"Zhao Xiaoxiang, I'm very angry."
"Didn't you say you wanted to discipline me? Fine!"
"If you've got the guts, fight me one-on-one. If I win, you lend me some money. If you win, I'm at your disposal."
Zhao Cheng said sternly.
"Number Two, see that? A doting sister makes a wastrel brother. When faced with something like this, we can't run away—we have to face it bravely."
As she spoke with herself from the parallel world, Zhao Xiaoxiang casually picked up the hair tie beside her and tied her long hair into a crisp, efficient ponytail. Her entire aura suddenly turned razor-sharp.
For that instant, Zhao Cheng actually found Zhao Xiaoxiang somewhat cool.
He hurriedly shook his head, driving the thought from his mind.
"Come on!"
Zhao Xiaoxiang did not even get up. Still seated, she crooked a finger at Zhao Cheng in provocation.
In an instant, Zhao Cheng was enraged. He pounced at her with teeth bared and claws outstretched, but rather than throwing a punch, he tried to subdue Zhao Xiaoxiang with grappling techniques.
He might have been a bastard, but he was merely stupid, not evil—not yet scum.
So, he intended to rely on his advantage in strength and size to win.
Then Zhao Cheng experienced the darkest three minutes of his life.
Zhao Xiaoxiang was not particularly fast, nor was she particularly strong, but her combat instincts were utterly outrageous. It was as if she had pinned Zhao Cheng to the ground with one hand and beaten him the entire time, leaving him utterly unable to resist.
Of course, he had not actually suffered any injuries. It just hurt—hurt so badly he felt like he was dying and coming back to life—yet it did not even count as a minor injury.
That was technique: a technique