"Then tell me about it."
Wei Xuanfeng leaned back against a boulder, putting on an attentive listening posture.
Jiao Yu shot him a glance, then found a flat stone and sat down as well.
The night wind blew up from below the ridge, lifting a stray lock of hair at her temple to the side of her face. She casually tucked it behind her ear, revealing the curve of her neck gleaming beneath the moonlight.
Wei Xuanfeng's gaze followed it for a moment before he drew it back.
"Martial arts techniques are divided into four grades: A, B, C, and D. That's the simplest classification," Jiao Yu said softly. "D-grade is the worst. The Body Tempering Art is D-grade. It's meant for cannon fodder—practicing it can produce inner strength, but its ceiling is low and the cost is high. You know that better than anyone."
"Then what about the Hidden Dragon Art?"
"It fluctuates between low B-grade and high C-grade." Jiao Yu shifted slightly. The night wind pressed her lapels against the line of her waist, but she paid it no mind and continued, "But in the end, that's only a manner of speaking."
"How so?"
"Techniques themselves have no grades; those were assigned by later generations. The same technique produces vastly different results in different hands." She raised a hand to gather the hair scattered by the wind. "If one day, someone of extraordinary talent used a D-grade technique to become a first-rate expert, that D-grade technique would be called A-grade in the martial world. Would you believe it?"
Wei Xuanfeng thought for a moment.
"You're right. A blade is dead, but a person is alive."
"Obviously." Jiao Yu snorted. "Your talent is good, but how high the Hidden Dragon Art can take you depends on yourself."
Wei Xuanfeng