"Ah!" A shoe print was stamped right onto Murong Dawei's melon-seed face, and he yelped in pain. Only then did Wu Tian lower his foot. That was just a light tap. If he had gotten any more out of line, I would have taken his worthless life.
Murong Ziqi stopped in his tracks but didn't turn back. He didn't think these minor squabbles were worth his intervention; it was just his brothers roughhousing.
The Murong Family's policy was to let disputes among brothers run their course, because only the one who emerged victorious was considered a true expert.
Murong Dawei crouched on the ground in pain, unable to speak. The other family disciples didn't get angry. Instead, they just watched the scene with sneers.
"Dawei, you really are useless."
"Yeah, what a piece of trash."
"Cousin Wu Tian, I didn't expect you to be so formidable."
This was the nature of the Murong disciples. Murong Dawei didn't dare to utter a word.
