Making him admit that he was inferior to someone else was even more agonizing than killing him outright.
So this was the situation: whether Laozi could endure it or not, he had to endure it. He would never give anyone even the slightest chance to mock or ridicule him.
Of course, in a situation like this, there was no use in anything but fighting it out. Cha Shao Bao was already drenched in sweat from head to toe. He said to his opponent, "Was this really necessary, brother? Couldn't we both come out of this a little better off?"
Cha Shao Bao had made a bet with his brother. If he won this match, his brother would give him fifty taels of gold. If he failed to win, his brother would have to chop off his own head.
Of course, he would not really let his brother cut off his head, but he desperately wanted those fifty taels of gold. Making money out here was incredibly difficult. This was basically a one-shot opportunity—there might not be another one.
There were so many Martial Arts Halls outside. Who would definitely choose to train with you? They would either choose some white-haired old master or someone especially famous. If you had no reputation, people would not even spare you a glance. No matter how loudly you bragged, it was useless.
So Cha Shao Bao's state of mind was now exactly as Saint Lord Taichu had imagined—utterly helpless. Sometimes, he even felt a bitter ache and a surge of determination.
But there was nothing to be done about it. This was what growing up was like. First, you had to endure trial after trial. If you could endure them, you were a man. If you could not, you were a boy. It was