Yang Qing sensed that something was very wrong with Emperor Zhetian.
He wanted to retreat, only to discover that he could not move at all.
So, was Emperor Zhetian preparing to deliver the final blow?
Expressionless, Emperor Zhetian walked up to Yang Qing and placed a hand on top of his head.
Bu Er and Jiang Zhizhou watched in soul-shattering horror. They wanted to rush forward and fight Emperor Zhetian to the death, but, like Yang Qing, they could not move a muscle. They could only wait to be slaughtered.
Yang Qing kept his gaze fixed on Bu Er. He had so much he wanted to say, but unfortunately, he could not even open his mouth.
Emperor Zhetian's palm rested on top of his head.
Death was certain.
Yang Qing closed his eyes and quietly awaited death.
With such an overwhelming gulf between their strength, what could he do even if he refused to accept his fate?
Yet the annihilation he had imagined did not come, and its delay filled Yang Qing with dread.
What was Emperor Zhetian trying to do?
Yang Qing soon found out.
Emperor Zhetian's lips did not move, but his voice rang out with perfect clarity inside Yang Qing's mind.
"Yang Qing, there is no need to guess. It is I, your emperor, speaking."
"Indeed, I intended to use your body to return to the Heavenly Realm. Quite apart from your skills being inferior to mine, your ancestors served under me, charged specifically with sacrificial rites. You cannot escape this sacrifice either."
As Emperor Zhetian spoke faster and faster, something stirred in Yang Qing's heart.
Something had gone wrong.
If nothing had gone wrong, Emperor Zhetian would never have come over to waste all these words on him.
Yang Qing's face still bore a frightened expression,