As those words fell, Qing Hui, who had been about to put Yang Yuanhong and the others to death, felt an indescribable sense of strangeness well up in his heart.
In his eyes, everything—whether his own techniques or Yang Yuanhong and the others before him—was infinitely slowed at that moment, until it sank into a state of stagnation.
What he found even harder to comprehend was that even the thoughts in his mind had fallen into this bizarre state.
In that instant, his body and mind seemed to have been cast into a world containing nothing at all. He could not move, could not speak, and could not think.
Faced with such an incomprehensible turn of events, Qing Hui should have felt terror and fear.
Yet at this moment, he was likewise unable to produce any new emotions.
Perhaps a long time had passed, or perhaps it had only been a fleeting instant. Everything around Qing Hui began to revive once more, like ice and snow thawing away.
Crack!
As time began to flow again, the technique in his hand compressed the space before him just as he had expected.
Yet unlike what he had expected, Yang Yuanhong and the others, who should have been crushed to death within it, had completely vanished.
Qing Hui's expression froze slightly at the sight. He was just about to release his divine sense again and search for their whereabouts.
"Mm! Urgh... ha! I... cough..."
Yet the moment that thought arose, blood began to spill uncontrollably from the corners of Qing Hui's mouth.
"I... argh..."
He seemed to want to say something, but whenever he opened his mouth, seawater from outside poured into it.
Qing Hui could feel that his consciousness remained, yet he could no longer sense the divine sense he should have