Zhou Qingran's taut nerves finally loosened. The grief she had barely suppressed surged back into her heart, and her shoulders trembled as she began to cry in the woman's embrace.
She was like a child who had lost her home—helpless, pitiful, and with no idea what to do.
"Aaargh!" Ji Cheng was still screaming miserably. His Emperor Body was already covered in cracks, his face twisted in agony, blood streaming from all seven apertures as though he might die at any moment.
The other three tried to intervene, but no matter how hard they tried, they could not help Ji Cheng.
They could only watch as Ji Cheng's aura weakened by the moment, his Emperor Body shattered, and his divine soul gradually went dark.
Fortunately, the woman apparently did not intend to kill him. Only at the final moment did his suffering cease.
Ji Cheng lay sprawled there in wretched condition. He had just taken a trip to the gates of hell, and when he looked at the woman again, his eyes were filled with terror, as though he were looking upon a ghost or god.
Everyone present was stunned.
With just one glance, Ji Cheng had nearly fallen.
Terrifying beyond measure!
The woman quietly patted Zhou Qingran's back without saying a word, allowing Zhou Qingran to vent her grief.
Since she did not speak, no one else dared utter a single word either. They did not even dare breathe too loudly; the oppressive pressure was overwhelming.
Just who was this woman?
Her strength was far too terrifying.
After a while, Zhou Qingran regained her composure. Looking at the woman, she glanced somewhat embarrassedly at the clothes on the woman's shoulder, which had been soaked through.
"It's nothing." The woman patted Zhou Qingran and smiled gently, radiating a maternal warmth.