In the hall, Yingniang could no longer maintain her standing posture, leaning slanted against the edge of the coffin. Her semi-transparent body was being continuously filled with streams of silver light into the palm of her hand, decreasing in number until the last trace had passed through her palm into the chest of the middle-aged man.
Until there was no silver light left at all. It was as if all her strength had been drained, and she finally breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing softly to the floor.
Mingjue hurriedly walked around the coffin and caught her in his arms.
"Yingniang."
At that moment, Yingniang's previously rosy complexion had completely turned ashen gray, including her lips, which were dry and dim, resembling a withered flower. Her figure was drifting, almost as if it wasn't held loosely by Mingjue, she would have dispersed into the surroundings.
That semi-transparent outline was even about to merge directly into the air, becoming hard to find.
"It's done!"
