He hoped his deception skills were high enough to fool Mo Zhixuan and give him the belief to keep on living.
Indeed, the decision of the elderly Mrs. Mo was the right one.
Upon hearing these words, Mo Zhixuan seemed to come back to life.
Downstairs.
A dark-skinned young man was sitting on the sofa, wearing thick Daoist robes despite the sweltering heat, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
What was most critical was that the Daoist robes were patched up all over, making him look hardly like someone from the 21st century.
Old Mrs. Mo brought over a cup of green tea with a courteous gesture, "Master, please have some tea."
"Thank you, madam," the young man said politely.
The youth looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years old.
His facial features were well-defined and three-dimensional, with big, spirited eyes.
The only drawback was that his skin was too dark.
If it were fairer and his attire more normal, he would quite be a handsome young man.
