Qiao Xiaomai and Tong Sanlang stared tightly at the pendant, holding their breath.
After a good while, the scene before them remained the same.
The blood was still blood; the pendant was still a pendant. The two didn't blend together, and no miracles occurred.
Tong Sanlang exhaled, "See, it's useless. Keep it. Since the imprint of this pendant is already on your wrist, it probably belongs to you."
Hearing this, Qiao Xiaomai arched an eyebrow, said nothing, brought Tong Sanlang's finger to her mouth, and gently licked the small wound.
Tong Sanlang stared at her close face, couldn't help but tighten his lips.
'This is great. Now that everything is settled, I can finally marry her.'
Unaware of Tong Sanlang's deep affection, Qiao Xiaomai licked his wound and then took out a fruit knife and Spiritual Spring water from her space. She first washed the bloodstains on the pendant, then cut her finger and dripped the blood onto the pendant.
