"Impossible! The technology for making Soul Tools was supposed to have been lost!"
Tang San's expression changed, and he instinctively tried to snatch the book to inspect it.
But Ning Rongrong reacted swiftly. With a flick of her wrist and a nimble sidestep, she evaded his grasp, her face full of mockery.
"What? Can't win an argument, so you're trying to snatch things? Tang San, weren't you taught any manners? Didn't your parents teach you?"
Tang San instantly turned red, like the Jalapeño in Plants vs. Zombies.
Lies weren't frightening. The truth was the sharp blade.
Ever since he had been born into this world, his parents really hadn't taught him anything.
Right after his birth, Old Feng had been killed by Spirit Hall.
His only remaining father spent his days hammering iron, drinking, and wallowing in misery. He made Tang San do every chore and couldn't even be bothered to say an extra word to him, let alone teach him how to conduct himself.
"You!"
"What? Want to hit me?"
Ning Rongrong gave him a disdainful sidelong glance, then pointed straight at her own forehead, her tone brazen and contemptuous.
"Come on, hit! Me! Here! If you don't, you're a gutless coward!"
In a fit of rage, Tang San briefly became enraged.
Everyone in the dormitory was rubbing their hands and cracking their knuckles, especially Xiao Wu, whose eyes practically overflowed with excitement.
If he dared to make another move or utter another half-sentence of nonsense, they would absolutely beat him to a pulp on the spot.
Damn it! What kind of heroes gang up on one person?!
"Fine, remember this! Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west-don't scorn a young man for being poor! You might look down on my hidden weapons, but someone will appreciate