Ping Zhuo stopped in his tracks instinctively.
He looked at the two girls who were as exquisite as carved jade and instantly widened his eyes: "Chen... Taoist Friend Chen, how do you have two disciples?"
Chen Ye's heart was alarmed, and he laughed, "Uh... I haven't had the chance to introduce them to you. The black-haired one is my eldest disciple, Lu Zhiwei. The white-haired one is my youngest disciple, Xu Qingjun."
As he spoke, he casually stepped forward to greet his disciples, blocking Ping Zhuo's view.
The man sucked in a cold breath.
"Heh, Taoist Friend Chen, your fortune truly is... enviable."
Ping Zhuo muttered under his breath, his voice not loud but laced with a kind of indescribable sourness and envy.
He was alone, spending every day with furnaces, hammers, and cold, hard metal.
Returning to a cold, lonely house, without even a person to talk to.
While this Taoist Friend Chen...
