The white wasn't a pure, snowy white. It was more like freshly peeled fat, with a sickly pallor.
The petals were thick and layered, each one writhing faintly. Deep in the flower's heart, several scarlet lotus seeds appeared and disappeared, gleaming with an eerie light.
The lotus was as large as a water vat, its roots plunged deep into the blood, pulsing to some peculiar rhythm.
"Thump!"
"Thump!"
"Thump!"
The dull beats echoed through the great hall. Each pulse made the surrounding air tremble. Fang Mo felt the blood and qi in his body surge in response, and his heart seemed to be gripped in someone's fist. The sensation was excruciating.
"This is..."
Yan Wangchou stared at the lotus, his pupils contracting violently. The veins on the back of the hand gripping his short blade stood out, and his voice was dry to the extreme. "Flesh Spirit Pill!"
Fang Mo raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the man beside him. "Old Yan, what's the deal with this Flesh Spirit Pill? How is it different from the Blood Spirit Pill?"
Yan Wangchou had just opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Qian Dagui—who had been covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve the whole time—cut in.
Qian Dagui had long since lost the boldness he'd shown when he threw the Thunder Fire Bead. His expression grave, he said:
"There's a huge difference."
Qian Dagui drew a deep breath, forcing down the churning in his stomach. His voice trembled slightly. "The Blood Spirit Pill is made from the heart's blood of young boys and girls, seeking that sliver of innate qi that hasn't yet dissipated. It's used to cleanse the meridians and elevate one's martial cultivation. Put simply, it's for Martial Artists."
"But this Flesh Spirit Pill..."
He