Ten-year-old Mo Hua wore the simple robes of an outer sect disciple, listlessly squatting behind a large rock at the foot of the mountain. He held grass roots in his hand and was burying himself in the ground, drawing intricate patterns.,Mo Hua nodded and said, “As expected of Young Master An, you figured it out so quickly!”,When the Mo painter closed his eyes, a broken stele appeared in his mind's eye.。