Chapter 73: No Class!

Zhang Yuemei still seemed somewhat skeptical.
Song Long took out his car keys.
“Auntie, look, I drive a Lamborghini. Surely I wouldn’t have any trouble dealing with Huang Kai, right?”
Zhang Yuemei nodded; indeed, that made sense.
A Lamborghini was much more expensive than Chen Fan’s Maserati.
...
Once one has established their foundation, nourished by the essence of heaven and earth, the spirit grows stronger. Cultivators call this “spiritual sense,” which can be projected outward or used for inner vision.
She was afraid, but when she lowered her head and saw the mottled wounds on her hands and stomach, hatred filled Su Yunfei’s chest.
Mo Nian sniffed, noticing that the air around him wasn’t so fresh, carrying a strange scent, somewhat like cotton cloth.
“You’re right. Then I won’t kill you—just cripple you instead.” Ling Chen stared at their legs, and before the terrified pair could reply, he swung his sword down.

He was clearly trying to comfort her, but seeing her reaction, Gong Lingye was momentarily at a loss for words.
Beside Yang Jian’s leg, the always lazy Howling Sky Dog raised its body, its gaze cold and fierce upon the immortal official.
“No, it’s not possible!” Song Ziyu shook her head. This earth-burrowing spell was merely a refined application of the wall-passing technique at its advanced stage, with many drawbacks—far inferior to true escape arts and unable to carry others.
Bang! Wuyin descended from the air, landing a kick squarely on Tianyu’s face. A tooth flew out with the impact, and Wuyin pushed off Tianyu’s face, performing a graceful backflip and landing steadily.
Top-tier mortal treasures might be precious to ordinary demons, but the Demon Pavilion was backed by demon immortals with plenty of earth-grade treasures, so they wouldn’t care about a mere mortal-grade artifact.
She found the post, with the cover showing herself slouched in a chair, holding a guitar, brows furrowed.
Jiang Xiyue looked in that direction and indeed saw a window open, with a white ladder visible outside.
Yet, they said nothing. The leader gently fanned his folding fan, his expression unchanged despite the villagers’ accusations.
“I don’t know.” Sheng Ran’er frowned. She hadn’t rested well, and her head hurt, unwilling to analyze or think about irrelevant matters.
The Magic team, defeated in the previous match, astonishingly opened the game at the Celtics’ home court with a 14, even 15 to 0 run! All because of the addition of just one Artest.

Chu Qinglan managed a faint smile. Last night, she wasn’t entirely unprepared—fortunately, it was just superficial wounds, so she went along with it.
The sound of war drums echoed, each beat striking at the hearts of all the soldiers, pushing the atmosphere in the arena to its peak.
Fierce winds whipped the pale hair of Mao 2-7 and the jet-black hair of Qian Chen together. In that scorching heat, Mao 2-7 saw Qian Chen’s eyes—those eyes were devoid of warmth, yet burning intensely.
The water jets shredded the wooden walkways suspended in midair and sliced through the pipes above, the broken boards crashing down with thunderous noise.
As it spoke, it raised its arm to show Jillia the scarred handprint burned into its skin. The mark had scabbed over, but remained shocking to the eye.
The slender elder suddenly sensed something amiss. His sword was mere inches from piercing Elder Xu’s chest, yet Elder Xu wore a strange smile, staring at Long Feiyun!
This place was a wilderness—not hills or mountains, but pitted and uneven, strewn with wild grass and flowers. How could the Sword God claim there was nowhere to hide?
With a sharp hiss, the longsword was deftly avoided. Ye Zimei was momentarily taken aback, focusing her gaze, only to see Mo Chuan Nan act again. He moved, but his hand was empty—the sword already sheathed and resting on his back.