Chapter 22: Long Street Slaughterhouse (17)

“One hour?”
Lu Jinchao was evidently surprised.
“Yes.” Wei Ling nodded. “I almost thought you...”
If she hadn’t believed that Lu Jinchao could find a way to survive and get her out even in a desperate situation like being out of control, she definitely wouldn’t have waited outside for a full hour.
“Did something happen inside?” she asked curiously.
Lu Jinchao briefly recounted her experience, then asked:
Seeing everyone grit their teeth in anger, Li Fanyu shrugged helplessly. He affectionately ruffled Sailulu’s hair and turned back toward the research center.
Of course, the Ming army was poorly managed; among the hundred finely crafted matchlocks, not a single one was reliable. Ordinary matchlocks couldn’t reliably penetrate armor at seventy paces, and firing a hundred shots without misfiring was nearly impossible.
“What?” Cedric turned just in time to see Percy Wesley embracing and kissing Penelope Krivat, who had just been discharged from the hospital.
The Jade-faced Princess said no more; she tossed aside the nearby flowers she had gathered, soared into the clouds, and headed straight for the Cloud-wrapping Cave.

This thought left her weak and trembling; if not for sheer willpower, she would have collapsed. Hearing Qin Su’s question, she was filled with fear but desperately tried to recall, furrowing her brows as she strained her memory.
Although maintaining control over the football, no threatening attack against Weidenfeller guarding the goal had yet materialized.
At the time, Zheng Ruihe ran away from home for reasons unknown even to Zhao Yuanxi. But now it seemed clear—the reason was to distance himself from this young lady Yingying.
“Alright, it seems that’s indeed the case. What about you, Luna?” Rolf scratched his head and turned to Luna.
The background image was a close-up of Tang Zheng practicing headers on the frontline training field at the riverbed base, his gaze focused, sweat flying.
The second year of the Zhenguan era had arrived, and many “major projects” previously untouched in his hands now had to be launched.
Chairman Li Zhaohui was in the meeting room listening to a group of experts analyze and explain Tianyi’s technological advantages.
A terrifying clash echoed through the void; the blade’s radiance struck King Leijin but condensed without dispersing, fiercely pressing against his body.
However, everything at home was meticulously managed by his sister. Lu Qiubo wanted to do something but found no opportunity; sometimes his sister forbade him from interfering. He knew he would likely mess things up, so he never took the initiative to get involved.
Half the year had passed, and the return-to-city trend was gradually beginning. The once-empty Yanjing City was filling with people, though the festive atmosphere remained muted.

Since the conversation with the scoundrel father, although the latter no longer insisted harshly on wanting him to acknowledge his lineage, his approach suddenly shifted to one of conciliation.
The Ming family, the title of Martial Saint—none of it mattered as much as having control over things in one’s own hands.
Yang Tian’s current strength, combining the five elemental laws, was enough to defeat a late-stage black hole-level warrior, though he was still far from the black hole-level peak.
At least for a month or two after the news broke, most of the common folk felt the noise around them had lessened, the ruffians they encountered had become more amicable, and life seemed to improve.
Wang Shichao had long operated abroad, backed by deep connections; ordinary merchants were beneath his notice.
Shi Xiuchen had thought about this too, but he couldn’t understand it either. So he decided not to dwell on it—these people would appear when the time came.
The two exchanged a glance and, suddenly inspired, reached forward again, their arms crossing and twisting.
Those high officials, usually arrogant, showed no displeasure under such strict scrutiny; each cooperated fully.