Wei Zhao was about to take his leave when an expression of words held back at the tip of his tongue suddenly surfaced on Jin Buhuan's face.

Wei Zhao raised an eyebrow. "Brother Jin has something to say?"

Jin Buhuan weighed his phrasing for a moment. "The Academy of the Gods of Sin—has Young Master Lin ever heard of it?"

Wei Zhao blinked. "I have heard the name, though I know little enough about it."

Among the many academies of the gods, the Academy of the Gods of Sin was something of an oddity.

Its overall strength could not match the transcendent heights of the Academy of the Lord of the Gods, nor did it possess the coffers of the Academy of the God of Wealth...

Xia Zihan of course nodded her assent. After lunch, the Zeng clan instructed Steward Lü to lay the New Year's Eve feast out in the front courtyard, so that she and Xia Zihan would welcome the new year together with everyone.

Yet over such matters they could do nothing but stand by and fret; in the end, it would still have to be settled between the eldest son and Jun Rongfan themselves.

Though Harry was glad to be praised and valued, to speak truthfully, he felt as if something enormous had been dumped with a clang upon his shoulders between one word and the next.

This was the steward of Mubai's household; she must have known him in the past, so saying such a thing would not betray her memory, and would spare her a round of explanations.

When the tournament began, perhaps to heighten the tension and excitement, the matchup order had been arranged from weakest to strongest, with the match between the champions of the northern and southern divisions deliberately set as the final bout.

With his face plastered with the stuff, He Zheng grunted. He pinched a claw off his cheek and held it in his hand, his brows lifting faintly, and gave a cold laugh.

This Old Fifth Guo was a lively, flighty sort, and sharp withal. When Chu Yuexi was around, the two of them had got on best of all, and in every matter he took Chu Yuexi as the lead of his little band.

Qianya Ling alone said her piece; she berated the guards, hands on her hips and chest thrust out, chin raised, her whole face one broad mask of arrogance.

Ma Qiaoyan heaved a sigh and cursed, "Damn it all, I truly do not want to meddle in this sort of thing—never mind!" With that she dialed the number. Perhaps I was too sensitive; or perhaps anything touching Li Yi would always rouse me to a pitch of sensitivity. I heard Li Yi asking in a flurry whether something had happened to me.

As he spoke, Tang Dajun's expression turned somewhat savage, as though he had never yet set down the matter of being turned away by Lan Fei.

Li Yuguo had begun by being so warm to him—why, in only a few short months, had he turned so heartless, not merely withholding his favor but striking to kill? Were he to go back now, there would be nothing left for him at all.

In the vast VIP room of Shenghua sat two delegations—one from Dongsheng, one from Shenghua—and upon the great conference table lay the documents to be signed that day.

After more or less steadying the current state of the Long Group, Shen Rui returned to the Long family villa, where she had been staying these many days, though she had kept herself pure and untouched—having not been sullied by Long Feng.

"Alas," Wu Mei sighed quietly, unnoticed by the others. From his right hand blood trickled slowly, his right hand trembling without cease, and Wu Mei's face had turned several shades the worse.

This was close enough to support Ling Lan at a moment's notice. Lin Huanle took note of it and silently registered his approval.

In the dense forest several hundred li from the cave, a creature more than ten meters in height, with nine heads sprouting from its massive shoulders, was fleeing madly, several wounds on its body so deep the bone showed, blood gushing out in torrents.

The rain blurred his sight, making the ranks of ghost soldiers before his eyes all the more terrifying: through the curtains of rain, dim and shadowy iron armor and ghostly visages, invincible as the ox-headed and horse-faced demons of old; and that long-bladed sword wall standing in rows was no less than a soul-summoning banner, a rod to hook out lives.

Beside that fist print, Lu Fei's fist was so unremarkable, so utterly out of proportion—and yet it had verily blocked it.

At three thirty in the morning, Tang Deguan finally broke down and opened his mouth, revealing the hiding place of the cash in the house.

The power of the law gathered at once in Wanjun's right hand, and blazing flames erupted from both hands as an aura nearly that of a Heavenly Master began to radiate from his body.