Du Busi led Tang Wulin through the corridor beside the Body Sect's main hall and into a south-facing side chamber.
The room was small. A drooping green plant sat on the windowsill, while a broad wooden desk stood against the wall, covered with several worn maps and a few unevenly cut diagrams. A fist-sized obsidian paperweight pinned down their corners.
Du Busi sat cross-legged on the low couch behind the desk and tipped his chin, signaling Tang Wulin to sit on the square stool opposite him.
After Tang Wulin settled down, he picked up the coarse clay teacup at the corner of the desk, which had long since gone cold, took a sip, and set it back down. Then his gaze fell on Tang Wulin, carrying the same seriousness an old blacksmith used when judging the quality of a billet.
"Let me take another careful look at the Bloodline Power you used in the training ground just now." As Du Busi spoke, he extended a hand and spread his fingers. A warm thread of Soul Power emerged from his palm and hovered half a foot from Tang Wulin's wrist, as though sensing something—or confirming something.
Tang Wulin did not move, allowing that thread of Soul Power to circle around his wrist.
Du Busi's brows first furrowed slightly, then relaxed, then furrowed again. Finally, his expression became one of someone who had discovered an interesting object.
He withdrew his hand and smacked his lips, his tone thoughtful. "Your bloodline doesn't seem to have been cultivated after birth. It seems like something you were born with, rooted in your bones. It's even richer than that of ordinary Body Sect disciples after twenty or thirty years of hard cultivation. But the way you use it... is crude."
When he said "crude," he was