The stall is small, and the stall owner is a skinny, black-skinned fellow, dressed like a member of the Ghost Race, with skin on his face that looks like dried orange peel, full of wrinkles.
Yet those eyes, although cloudy at first glance, made Chen Yan's heart skip a beat as they scanned around—that was Evil Qi!
This man is definitely not the honest farmer he appears to be; he's a tough character!
"Anything interesting here?" Yun Zhao asked nonchalantly.
The stall owner glanced at Yun Zhao and pointed at his table, "Everything is right here."
His voice was rough, as if he had a mouthful of sand.
Yun Zhao bent down to inspect, gradually picking out items among the pots and jars.
Chen Yan also pretended to browse, picking up a two-inch long copper pestle and gesturing with it in his hand.
