"Brother Wang!"
"Brother Wang!"
Two shrieks rang out. It was He Cheng San and Wu Yong, who had stood there dumbfounded for quite a while before finally coming to their senses.
As Wang Wenhao's most loyal lackeys, the moment they saw Du Meng send Wang Wenhao flying with a palm strike, they immediately shrieked and rushed over to him. Their frantic movements made it look as though their own father had been beaten.
"Brother Wang, are you all right?"
"Brother Wang, are you hurt?"
The moment He Cheng San and Wu Yong reached Wang Wenhao, they hurriedly helped him up without another word, then asked with concern written all over their faces.
But it would have been better if they had not asked. The moment they did, Wang Wenhao's face turned as black as the bottom of a cooking pot, and his entire body began trembling uncontrollably.
He was furious!
Wang Wenhao had never imagined that someone could send him flying with a single palm strike.
And after he had repeatedly declared that he would give his opponent three moves.
But now...
How many moves had that been?
He had merely reached out and slapped him. That should count as a movement—at most, half a move, right?
Fine, let's just count it as one move!
But precisely because of that, how could Wang Wenhao not be furious?
He had been instantly defeated in a martial contest by a newcomer, one whose cultivation was a minor realm below his own.
By then, Wang Wenhao had already noticed the countless strange looks fixed on him.
Mockery, ridicule, contempt...
They had everything!
After this, the illustrious name of Wang the Tyrant would probably become a complete joke.
"Damn it!"
With a low growl, Wang Wenhao shook off He Cheng San and Wu Yong,