Fallen Leaves Comes From A Withered Tree

Tang Chen and Mao Nianzu reached a tacit agreement where they would mind their own business.

In the evening, beast roars chimed from time to time; Mao Nianzu listened to it as if they were a musical performance, making him humming in front of the burning stove. A reflection of red yellowish adorned his indifferent visage as he adjusted the firewood.

Beside him was Tang Chen, who stared at him and the stove respectively. His wound gradually recovered, even so he needed more time to be in a good condition.

"I don't understand you." Tang Chen released a little chuckle. "Many members are weird. Your expression is too, how should I put it?"

Taking a small twig, Tang Chen the fire touched the tip of it. "I don't know."

Mao Nianzu curled up a smile. He straightened his legs, pushing his body until he could lean on the wall. After that, he closed his eyes.