Chapter Fifty-Two: My Son, Yangyang

That afternoon, to make up for missing Yangyang's graduation ceremony, Yin Nian went to the school specially to pick up Yangyang after class. Liang Zhicheng stayed at home, helping Yin Nian’s mother prepare dinner. Arriving at the school, standing by the main gate, Yin Nian looked at the other parents who were waiting as well. Most of them were grandparents or young mothers; young fathers were rare. The scene felt both unfamiliar and novel to Yin Nian. In her memory, she had never once picked Yangyang up from school—something that, by conventional standards, should have been her duty. Liang Zhicheng had always done it. In a way, Liang Zhicheng was more like the “mother.” But who said only mothers could pick up their children? Gender, by its nature, was a paradox.

The eldest prince’s silly expression was truly comical, prompting Empress Zhengyuan to let out a spontaneous laugh. Before he could react, the blazing lance that seemed to fill the heavens pierced through him, burning him to death. At that moment, upon hearing that disciples of the Immortal Sect had already traced the lair of the heretics, Liang Shiming, curious, began to ask questions, but the ancient immortal deliberately changed the subject. As her words faded, a formidable aura surged from her, an overwhelming pressure that left everyone present gasping for breath.

“Why aren’t you handling your proper duties? Sitting here drinking milk tea—what’s that about?” Wen Hongyin, who had also ordered a cup, asked. “But I have one more demand. If you don’t agree, I won’t lead the way,” Ying Qian replied bluntly.

Now, Hua Jianfeng’s attacks could be caught by Su Qi, which proved that Hua Jianfeng had not been using his full strength. “Young master, do you think His Majesty would approve of you acting on your own like this? I think we should write to the Emperor first,” Lin Mang asked uneasily. Ao Yun’s comment made Ao Guang and the others take the matter more seriously; indeed, it left those seeking trouble with the dragon clan with far fewer excuses.

“Boss Li, did you just call Mr. Su ‘boss’?” Xiang Qianjin asked, a touch of confusion in his tone.

“It’s my turn to apologize to you now.” Suddenly, a wicked grin appeared on Yuan Shao’s handsome face. Facing the cold wind, Qu You shook her head with a laugh, decisively said “Take care!” and turned away. Gathering Qi Yu under her arm, she leaped into the air, vanishing after a few bounds into the snowy distance.

People living in this era of advanced technology were, in both physical ability and strength, far inferior to their ancestors. “Young master, these are shoes, not rags,” the naive Liu Bei explained, shaking his straw sandals—fortunately unaware of the slang of this era.

Walking along the main street of Zilong City, the crowds bustled as usual; yesterday’s battle had not disturbed daily life in the city. “With a face as thick as yours, do I really need to greet you? Boring,” Ouyang Mowu said, her words leaving the handsome man speechless, but he could only trail obediently behind her, since all his wives were with Ouyang Mowu.

At that moment, if someone could offer him a bowl of water and a chance to wash his face, he would thank their ancestors for eight generations—and even put up offerings to their ancestors sixteen generations back.

When Shen Tuyuntian took hold of Mingxi’s sword hilt—which was like a metal rod—the weight of more than five hundred pounds barely caused his sturdy right arm to dip. Raising her gaze to the other’s youthful face, Hua Tianxiang suddenly found herself unable to see through him.

Outside the brocade quilt, her delicate hand rested on her stomach, when suddenly a warm hand covered hers. The army of corpse-mages clad in black armor, their bones stained with vivid red blood, pressed toward the center of the orc army.

Sensing the gazes of nearly ten thousand disciples gathering on him from all the mountain peaks, each one unleashing their powers, straining their vision to see what was happening. Flames soared into the sky, blocking out the heavens, sparks flying, painting the river’s surface a dazzling crimson; countless serpents and insects were incinerated by the scattered fire.

All around, the bright moon hung in the sky, the water shimmered like a mirror, and the croaks of frogs broke the silence intermittently. Following A Guang’s instructions, Zhi Shouzhen leapt into the pond, bending low into the water, his limbs naturally relaxed, arms like fins, legs like a tail, gliding through the waves like a carp.