Just as Luo Bei walked out of King Bina's underground mausoleum, his eyes filled with deep worry as he thought that Old Zhao Nan might be his only relative left in this world, Old Zhao Nan was calmly looking at a middle-aged man in a coarse gray shirt seated on the stone bench across from him, in a small courtyard thousands of miles from Northern Mang.
It was an utterly ordinary little courtyard, situated at a street corner in a small town. Outside was a little shop selling candles, yellow spirit paper, lamp oil, and such things. Inside was a tiny courtyard with a young ginkgo tree and two plain single-story rooms.
This burly middle-aged man was dressed just as ordinarily. He wore old straw sandals with his toes exposed, and his coarse clothes had been washed until they were somewhat faded. His sleeves and trouser legs were rolled up, making him look exactly like a farmer from the nearby countryside. Yet this middle-aged man had a square face and two thick brows. He looked exceptionally honest and loyal, yet also exceptionally imposing. His hands and feet were far thicker and longer than an ordinary person's, and his build was remarkably brawny. Though he had deliberately suppressed the fluctuations of magical power around him, he still inadvertently revealed differences from ordinary people at times.
For instance, when he picked up a teacup from the stone slab beside him, he seemed not to have noticed how much strength he used. With a pop, he crushed the coarse porcelain cup. The still-scalding tea streamed down his overly thick hand, yet he seemed not to feel the burn at all. He simply flipped his hand, and the greater part of the bowl of tea was wrapped in the mighty true essence flowing from