"Ow! Stop hitting my face! Big brother, please, stop hitting my face! Ow..."
Zhao Yuan wailed desperately, begging for mercy.
"Weren't you so damn tough? Keep running your mouth! Take my Iron Sand Palm!"
With an angry roar, Wang Yong slammed his ox-like bulk down on Zhao Yuan.
One hand clamped around Zhao Yuan's neck like iron pincers, while the other mercilessly slapped him across the face!
The slap came fast and hard, leaving Zhao Yuan's face burning with pain. A trickle of blood even seeped from the corner of his mouth.
Yet Wang Yong did not stop there. His palm kept raining down on Zhao Yuan's face.
He put all his strength into every blow, as though he meant to slap Zhao Yuan's face to pieces!
Elsewhere, Xu Bai lay curled up on the ground, his face twisted with agony and dark as pig liver, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
His body trembled uncontrollably, but the pain left him unable to utter a single word. All he could manage were low groans.
Meanwhile, Meng Yi aimed straight at Xu Bai's crotch, mercilessly kicking him again and again.
Each kick carried tremendous force, as though he intended to crush Xu Bai's balls.
A sorrow of balls hung in the air, making anyone who caught a whiff share the pain and clench down below.
Several nearby disciples who were also taking a beating trembled all over at the sight.
They clamped their hands over their mouths, terrified that the slightest sound would draw this terrifying god of slaughter's attention.
Their eyes were wide, their faces filled with terror, as though they had witnessed the end of the world.
"You little slut, weren't you going to run? Why aren't you running now?"
Qing Yun sat on Su Mei's chest,