Yan Song dodged the killing blow at an odd angle, directly grabbing the opponent's neck, leaving them no escape. When he saw the face clearly, he couldn't help but be taken aback. In that fleeting moment, the youth coldly laughed, seizing the chance to strike Yan Song's chest with a palm, forcing him to stagger backward.
The opponent's palm strike was delivered with full force. Yan Song felt as if his organs were burning, a trace of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with his sleeve and stared at the moonlit black-clothed youth, shock in his eyes.
"Yun Ya?"
The youth shouted coldly, "You are not worthy of uttering her name."
