She shook.
The specific, full-body, spine-to-hands, everything-trembling, I-am-at-the-edge trembling of a woman whose body had been at the edge since entry and was being maintained at the edge by the flat, present, unhurried, no-reduction-in-output pace of a Nascent Soul Mid Stage cultivator who had not varied his output once.
"'—I will die—'" Her voice, thinner. The flat, genuinely-at-capacity, not-performing quality of a woman who was at the edge of her architecture and was reporting it. "'—my lord—I will actually die—I am not a cultivator—'"
PAH PAH PAH PAH PAAH!
"'—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—'"
She came.
