how could one not feel regret?

Tang San pondered whether he too should try washing one for himself; perhaps he might earn a “Tang Madam’s” badge of chastity.

Unexpectedly, today she took the initiative to invite him to a class reunion—did this mean she had truly accepted him in her heart?

He saw the madam hand Tang San a bag of money, all gold soul coins, heavy enough to suggest a substantial sum.

Given Chiyo’s own uncertainty about taming spiritual entities, it seemed the spirit disaster had long disappeared from this world, at least in recent centuries.

Bibi Dong issued further instructions, which Chrysanthemum Pass and Old Ghost memorized carefully, not daring to overlook a single detail.

Meng De demonstrated on the spot, holding a gold pellet. Before everyone’s eyes, it slowly stretched into a thread fine as a hair—finer, even—three inches long. Without careful scrutiny, it would have gone unnoticed.

“This, this, this bowl of noodles is from the Imperial Kitchen—who would dare poison it? They’d have no opportunity anyway!” Mu Wan’er stammered nervously.

Within the golden whirlpool, weapons waited poised, not treasures, yet sharp beyond compare. Meng De’s voice rang out, youthful yet filled with authority, delivering judgment.

The others, hearing this man’s account, grew anxious, fearful he would reveal every detail of the night’s arrivals into the city.

Ao Tian promised to teach Wei Zhentian a suitable dance, and since Ziran would choose one, Ao Tian opted for competitive tango, while Ziran chose another style.

Uninterested in the farce ahead, Wu Yong, seated in the back, glanced at the trailing car, where Tokugawa Shige, Monica, Shen, and Sun Yelong rode. Wu Yong withdrew his gaze, then caught the soft, watery glance from Ruyi.

Notably, during the subsequent Q&A session, a journalist posed a question that drew much attention.

A sword light shot from Xu Daokong’s palm; under its sweep, dozens of planets shattered instantly, reduced to dust, and a deep spatial fissure marked its passage.

The one who killed A Long turned abruptly, hurling curses at those who mocked him, bawling and gasping, his cries wrenching the heart.

“Mom, don’t worry. With me here, nothing will happen to Xiaoxiao again.” Fu Jinyan gripped her hand, his brows and eyes filled with unwavering determination.

At that moment, Half-Mourner failed to catch Lin Ying, surprised, then his expression contorted into madness, murderous intent radiating as he fixed his gaze on Lin Ying.

Chen Runze checked the time: it was nine in the morning, Sunday, no school. He dressed, preparing to go out.

Just as Ye Beichen mourned and admired, a starlight flashed before him, and the voice of the Plague Lord sounded once more.