The edge of the dagger penetrated her skin, cutting open her blood vessel.
No blood spurted out. Blood had not flowed out at all, because there was almost no blood left in her body.
Chen Changsheng grabbed his dagger sheath, and placed the opening of the sheath to the wound on her neck.
With a slight movement of spiritual sense, a thin flow of blood appeared out of the sheath, seeming like it had come out of nothing.
The flow of blood was extremely thin, as if it were thinner than hair. It was slowly poured into her blood vessel.
In the entire process, he was extremely careful and alert, and refined his spiritual sense to the limit.
There were no sounds.
There was only a smell.
The smell of his blood slowly diffused into the spacious mausoleum.