Brother Ma's hands were clamped in Zhang Xiaohua's grip, leaving him unable to move. Zhang Xiaohua slapped that dish onto him with clean, swift efficiency; he only had time to close his eyes. First his face went hot, then his nose erupted in pain, bringing tears streaming down. He immediately wilted, crying repeatedly, "Mercy, sir! Mercy, sir!"
The several people drinking nearby saw this and instantly rose from their seats, about to rush toward Zhang Xiaohua. Without even glancing their way, Zhang Xiaohua merely said, "If I were you, I'd sit there obediently and watch the show. I wouldn't take a single step forward and end up like this so-called Brother Ma."
The few of them froze, then stopped in their tracks. They looked at one another, completely at a loss.
That was only natural. They were merely a pack of unruly men from the Grass Division, with no real skills to speak of. They could manage to bully newcomers, but beyond that, they were beneath mention. Besides, their fists and kicks were about on par with Brother Ma's. Seeing that Brother Ma could not so much as twitch in the other man's hands, what advantage could they possibly gain by stepping forward? Someone had already gone to notify the Great Leader anyway. It was better to watch the excitement.
The hall fell silent. The people from the Pill Division watched from the sidelines, while Brother Ma heard Zhang Xiaohua's words loud and clear. When the footsteps stopped, he naturally knew his brothers did not dare come forward, and he could not help cursing, "Old Fan, Little Chen, you useless sacks of flesh! Are you still afraid of this brat even if you go together? Ow, ow! Mercy, sir, go easy! Go easy!"
Zhang Xiaohua tightened his grip and said,