As the Weaving Nightmare Beast let out a sinister laugh, Jiang Qingli felt as if she had plunged into a black hole. It was so dark she couldn't see a thing.
A few seconds later, she seemed to hear the tune of an elegant, romantic piano melody.
As the sound grew clearer, the scene before her gradually brightened.
The sun was perfect, bathing the romantically decorated lawn in a warm, hazy, pale-gold light. A bride holding a pure white bouquet passed under a circular arch of red and light-colored roses, walking toward a young gray wolf in a sharp suit waiting for her.
As it passed Jiang Qingli, who was sitting in the first row, the Weaving Nightmare Beast paused slightly, glanced sideways, and curled its lips at her.
It didn't open its mouth, but the Weaving Nightmare Beast's cold, mocking voice rang in her ears, "Don't bother with pointless struggles. You can't move."
"Enjoy the show."
"You won't get a chance like this after you're dead, you detestable female."
