The rain was still falling outside the house, a steady patter, mixed with the unique smell of rot and wet mud from mass graves, which penetrated directly into people's nostrils.
Miao Ling'er held a very thin silver needle in her hand, and the tip of the needle tremblingly picked up a drop of dark red heart blood.
Her face was as pale as rice paper, and even her lips had no color. Her eyes staring at the male corpse on the couch were frighteningly hot.
This is the third drop of my heart.
If this "iron corpse" doesn't move anymore, we can only chop him into pieces and feed them to those unsatisfactory red thread Gus.
Although the man on the couch was not breathing, his skin and flesh showed no signs of decay, and there were not even any spots on his body.
His facial features were extremely strong, and with his eyes closed at this moment, there was actually an evil aura between his eyebrows that made people dare not look directly at him.
Miao Ling'er's fingers gently rested on the man's cold eyebrows, and her fingertips felt like they were touching a piece of cold jade that had been buried here for thousands of years.
As the silver needle pierced the skin, the drop of heart blood quickly seeped into the man's eyebrows and disappeared without a trace in the blink of an eye.
