Chapter 63 (New Generation 1): Believing in Love

Sixty-five million years ago, on the edge of the Solar System, at Station X.

The consciousness of Tesla and Maria merged into one. More precisely, their minds now shared the same brain—Maria’s. In the end, language is merely a form of simulated signaling; when two minds are truly entangled, that is genuine, seamless communication.

Their first concern was still the preservation of the Venusian human genetic structure. Station X, with its network of 180,000 intersecting—

“What do you mean by that?” Cao Zhang was startled. If Xiahou Dun refused to help him, wouldn’t he truly become the fish upon the chopping block and Cao Pi the butcher?

“Damn, you really are a master—knowing even when I turned around and let one go... You deserve your reputation, a true expert. Lanlan, later we’ll go to the Apothecary Guild... What are we doing there? Just say I’m a valued guest of the guild president. Tell him to bring out a case of arcane potions. I’ve been having some digestive trouble lately. This stuff should do well enough as a drink.”

Then, right before their eyes, the icy silk cut straight through the pirate captain’s body—as easily as slicing pork, it sheared through without resistance.

After about half an hour, the immortal energy, already swollen to bursting, surged through every vital point, spurred by the effects of the two elixirs. Like an army of invaders storming fortresses, wave after wave battered at the enemy’s defenses.

“I wasn’t the one who pushed her.” Yinyi didn’t bother to clarify when people gossiped behind her back, but if someone slandered her to her face and she said nothing, she’d be nothing but a pushover.

All this time had already passed—could she truly not endure a few more days?

The Black Knight sneered. To dare refuse his Ghost Princess—if only he were allowed to kill, that claw just now would have pierced the man’s heart.

Guan Ping walked over to Zhao Shu, but did not meet his eyes. Zhao Shu smiled faintly. Years ago, they drank and spoke freely together; now, years later, Zhao Shu seemed ever more cunning and sly, while the other had grown in steadiness and maturity.

Zhong Nan had intended to have Xu Wanzhou inquire into Liao Qing’er’s whereabouts, but considering that the Intelligence Division was not yet strong enough, expecting them to find her immediately was unrealistic, so he let it go.

This was a human life. If it was lost just like that, Shu Qing and Starry Company would surely face even greater problems.

Huo Yuncheng felt disgusted just looking at it. He turned his face away, dialed room service, and summoned a waiter.

He was confident—as long as his punch landed, Lin Ran would be shattered by his overwhelming strength. Such was the confidence of a B-rank hybrid.

Suddenly, the mist swirling between the gaps in the bloodstones surged and gathered, finally forming a torrent that engulfed and devoured the second-grade spiritual herb.

Still, seeing the opposing side’s numbers, he worried Jiang Zhenghao might suffer a loss, so he quietly slipped to the backyard to find Gu Lin.

Chen Mo lowered his gaze, pondered, and replied: Qiao Wusheng’s business needed to expand, and cooperation with companies in City A was inevitable. But the fact that he’d chosen the “Chen Group” was particularly intriguing.

“It’s been years since anyone dared speak to me like that. Tell me—which family or which sect is backing you?” The Ink Sparrow’s smile vanished, murderous intent surging in his blood-red, demonic eyes.

He hadn’t expected this—at such a critical moment, Xiaoyaozi would appear. At that instant, Xu Xian was filled with gratitude for the inheritance that not only repaired his bloodline’s spirit, evolved it to nine stars, but also saved his life once more.

“No need to say it—I understand. Staying in the Ghost Prison is carefree enough, but I cannot lift my seal there,” Aman waved a hand, a hint of melancholy clouding his mood.

And now, to make matters worse, there was a scene at the socialite banquet—arguing in front of the media, ending up at the police station.

Nine years in America, Ye Mo still hadn’t adapted to the local cuisine. He remained fond of Chinese food, so he made do with last night’s leftovers and whipped up some egg fried rice.