Zhao Rong assures he really hasn't taught the bag spirit any weird things just now.
Really, he hasn't.
Everything is just its self-taught, alright, exactly, the touch technique as well, it's something it comprehended on its own.
Zhao Rong couldn't help but turn around, scrutinizing the gray Fallen Sword Bag in his hand.
His expression was somewhat peculiar.
He always felt that in the middle of the night, standing in this deserted place using strange tentacles to bind people, there was a strange sense of déjà vu.
If he wasn't sure that this simple-minded bag spirit didn't even know what a rope was before, and needed him to give a 'precise' description, Zhao Rong would start suspecting if its previous owner had some perverse fetish.
Unfortunately, he couldn't shirk responsibility now.
"Hey, even tying someone up is so sleazy and obscene." Gui's voice appeared at the perfect moment, never missing a chance to mock and sneer.
"What sleazy and obscene? It's not like I taught it!"
