The Martial God who started at Mantuo Manor

Page 60

The Emei sect leader opposite him, who wished he could tear them to pieces, seemed to be frozen in place the moment Wang Meng stepped forward.

The anger and murderous intent on his face were instantly extinguished, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head.

She looked at Wang Meng, her icy phoenix eyes revealing an extremely complex expression.

There was shock, there was doubt, and there was also a hint of... embarrassment that she herself hadn't even noticed—the shame of being caught in her embarrassing state in public.

She did not hesitate at all.

The moment Wang Meng finished speaking, her jade-like hand, which had been tightly gripping the sword hilt and whose knuckles had turned white, loosened.

Amidst the astonished gazes of the crowd, she gave Wang Meng a barely perceptible nod.

With a soft clang, the longsword returned to its sheath.

"let's go!"

She coldly uttered three words, no longer glancing at those Ming Cult heretics, and turned to lead her disciples toward an empty seat.

This sudden change left everyone in the Ming Cult completely stunned.

What shocked them even more was that both the gray-robed nun and Huang Rong nodded to Wang Meng when they saw him come out, and sat down directly. Even the wandering martial artists returned to their respective places.

For a moment, the entire inner hall was left with only a dozen or so Ming Cult members, who stood there dumbfounded, their murderous aura palpable. They didn't know whether to raise or lower their curved swords, looking just like a group of clowns being watched. Their faces turned from white to green, then from green to purple, a truly spectacular sight.

As Fang Yanqing turned to walk towards her seat, she paused slightly.

She couldn't help herself after all, and quickly turned around, giving Wang Meng a very subtle look.

That look was no longer the icy, chilling gaze it held when facing the Ming Cult; instead, beneath that layer of ice, a pool of spring water had quietly melted.

In those spring waters, there was a trace of gratitude, a trace of apology, and even a trace of coquettishness and dependence after he had rescued her from a predicament.

Her usually tightly pursed red lips now curved upwards into an almost imperceptible arc, and her eyes seemed to be silently saying to him: You... you certainly know how to meddle in other people's business.

I will remember what happened today.

Wang Meng met her gaze calmly, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, like warm sunshine gently enveloping her fleeting tenderness, carrying both comfort and a hint of a man's appreciation and possessiveness towards a woman.

That look seemed to say: Master, you don't need to be so polite.

Your people, your affairs, I'm determined to take care of them!

This brief and intimate exchange of glances, a blend of domineering and tenderness, was a powerful yet intimate act of "exchanging glances."

It ended in the blink of an eye.

Fang Yanqing immediately withdrew her gaze, reverting to her aloof and unapproachable demeanor, and sat upright in her seat. However, the faint blush that appeared at the base of her fair ears betrayed her inner turmoil.

And Wang Meng also confirmed one thing!

His guess was correct.

The beautiful Taoist nun... as expected, she mistook me for her senior brother's reincarnation!

Chapter Thirty-Two: Chief Huang, do you need any help?

Seeing that the storm had subsided and most people had arrived, it was time for the real show to begin.

With a series of clear, tinkling sounds, the beaded curtain separating the inner and outer halls was parted to the sides by a pair of slender, jade-like hands.

Li Qingluo finally makes her grand entrance.

Today she changed into an even more magnificent purple palace dress, the hem of which was embroidered with delicate rose patterns in silver thread. As she walked, the hem trailed on the ground, truly like a night-blooming cereus slowly blooming under the moon.

With a perfectly charming smile on her face, her eyes sparkling and radiant, her mere presence overshadowed all the other women in the hall. Even Huang Rong's mature elegance and Fang Yanqing's pure and innocent beauty paled in comparison to her deliberately cultivated grace and nobility.

"Thank you for waiting, distinguished guests."

Her voice was as clear and melodious as a nightingale's song, with a touch of the sweet and gentle Wu dialect unique to women from Jiangnan: "I hope that everyone will leave with a full load today."

As soon as the words were spoken, one after another, graceful and beautiful maids, carrying trays covered with bright red brocade, emerged from the depths of the inner hall and lined up on both sides of the high platform in front of the hall.

Although the idea for this treasure appraisal event came from Wang Meng, he was, to be honest, completely clueless about such an elegant affair.

Therefore, this professional task should naturally be left to professionals.

Wang Meng gave Li Qingluo a reassuring look, smiled slightly, and then turned around without hesitation, retreating back to the dimly lit back room, leaving the stage that everyone was watching to its mistress.

As Li Qingluo invited the manor's chief appraiser, the red cloth covering the first treasure was unveiled, and an uncontrollable chorus of exclamations immediately filled the hall.

The tense atmosphere, which had become somewhat fraught with hostility due to the feud between the beautiful Taoist nun and the Ming Cult, was finally effectively eased in the face of the temptation of real gold, silver, and rare treasures.

The crowd's attention was quickly diverted, and the scene became lively and harmonious once again, with whispers and shouts replacing the previous tense atmosphere.

Huang Rong took a small sip of the tea in front of her.

The tea was top-quality Biluochun, its refreshing aroma mingling with the subtle fragrance of incense in the room, gently permeating the heart and soul.

On the high platform, a maid unveiled another red cloth, revealing a gleaming sword. The gems inlaid on the scabbard sparkled in the candlelight, eliciting suppressed gasps and exclamations of admiration from the audience.

Indeed, it is a rare and precious item.

