Oppression, Observation

A flash of black light streaked past, and the three Houtian Realm martial artists who had already leaped over the courtyard wall flew back into the yard like kites with their strings cut, swept back by an overwhelming force. Three heavy thuds rang out as they hit the ground. They had suffered grievous injuries, blood streaming from their mouths and noses, their eyes unfocused. They clearly would not survive.

This sudden turn of events greatly startled both Luan Yeping and Yang Chu. Luan Yeping had risen earlier out of concern, his arms tucked beneath his armpits and his bent hands formed into claws, instinctively taking up a defensive stance as his cold, stern gaze swept the outside of the courtyard wall.

Yang Chu reacted even more fiercely. With a crash, he overturned the table, sending porcelain trays, bowls, chopsticks, and other items clattering and shattering across the ground. He darted to Luan Yeping's side. The two stood no more than three meters apart, shoulder to shoulder in a mutually protective formation, staring in that direction as though facing a great enemy.

Yet neither of them could see anything. A thick courtyard wall blocked their sight. Not to mention innate martial artists—even grandmasters found it difficult to see through solid matter and glimpse the scene beyond.

What shocked and worried them was that not only could they see nothing, they could hear and sense nothing as well. It was as though there truly was no one there. This meant that whoever had come was not only highly skilled in martial arts, but also adept at concealing their aura.

"This method is somewhat like that of the Law Enforcement Hall. And Old Zhao has shown no sign of activity for so long; I fear he has already met with misfortune. You and