From afar, Fatty Zhao's stream of curses carried on without end. Wei He merely sighed inwardly and did not step forward to stop him.
He had seen far too many things like this lately.
Nearly the vast majority of True Blood nobles had gradually divided themselves and commoners into two separate classes.
Many True Blood practitioners even believed that they were not of the same race as commoners.
Behavior like Fatty Zhao's was far from the first of its kind at this evening banquet.
That musician girl might have looked badly injured, but if matters had not escalated further, she would at most need to recuperate for a while and would suffer no lasting effects.
Yet at precisely this moment, Fatty Zhao still wanted to go over and give her one final kick, only to be stopped by a woman approaching from the side.
The woman began arguing with Fatty Zhao, and both their voices grew louder and louder, until the noise became unbearable.
"Fuck your mother!" Fatty Zhao finally lost his temper and stepped forward, kicking straight at the woman's stomach.
The kick had only gone halfway when someone flashed over from the other side and blocked it.
Thud.
Fatty Zhao's outstretched right leg was knocked aside by the other man's foot.
"And who the hell are you!?" Fatty Zhao glared at the newcomer and roared.
"Brother, it would be better to keep your hands to yourself at a banquet. This is Prince Yi's residence, after all." The newcomer was Wei He, who had just approached.
"What the hell are you supposed to be!? You dare speak to Master Zhao like that?" Fatty Zhao bellowed, veins bulging across his face.
"Master Zhao!? You really have guts. You even dare insult Wang Xuan, the personal disciple newly accepted by the