Facing the three men's pincer attack and vicious taunts, Fang Yuan remained where he stood, barely even changing his posture.
He merely tilted his head slightly and said softly to the trembling Liu Wanwan, "Step back. Cover Little Bean Sprout's eyes."
Wang Laizi grabbed the basket strap and yanked down hard. "You take politeness for kindness? Hand it over!"
He used tremendous force, intending to drag both Fang Yuan and the basket to the ground.
At that very moment, Fang Yuan, who had shown little reaction until then, moved.
Rather than retreating, he took a fierce half-step forward and straightened his waist and back. The basket being violently tugged did not move an inch.
At the same time, his left hand shot out like an iron clamp, accurately seizing the wrist Wang Laizi used to pull the strap.
Crack.
A faint sound, like hard wood grinding against hard wood.
The savage grin on Wang Laizi's face instantly froze, turning to shock. Then he opened his mouth wide and let out a shriek so miserable it barely sounded human:
"Ah—my hand!"
Fang Yuan's fingers sank into his wrist bone like branding irons. The overwhelming force made Wang Laizi feel as though his bones were about to be crushed.
His entire arm went sore and numb, utterly devoid of strength.
The previously clamorous scene fell abruptly silent.
All the onlookers were stunned. None of them had seen what happened; they only saw Wang Laizi suddenly start screaming.
Fang Yuan ignored Wang Laizi's cries and slowly turned his gaze toward Huoya Li, who stood nearby in equal shock.
His eyes were calm, yet they carried the icy deathly aura of someone who had just crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Stung by that look, Huoya Li instinctively