Chapter 78: Literary Spirit

“Perhaps he has an entire set of self-developed theories or experiences regarding meteorology.”
“That’s why the higher-ups are so eager to find this genius as quickly as possible, so they can ensure his safety. Once he’s part of the national team, he’ll have better resources and laboratories at his disposal. Maybe, with precise calculations, he’ll be able to predict what’s to come...”

There’s no point in confronting Hua Meng Mushroom; escape is the wisest move. He immediately turned around, pushing his Misty Step to the limit, his figure swift as the wind. In just a few breaths, he had already covered several kilometers.

With his back to the veteran police officer, Lü Sibo flashed a triumphant smile. At that moment, his canine tooth gleamed so brightly that even Li Zixiao, who was facing him, was stunned.

He had asked this same question countless times before, but never received a clear answer. Yimo would always just smile faintly, or coldly change the subject, or shoot him a sharp look and say nothing more. In any case, there was never a direct answer—not once.

The rain helped Da Min regain some clarity through his dizziness. After a long while, Da Min managed to sit up straight. He began to work the bolt of his rifle, his fingers trembling slightly. The moment the bullet clicked into the chamber, his confidence returned.

Leng Shuang was still in shock, feeling that compared to Shen Jun’s swordsmanship, this was on an entirely different level—far superior. Shen Jian was obsessed with the sword, so naturally his skill surpassed Shen Jun’s.

Cen Kexin still harbored a glimmer of hope. She thought that perhaps he would look back, even if just once. If he did, she would believe that she still held a place in his heart.

“Craig? Craig, where are you?” Overcome with delight, Ye Yuhuan looked around, but saw only Chai Zhiling, eyes closed and resting, and beside him, Gasli still unconscious.

“You hold the Soul Severing Sword—better to use it to cut off your obsession,” Hua Meng said calmly.

As for which dragon Butterfly Tiger would choose, Nie Zong could guess with his toes. She’d pick the flashiest dragon, not the one with the best combat prowess—of that he was certain.

Next, Ghost Thirteen recounted his assessment of Di Zhan in minute detail, holding nothing back. He knew that Ye Xin was far better than he at piecing together information. What seemed trivial to him might prove vital in Ye Xin’s eyes.

Borg immediately spun around to counterattack, and Baybul rushed in to double-team. Together, they nearly snatched the ball from Inns.

Then there were people like Vunanta, who killed and plundered, deceived for money and lust, used religion as a pretext to commit all manner of evil. Compared to Bai Ziting, his character was even more despicable. Such men, in Yang Yi’s view, deserved nothing but death. For now, he was allowed to live only because he was still useful. With a man already as good as dead, what could possibly be left to say?

Yet, at this moment, none of the Winged Demon clan’s strongmen made a move. It made sense—even the mighty Muxiong Demon Lord had suffered terribly at the hands of the golden-masked figure. These low-ranked demons, forcibly awakened from slumber, stood no chance in comparison.

“You—” The middle-aged man seemed obsessed with the Long family. At the mere mention of their name, he grew agitated beyond reason. Hearing Fu Xiang mention them, his body writhed violently, his eyes blazing with fury as if he wished to tear Fu Xiang apart and devour him alive.

“‰＄§※△●” The veins on Ferguson’s forehead bulged. He lunged over to Beckham, snatched a phone from his locker, and, without a word, spun around and hurled it viciously at the wall.

The only thing worth being thankful for was that these two heroes—who looked like mere children—still obeyed his orders. At least he wouldn’t suffer the terrifying fate of being killed by his own heroes.

Zhang Yifeng was at a loss for words. The demon before him had lived for eight thousand years. The two sides were natural enemies. To call him “senior” felt insincere, but constantly saying “you, you, you” seemed disrespectful as well. He truly didn’t know how to address him.