Farrell had been sizing him up all along—the gray-haired young man carrying a large wooden chest on his back.
He couldn't be very old. To Farrell, that head of gray hair seemed to convey something, a faint sense of vicissitudes.
The Mad Knight was lucid most of the time. Only at certain moments did he know that he needed to go mad.
What kind of experiences could make someone of such an age endure things that no one that young should ever have experienced?
At a small riverbank, Mo Mo picked up some dry branches and made a simple fire. Then he scooped up some river water and set a small outdoor canteen over the flames to boil it.
His shoes were very old, probably because he had walked a great many roads.
"Want some?" Mo Mo opened his pack and pulled out two zongzi. "An uncle from a farmhouse gave these to me when I passed by, for me to eat on the road. They're pretty good... zongzi, you know? Very tasty... eat! Good! Good!"
He peeled away the bamboo leaves around the zongzi and made an eating gesture. Then he placed the unwrapped zongzi before Farrell, broke off some branches to use as chopsticks, and began eating in small bites.
Farrell merely glanced at it and made no move.
His scattered English clearly wasn't much use... The young Heavenly Master of Mount Longhu couldn't help looking awkward.
Mo Mo didn't seem to have any particularly effective way to communicate with this foreign uncle either—but as a Heavenly Master of Mount Longhu, he quickly brought out his own specialty.
Another bag... a cloth bag, slowly opening.
Farrell frowned. He could sense that the cloth bag contained quite a few... spirits.
Mo Mo opened a gap in the little cloth