The moonlight flowed like water, but a cold, deathly silence pervaded the depths of the courtyard. Even the chirping of insects and cicadas seemed to have vanished, leaving only the rustle of the night wind blowing through the bamboo grove.
Inside the pavilion, Ye Shiyin's face was twisted in pain. Her features, as delicate as a painting, were gradually turning deathly pale from suffocation. She could barely breathe.
The hand gripping her neck was long and pale, almost bloodless. It was like a terrifying pincer, impossible to break free from, holding her fast as it slowly lifted her off the ground.
Her delicate hands clawed at the hand on her neck, trying to struggle free, but the terrifying, immense power behind it was as immovable as a mountain.
She tried to summon the Magical Power from her meridians and Spirit Sea, but it was completely suppressed by a mysterious aura. The moment she tried to call upon even a sliver of it, it dissipated like smoke.
