The four porters were each more scrawny and frail than the other, and they shivered from the cold winter winds.
As Qiao Mu observed them from on top of the tree, her expression turned slightly peculiar.
It was for no reason other than that there was an old acquaintance or hers among these four people.
If not for the small birthmark that showed after the person raised his arms, Qiao Mu really wouldn't have even recognized him.
He was little fatty Zhou Tao, the son of the rich Zhou family in Qiaotou Village. In the past, he was so pudgy that he looked like a small calf. She really couldn't have imagined that he would shrivel up into a rack of spare ribs now.
At that time, little fatty Zhou Tao had been the top tyrant of Qiaotou Village. Wherever he went, he would be followed by two to three lackeys, who would hold up an umbrella over him, or fan him, or present tea or water to him subserviently.
But now?
