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Zhongsun Mou immediately said to Fan Sheng, “Brother Fan, there’s no need to rush. I’ll do it myself.”
He Lingchuan smiled and said, “Let’s be clear first, I’m not taking merman pearls. You can produce those yourself anyway. You’ve got as many as you want.”
The old saying about merfolk weeping pearls was, at this moment, nothing but naked mockery.
Zhongsun Mou shot him a cold, sinister glance. What he took out, however, was not a magical artifact, but a thick stack of treasure notes. “Fifty thousand taels of silver.”
The smallest-denomination note in the stack was worth three thousand taels, and the largest was ten thousand.
The moment he slapped the notes onto the table, the noisy Chao Lake Tower fell silent.
A single wager of fifty thousand taels?
That was a record-setting bet for the Lotus Festival in Baishajue.
“Your turn.” Zhongsun Mou waited in a leisurely, composed manner, wanting to see how He Lingchuan would respond. “If you can’t produce the money, you can always stake that round shield of yours.”
“My shield?” He Lingchuan froze. This guy’s actually taken a fancy to the Soul-Stealing Mirror?
Then it made sense. Lately, He Lingchuan had often been using the mirror to test divine technique mechanisms.
The mirror itself was shrieking in his ear, “No, no! Don’t do it! I hate being soaked in water!”
Zhongsun Mou was a merman. He spent at least half his life in water. And the mirror, being...
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