A simple, small courtyard, surrounded by walls made of cobblestones mixed with earth, and within the courtyard stands a wooden house with a brick tile roof.
Wang Xiao'Er sat on a small stool, lighting a small fire in the courtyard. A sand kettle was placed over the fire, emitting a strong medicinal smell.
He was already used to it, gently fanning with a palm fan in one hand while stirring the charcoal with a small stick.
Suddenly, the soil beside the pile of firewood began to surge, and a head emerged out of it.
It was as if a crop had grown from the ground.
Even more peculiar, this head seemed to recognize him.
How could it possibly not recognize?
This was the third time Han Yu had encountered him.
This city was very large, so large that two fools couldn't find themselves.
Yet the city was also very small, so small that one could repeatedly run into the same person.
