The Glamorous Comeback of the Ousted Heiress-Chapter 66 - : 028 My epitaph won’t have a single word of regret_l

Chapter 66: 028 My epitaph won’t have a single word of regret_l

Translator: 549690339

Most people are typically described like this— For instance, N02. Jiang Xijue 15789258

N03. Ma Tongfeng 9987412

N018. He Wen 8547127

This was normal, Bai Lian glanced at the lower right corner, her own name—

N012589. o

She supposed to be number 12589, the lowest in any ranking.

Her gaze then moved to the very top— NOIL. 99999999

Bai Lian: ‘ .

All of the mountains look small in comparison.

Turning her attention to the difficult monthly ranking points, it was hard to believe that this number one was achieved by a human.

She began to suspect if the system’s upper limit was perhaps 99999999.

This style…

She shifted her gaze slightly.

“What’s up?” Jiang Fulai had asked Ming Dongheng to escort Director Chen upstairs to view the calligraphy and paintings, but he saw Bai Lian holding her phone, lost in thought, looking at him.

He walked over, rested one hand on the back of the chair behind Bai Lian, and leaned slightly forward to peek at her phone, his expression reserved and cool.

With just one glance, he could see the account she had just accessed— Account Name: Bai Jian

Points this month: o

Total points: o

Following: o

Followers: o

Jiang Fulai stared at the name “Bai Jian” for a while, falling into silence.

Yu Guang cast a cold glance towards Jiang He.

Jiang He’s head seemed to be fuse with the Rubik’s Cube.

Depressed, he knocked his head against the Rubik’s Cube.

“You’ve registered, huh.” Jiang Fulai coldly withdrew his gaze from him, unhurriedly pulled out his phone, and re-downloaded the blue app he had previously uninstalled.

“Yeah.” Bai Lian generously showcased her ID.

Then she remembered something else, opened WeChat and sent a message to

Mao Kun—

[Four one-pound sandbags.]

Bai in the white tank-top responded rapidly: [Sure thing, sis!]

Ten o’clock at night.

Bai Lian slipped out of the alley after the lights in Ji Hengs room went out,

finding Mao Kun already waiting at the entrance of the alley, squatting and smoking.

In the darkness, only the faint crimson glow of the cigarette end was visible.

“Sis.” Mao Kun immediately stood up when he saw Bai Lian.

Bai Lian, with an earbud in, listening to vocabulary, nonchalantly bent down and picked up the cloth bag he had placed aside.

Four one-pound sandbags, she weighed them in her hand before casually tossing them to Mao Kun, instructing indifferently, “Tie them to your limbs.”

“Huh?” Mao Kun touched his head, then did as she said, tying a sandbag to each limb.

He tried walking and found his feet heavy.

His hands were also heavy, but Mao Kun was no stranger to exercise, and even with the sandbags, he could still move normally.

With only a pound each, he walked like a blundering moth. Bai Lian had not seen anyone so fragile; she moved her gaze away without expression.

“I’ll teach you two moves today.” Bai Lian, still unwashed and clad in her day’s long dress, handed her phone to Mao Kun.

She shifted her weight back, with her left leg slightly bent and right leg feigned, as she flicked her right fist upward and pulled her left fist to her waist, her right foot morphing into a bow stance, and her power rooted in her left hand before she swiftly launched her left fist!

“Bang—”

Her left hand, seemingly delicate with visible knuckles when clenched, threw the punch.

Mao Kun, with his face barely three centimeters away from her fist, felt the wind scatter his yellow hair; he had no doubt that if her fist traveled three centimeters further, it could shatter his nasal bone!

Bai Lian’s hair, tousled by the gust, softly floated back across her forehead under the moonlight, and her face seemed softer than usual.

She gracefully retrieved her hand, her pitch-black, clear eyes asking lazily, “Did you see clearly?”

Niao Kun snapped back to reality:

He saw, but not in full detail.

After ten minutes of learning the two moves, Mao Kun had barely memorized them.

“Training with sandbags can cause significant harm to the limbs,” Bai Lian took back her phone and recited a medicinal formula, “Codonopsis,

Atractylodes, deer antler, angelica, and Cyperus each 65 grams, Chuanxiong, Pubescent angelica, Eucommia… grind them together, let it cool, then mix with the medicine to form a paste, and spread it on the limbs.”

After speaking, she saw Mao Kun gazing at her with a clear yet foolish look.

Bai Lian: ” . . . Fine, I’ll text it to you.”

Mao Kun with a near-tears expression: “Thank you, sis!”

“Don’t you all learn the long fist anymore? No palm techniques? No spear dancing?” Bai Lian watched him perform the moves once more, and after a prolonged moment, she averted her gaze, asking softly.

As she slightly lifted her head, her eyes settled on the fairly round moon above.

In the cold moonlight, her gaze was also deep, cold, and distant.

Mao Kun had seen a similar expression on Bai Lian before, back at the auction, when he spotted her on Backter Street.

Yet the expression now was slightly different than then.

“Everyone’s learning combat moves,” Mao Kun thought for a moment before speaking, “These days, many kids learn taekwondo. Few children learn the long fist or spear, and there used to be a martial arts school in Xiangcheng that closed down due to a lack of students.’