It's funny to say that when I was five years old, I only picked one word when I was twisting paper, and that was Mao, so a bunch of brothers called me Mao.
I am nineteen years old this year, two meters tall, and my family has always lived in a dilapidated temple outside the city.
That day, when I took the money bag from an outsider's pocket as usual, he discovered me, so he chased me for nearly thirty miles until I reached a cliff.
Damn it, aren't you just a broken bag? Hey, poor master, I was born with flying legs, and I will end up in this barren mountain today!
I looked at the deep cliff, couldn't help but sigh, took out my wallet, then knelt down and said to the guy behind me: Brother, I have an 80-year-old mother who is bedridden at home, and an eight-year-old child waiting for porridge at the bottom, so please let me go!
This guy has a special appearance, with an obvious fierce look, holding two huge meteor hammers in both hands, and a long scar on his face.
As soon as he heard what I said, he immediately stared with a pair of blood-red bull's eyes and shouted: Boy, it's too damn late, go complain to the King of Hell!
Although I was kneeling on the ground pretending to be a grandson, I was always paying attention to the expression of this fierce man, and I made up my mind.
If he raises his sword, I will die with him.
With a cruel heart, I pounced forward and grabbed the two legs of this murderous man, then turned over behind me and fell off the cliff with him in my arms.
This fierce man's martial arts must be ten times better than mine, but my innate divine power has the absolute upper hand at this moment.