Huang Rong's gaze lingered on a precious sword for a moment, a hint of appreciation flashing in her eyes, but that appreciation quickly faded, replaced by a deeper, heavier layer of worry.

She has been away from Xiangyang for some time now.

Most of the objectives of this trip—procuring medicinal herbs, contacting various sects, and even acquiring a batch of fine weapons for the Beggars' Sect disciples—have been largely achieved.

These rare and precious treasures, which ordinary people dream of, are indeed quite attractive to her.

After all, women are like dragons.

They are all particularly interested in things that sparkle.

But these things are ultimately just icing on the cake.

In Huang Rong's heart, there was still one most important and crucial matter that had not been resolved.

This matter was like an invisible mountain, weighing heavily on her heart, making her unable to find peace even in this luxurious and comfortable place.

That was the food problem in Xiangyang City.

Over the years, thanks to Guo Jing's painstaking efforts and the assistance of heroes from all over the world, Xiangyang City has become impregnable.

The city is home to renowned masters, fearless soldiers, and divine weapons crafted by master artisans. Even healing elixirs are not scarce.

Xiangyang City lacked nothing—the only thing it lacked was enough food to fill the stomachs of its hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians.

That city was a massive war fortress, a bottomless pit that devoured money and grain.

It can attract heroes from all over the world and forge weapons and armor, but it cannot produce a single grain of rice.

Every time the Mongol army besieged a city, the city's food supplies would run out.

Although the fighting has slowed down somewhat, the amount of grain stored in the city's granaries has reached a frightening level.

Without food, even the most fortified city is nothing more than a magnificent tomb.

Even the bravest soldier cannot wield the sword or spear in his hand.

The thought of Guo Jing's increasingly haggard yet still upright figure, and the trust and expectations of the people in the city, made the celadon teacup in Huang Rong's hand feel as heavy as a thousand pounds.

The fragrant tea in the cup seemed to have turned somewhat bitter.

He glanced at the appraiser on the high platform, who was speaking eloquently, and then at the wandering heroes of the martial arts world who were completely captivated by the rare and precious treasures.

It looks like this treasure appraisal event will continue for at least another two or three hours before it ends.

She couldn't wait that long.

Huang Rong picked up her teacup and drank the now-cold tea in one gulp, as if to strengthen her resolve.

She slowly stood up, her graceful figure inconspicuous in the bustling crowd.

Finally, while everyone's attention was focused on the next treasure to be revealed, she turned around silently and, like a nimble raccoon, quickly disappeared into the dimly lit back room.

The whole process was so smooth that even Li Qingluo, who had been paying close attention to the situation, didn't notice her departure.

The back hall was completely different from the bustling and noisy front hall.

There were only maids moving back and forth silently carrying trays, and a few accountants buried in their desks, writing furiously and responsible for recording accounts.

Besides that, only Wang Meng remained.

He was sitting leisurely in a large rocking chair, which creaked slightly with his movements. He was holding an old, unidentified scroll in his hands, reading it with great interest.

A faint, unique fragrance, a blend of orchid and a young woman's natural scent, drifted in before he could see anything and entered his nostrils.

Wang Meng put down the book in his hand and raised his head from the comfortable rocking chair.

Because he was sitting low and the person was standing close, his gaze took on a magnificent, upward journey.

The first thing I noticed was her shapely calves, encased in a bright green silk skirt.

The hem of her skirt fell perfectly above her ankles. She seemed to be standing a little hastily, and the outline beneath the skirt was faintly visible. The soft yet firm lines were enough to evoke the most primal fantasies in any man.

Moving the gaze upwards, one sees a slender waist so delicate it seems one could grasp it with one hand, tightly bound by a moon-white palace sash.

This ingenious restraint only made the shape of what followed behind it appear even more pert and shapely.

The breathtakingly rounded curves, encased in the dress, resembled a perfectly ripe body of water, waiting for a pair of large hands to knead and play with it wantonly.

Perhaps it was because of her anxiety, or perhaps because she was walking too fast, but her chest was heaving slightly and somewhat violently.

From his vantage point looking up, the majestic snow-capped peaks, wrapped in fine silk, appeared even more towering and clearly defined.

With each breath she took, her clothes rippled, creating a deadly, captivating wave.

The fine fabric was stretched taut, forming two perfect curves, as if it would break through completely at any moment due to its amazing elasticity.

Finally, his gaze slowly settled on her stunningly beautiful face, a perfect blend of charm and elegance.

Those beautiful eyes, which always shone with intelligence and cunning, now held an obvious hint of anxiety and pleading. Her slightly parted red lips exhaled urgent breaths as she silently and steadily gazed at him.

"Boss Huang!"

Upon hearing this, Wang Meng was slightly taken aback, wondering why Huang Rong would come looking for him. Could it be that she wanted revenge for that kiss?

Although he was muttering to himself, his body moved with extraordinary agility. He quickly closed the book in his hand, pressed his palm on the armrest of the rocking chair, and stood up nimbly.

However, his movement, though swift, also carried a hint of haste. The luxurious brocade trousers he wore, which were originally loose and fitted, suddenly taut from his lower abdomen down, supported by a majestic silhouette, forming a winding yet powerful arc, like an angry dragon lurking in the abyss, suddenly showing signs of awakening.

The fabric was stretched taut, revealing a startling mark.

Huang Rong's gaze only touched that spot casually, but as if burned by hot coals, she quickly looked away.