Chapter 92: Qi Zhihai's Memories

92

“Brother Xiaopeng, how much is this so-called thirty percent stake worth?” Fang Wenxuan could not help asking in curiosity.

He Xiaopeng smiled and said, “Heh, I looked into it. That thirty percent of the Mu family’s shares is worth at least three hundred million.”

“So much?” Cheng Fei said. Then he looked at Fang Wenxuan and said, “Wenxuan, call the economic division and find out who currently holds that thirty percent stake. If we go straight to the Mu family, I’m afraid they still won’t tell us the truth.”

“Yes, Captain,” Fang Wenxuan said.

After a while, Fang Wenxuan came back and looked at Cheng Fei. “Captain, I asked just now. That thirty percent stake is currently held by Mu Fuqiang himself.”

Wen Ran’s gaze was locked tightly on that car. It sat there in the dim light, too far away to make out anything at all unless someone got out.

In his impression, Yu Wuxia was as warm and flawless as jade, elegant and refined, the kind of good man Yang’er always said was indispensable for home life and travel alike, but utterly unsuited to marching into battle.

Nissen first shot Robben a contemptuous look, as if he were staring at an idiot, then turned to the burly, cold-faced man seated to his left, who had remained silent all this while, and said in indignation.

With a thud, because his limbs were still numb, Bing Hao, whose body had not yet fully recovered, sat down hard on the ground.

Stone could be destroyed; even steel bones and iron sinews could be destroyed. But how was this naturally formed prison of Ma Liehua supposed to be broken?

“Grand Instructor, if they won’t get lost, why not drag them into the search team as well?” At that, Ye Guangyin gave a laugh.

The men from the White Tiger Battalion lingered near the prison for a long while, then turned and left, just as they had come, without alarming a soul.

At first, they still struggled, trying to open the door. Slowly, they gave up and began to hum some kind of tune instead.

“Prince Feng, if, if something really does happen, can you cut off the canal?” Qin Qi asked after thinking for a moment.

Zi Tong said it lightly, rose to his feet, and walked out of the office, leaving the other instructors looking at one another in silence.

In truth, Ye Luo would occasionally joke around with Mo Weilian as well. But once Mo Weilian learned of Ye Luo’s strength, he instinctively began to regard him as someone above him.

“If it’s only that, then it may not be impossible.” Hua Shiyi’s eyes held nothing but curiosity, not the slightest malice. The Northern City Lord was not that averse to it.

Chu Mo stood there with his mouth open, instantly struck dumb. What incredible good news was this? Shi Qinghuan sniffled and looked up at him.

Then a Daoist entered from outside the door, bobbing his head as he walked. He wore a ceremonial crown and dressed very differently from Master Buzhou, clad in black robes and holding a horsetail whisk, his almond-shaped eyes bright with a smile.

Chu Mo put both hands in his trouser pockets, the corners of his mouth lifting. The gloom of the past few days seemed to have vanished all at once.

Among these magical treasures were immortal armors for novice cultivators, flying swords, and all manner of strangely shaped offensive artifacts.

The scene was simply too explosive. Even the patrons who had long been used to barroom brawls could not help being drawn over by the commotion on Ye Luo’s side.

The villagers, together with the Red Tassel troops, also busied themselves. Beside the great tree, Wutong bent down, and then a low sob suddenly rose.

Watching the corpse grow cold, everyone looked at one another and muttered under their breath. After quite a while did they finally come to themselves, and in an instant countless horrified gazes swept in unison toward Lu Chen.

“Little brother, where did you get something so precious?” Xu Qing asked as she broke free from Liu Yan’s embrace, her beautiful eyes fixed on him with deep feeling.

“All right, it’s time to go. I expect there’s enough ahead to keep Big Black and the Vietnamese fellow busy. Let’s move.” Zhao Ziyue said as he walked.

Xiao Chengqian let out a furious roar and stamped his foot; even the veins at his temples bulged high. His jaws were clenched so tightly as he did everything he could to maintain the state of binding the ghostly head—but what use was it now?

At the words in Dongfang Bubai’s tone, Ren Woxing’s face filled with rage. His ghastly pale features seemed to blush with blood, turning crimson; his pupils bulged, his eyes widened to the extreme, as though he meant to devour someone alive.