Born of resentment and used for sustenance, that was exactly what Qin Ruan needed to sustain her own life.
Qin Ruan's eyes glittered faintly.
She traced the scent of blood towards the direction of the temple gate.
At the entrance, there were large areas soaked in blood, with decayed flesh emitting a strong, unpleasant odor.
The decayed flesh appeared meticulous in size and completeness, as if it had been measured with precision instruments.
They were slowly moving, crawling a bit into the temple.
The sight was bloody, nauseating.
Just one glance turned Qin Ruan's face pale.
She immediately felt a wave of nausea, with her empty stomach cringing violently.
As the nausea rushed up her throat, Qin Ruan involuntarily bent over and retched.
At the sound of her intolerable retching, Ling Xiaoxuan snapped back into consciousness, shaking off her stunned state.
