Wang Mingzheng was muttering to himself when a fifteen or sixteen-year-old walked towards him. He carried a backpack and had a pair of endearing dimples on his face, radiating youthful energy yet carrying an air of detachment.,At that moment, a black ball fell out of the pocket of the garment, making a sound in the silent little room.,At this time, Wang Ming's handful of walnuts had nothing but their shells. Even a bad walnut shouldn't be completely empty.。