Zhu Qing flexed her fingers, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.
"That felt good."
One of the attendants gasped, clutching her own face in second-hand humiliation.
"H-HOW DARE YOU SLAP HER BEAUTIFUL FACE?!"
Another attendant turned toward Yue Xiuying, frantic. "Mistress! Are you alright?! Your beauty—your perfect face—"
"SHUT UP AND FOCUS!" Yue Xiuying snapped.
The moment of distraction was dangerous.
Even as the others let Yue Xiuying go, one man still refused.
Xu Tianran.
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
He roared, his laughter twisted and wild, his grip refusing to falter.
A dozen of Yue Xiuying's attendants surrounded him, a storm of legs and kicks smashing against him, their strikes capable of shattering mountains—
But he did not let go.
"Why won't he go down?!" one of them hissed, her ribbon-wrapped leg driving into his ribs.
"Is his skin made of divine iron?!" another cursed, her heel slamming against his shoulder with a dull thud, only for him to tank it like a wall.
