Su Wanzhao "saw" death again.
Not with your eyes. His eyeballs were congenitally atrophied and curled up in the sunken sockets, like two shriveled walnuts. From birth, the world has been an eternal void to him. But he has hands.
At this moment, his hand was pressing on the "Shenshu point" on the lower back of the man beneath him.
The man's muscles were trembling slightly, not because of pain, but because of fear. The viscosity of the sweat secreted by the sweat glands, the pulsation frequency of the subcutaneous capillaries, and even the slight displacement of the tailbone caused by tension - these information poured into Su Wanzhao's fingertips like a tide.
