From their tone, it was obvious that they coveted the Sieve Earth Pills. In the midst of their discussion, someone entered from outside. It was a young man wearing a black robe. His expression was ice cold, and as he stepped foot into the inn, his gaze swept the crowd before he took a seat in the corner. He produced a chip of iron about the size of a finger nail, which he fiddled with as he sat there thinking, occasionally looking around the room.