Chapter 49: (Second Update)

What's the Wei?
What is the name of Marshal Wei's son, Lieutenant Colonel Wei?
Wei What?
Why? (Note: A wordplay on the surname Wei and the Chinese word for "Why")
It's easy to remember and quite amusing.

Ying Shu entered the ward along with Marshal Wei and the others. Lying inside was a middle-aged man covered in tubes. Due to a year-long coma preventing any movement or eating, his eyes and cheeks were sunken, and his complexion was extremely pale.

Seeing his once-proud son lying on the bed like a corpse, a look of sorrow crossed the marshal's kind face—

These garments were made by soaking fabrics in a magical potion researched by Neo Que, specifically designed to counter ordinary offensive magic.

Right now, what the Black Dragon was truly concerned with was that seemingly ordinary world, whose stall owner had been specially marked by the system as "Magic."

The two finally let go of the patient, walking one after the other to Yang Shu's side, and the other examinees gathered around as well.

While expressing his feelings, it was also a way of casting bait; Shen Du was already laying the groundwork for his next step.

Chatting and laughing, the two walked along with the bustling stream of students toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Agnes seemed to have figured something out, as she no longer treated Ray with her past coldness.

Gu Yier smiled, placed her hand in his palm, and followed his lead to his side, watching the family drama unfold before them together.

Seeing that Wen Zhan was indeed wavering, Wei Qiu's expression became even more resolute, though her tears fell more heavily.

Afterward, he exchanged glances with Gu Kuizhong. Having served as officials together for many years, although they had once been at odds over the matter of Gu Zhaizi, they shared a considerable tacit understanding when working together.

In other words, the video currently in Ruan Ying's hands was a trump card capable of stirring up a massive storm.

Ruan Ying roughly guessed that Zhong Yue probably hadn't stopped the live broadcast or tried to stop Su Meng, simply letting her make a fool of herself here.

Luo Han softly called out Du Mosheng's name, his gentle and lingering tone making Du Mosheng's legs turn to jelly, nearly causing her to fall into Luo Han's arms.

"Chen Yun, come with me," said the elder, glancing at Chen Yun and motioning for him to follow up to the fifth layer.

"Slap, slap..." With those words, Duan Ying delivered several consecutive slaps, instantly causing Bai Fenglin's face to swell directly.

"What is it? Big brother, what did you think of?" Li Ke and Cheng Huailai looked at each other in dismay, both startled by his out-of-context remark.

The soldier came to his senses and hurriedly shouted, "Fine! You all wait here and don't move around, I'll go report to the general!" With that, he turned around and dashed into the city like a flying deer.

Chen Yun's physical cultivation and constitution were not nearly that monstrous; any casual expert could easily bring about his destruction.

Since the two were close, she could clearly feel the blazing anger erupting from Shen Fengli, as if it were about to scorch everything around him.

"Haha, hurt you? Just kidding, even if you lay there without moving, I wouldn't be able to harm a single hair on your head," Chen Yun laughed heartily.

These patients seeking medical attention were ordinary citizens to begin with, and having never seen such a crowd before, they were threatened by Lu Zhengwang and quickly dispersed in all directions.

"President Song is the same." The two shook hands, and Qiao Qingting smiled, a strange glint flashing in his eyes.

Seeing that Ji Kuang had not been killed by his attack, Xiao Tian charged toward him wielding the Sorrow-Sky Flute, leaving Ji Kuang like a lamb ready for slaughter.

When going to school in the afternoon, before stepping through the school gates, Ye Jiarou habitually looked around, but still caught no sign of Chen Xiyuan.

After the excitement, Xie Mao dragged a chest out from his portable space, placed a labor puppet inside, and set it to harvest energy prime stones by the ditch.

Outside the window, Linlang heard several crisp fragments of opera singing—crying, laughing, lingering and sorrowful—all mixed together, utterly absurd.

His ability to recognize paths was truly top-tier; a single glance from the mountain into the town that morning was enough for him to know precisely which street sold what goods.