Following Tan Xianglan's guidance, Chen Tianlong reached to the left, only to find yet another soft, warm area. He couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.
"Ah, Chen Tianlong, I meant my left, not your left." Tan Xianglan felt a tingle in her heart as Chen Tianlong touched her twice, and despite the weightless state, that feeling didn't diminish in the slightest—it felt like an electric shock.
For a young girl who had never experienced such a feeling, it was strangely alluring to her.
With Chen Tianlong's thick skin, after two mistaken touches, even he blushed halfway and quickly reached in another direction. This time, he finally found something hard—clearly the dagger.
He carefully took it out, afraid of hurting Tan Xianglan, then placed it in his mouth, biting down on the sheath. With his right hand, he pulled the knife out, after all, his left hand was holding Tan Xianglan.
