Xiao Fengyun wore an unhappy expression.
As he spoke, he twisted his neck, producing a series of cracking sounds. One look was enough to tell he was a formidable fighter.
But no matter how skilled he was, he could never be Mao Jing's match.
No matter how much he trained, it was only the strength of muscle.
What we cultivated, on the other hand, was the mystical arts of the Profound School.
Bai Tianshan beneath the ring was somewhat anxious and said to Xiao Fengyun:
"Fengyun, speak properly. You can't possibly be Little Friend Mao's opponent. If you act recklessly, he might hurt you later!"
"Haha? Head Instructor, did I hear that right? He'll hurt me? With that build of his, he probably couldn't even block one kick from me!"
Xiao Fengyun spoke arrogantly.
Mao Jing had the appearance of a pretty boy, fair skin, and no particularly visible muscles.
He looked like an ordinary person, nothing like a martial artist, without the muscular build of a fighter or athlete.
That was why Xiao Fengyun dared to say such things.
The students nearby kept egging him on:
"Exactly! Brother Fengyun can blow him apart with one kick!"
"Brother Fengyun, beat him into a pig head! In this life, I hate people better-looking than me the most."
"..."
The head instructor was about to speak again when the master beside him said calmly:
"Head Instructor Bai, there's no need to worry. My grandnephew knows his limits. Let him give this kid a few pointers—it'll be good for his professional career too."
Bai Tianshan had come out of the Secret Bureau, so he naturally knew just how powerful and terrifying certain people in our line of work could be.
Hearing this, he took a deep breath, nodded slightly, and said nothing more.