Meng Hao focused on the blood in the pill furnace as it slowly transformed into a mist. Eventually it dissipated, whereupon a bright glow shone in his eyes. “Interesting. There is no totemic aura within the blood.”
“Skin, muscle, bone and blood. Without exception, they are all completely ordinary!” Meng Hao sat in thought for a while and then looked back up at the man in front of him. The man’s heart trembled, and he was about to open his mouth to beg for his life when Meng Hao’s right hand descended onto the totem tattoo on the man’s arm.
“This totem has faint traces of Demonic Qi, which is also the so-called Essence of the Ninth Mountain and Sea.” As Meng Hao lifted his hand back up, the man let out a shrill wail. The totem tattoo slowly separated from his skin, pulling up until Meng Hao held what looked almost like a patch of skin in his hand. After separating, it rapidly faded away until it was completely gone.
“So once it leaves the body of the Cultivator, the totem vanishes.” He frowned. “Just what is a totem? The manifestation of some great Demon of Heaven and Earth?”
Meng Hao looked outside; it was already evening, and the sky was filling with clouds. A variety of thoughts spun through his head, but no answers.
After a while, Meng Hao waved his hand; the seals binding the middle-aged Cultivator vanished. He rose to his feet, trembling. He immediately clasped hands and bowed to Meng Hao, continuing to shake violently.
“You can go,” said Meng Hao coolly.