As soon as Liang Laoshi spoke these words, Yang Fan's face instantly changed.
Damn, this old guy seems to really have something.
"Sir, what did you see?" Yang Fan asked.
Liang Laoshi grabbed the large mole on his right cheek and shook his head, "Can't see anything!"
That mole of his was as big as a finger, with a tuft of very robust hair.
However, the hair was probably comparable to a beard or the hair on one's head, and if one was slightly skillful, perhaps it could even be braided into a little plait.
Yang Fan looked at the somewhat eccentric old man with a queer expression. What does that mean?
You just said I might have gone somewhere, and now you're saying you didn't discover anything?
Liang Laoshi seemed to have perceived what was on Yang Fan's mind. He rolled his eyes upward and said irritably, "Kid, I'm a fortune-teller, not a divine immortal. I can feel there's something off with you, but that doesn't mean I can see what you've done. I'm not that mystical!"
