Pitching Camp

The Guan River wound and surged toward the southwest, then suddenly turned southeast before a hundred-zhang-high cliff, forming a sharp bend. The river churned with crashing waves here, countless whirlpools swirling across its surface.

That cliff was the Seven Star Platform. The dense pavilions and towers atop it were the Zhu clan's Seven Star Manor.

Liu Xiaolou waved, ordering Hui Ming and Zhu Hecheng to be carried over. Pointing at the Seven Star Platform, he asked, "If I break the formation from the stone steps beneath that cliff, can it be broken?"

Hui Ming truly did not know. Emei Mountain and Qingcheng Mountain were not far apart, so Chen Xi had not yet had her fill of playing when the two Daoists ahead had already come to meet them, telling them they had reached Emei Mountain and should prepare to descend.

Tu Fengqi furrowed her brows. She missed her maternal grandmother deeply as well, but she knew even more clearly that before tomorrow, she could not go see anyone from Duke Zhenguo's Mansion.

Xuanyuan Aotian was the first to leap onto Nangong Mansion's towering wall. He moved with a leopard's agility, his feet landing on the roof tiles without the slightest sound.

"Commander, something huge happened in Beijing. The Presidential Palace was bombed, and Yuan Shikai's life or death is still unknown. Do you think we ought to do something?" The chief adjutant's eyes gleamed as he spoke excitedly.

The wound could not touch water, so Lin Xiyao could only wipe herself down with a towel before Han Yiqian carried her back to bed.

In one night, Ye Xingchen wrote down the entirety of the Bone Refining Hand. Only after checking it several times to make sure nothing had been missed did he slowly drift off to sleep.

The Virtuous