"You recognize it?" Meng Qiwu couldn't help but ask.
Although she could tell this thing was extraordinary, she wasn't skilled in Talisman Dao and could only watch for fun.
"This is Maoshan's [Red Dragon Fire Talisman], but it's missing quite a lot," Zhang Fan said in a low voice.
"Young man, you have sharp eyes."
Right then, a hearty voice sounded.
Zhang Fan looked up to see a refined-looking middle-aged man step out. His temples were flecked with gray, his hair slicked back, both hands spinning a pair of iron balls, face ruddy and glowing.
"Uncle Zhao." Meng Qiwu stepped forward, bowed with a respectful nod.
Zhao Menglang, the proprietor of Treasure Pavilion, was a heavyweight in Chang'an City; whenever he stamped his foot, everyone took notice.
"Meng, is this your friend? Such keen eyesight—may I ask which school he comes from?" Zhao Menglang sized up Zhang Fan.
"Maoshan?"
