Jiang Man took a stroll around Shuihe City before finally knocking on the door of a rather secluded house in a corner.
Living here was a couple—both dark-skinned and as thin as rakes. Upon seeing the newcomers, the two showed obvious concern.
"Immortals?" the man, who had been weaving a bamboo basket, asked softly.
In their minds, anyone dressed so cleanly was undoubtedly an Immortal.
Jiang Man glanced around and asked, "Where did you live before?"
The couple looked at Jiang Man and his group warily before the man answered, "We have always lived here."
"Is that so?" Jiang Man peeked toward the inner room. "The person inside doesn't live here, right? Could you ask him to come out for a chat?"
The couple panicked slightly.
"We don't know what you're talking about," the frail woman chimed in.
Zhuo Qingcheng frowned. "You just called us Immortals. Do you really think we wouldn't know?"
