lt;The Pocket Dimens

At the village's edge, in a dilapidated grass temple, a woman with washed-out clothes patched countless times stood behind the stove, wielding a chipped spatula.,In the same large iron pot, green vegetables were being cooked. The vegetable soup had no oil at all.,Yan Xiaoshi closed his eyes, sighing that even being a ghost was hard work. Suddenly, with no warning, a flurry of punches and kicks landed on him. This time, the pain was very clear.。