Ten-year-old Mo Hua wore the simple robes of an outer sect disciple, listlessly squatting behind a large rock at the foot of the mountain. He held grass roots in his hand and was burying himself in the ground, drawing intricate patterns.,The little fatty received it solemnly, opened the copybook, took a serious look at it, and then frowned and said:,A moment later, another slender young man with a golden paper fan came. He had a sharp face and wore even more jade pendants than the last one.。