Ling Yan was surrounded.
Surrounded by a group of disheveled men, their hair matted, their clothes tattered and blackened. Had
he…
fallen into a beggar's den?
Ling Yan's vision cleared, and the pain in his body subsided.
The scene was utterly familiar.
Just like when he first entered this book, he was certain that the moment he regained consciousness, the tragic cannon fodder had already passed away.
His body had replaced the recently slain cannon fodder, and the wounds from the beating had automatically healed.
"Damn it! Who said he's dead? Why is he still breathing? Beat him! Beat him to death!"
A slightly hoarse voice boomed from a distance, and the beggars surrounding Ling Yan obediently tried to continue the attack.
"Stop! Please!" The same voice that had previously restrained the beggars' despicable actions rang out again.
However, the surrounding people did not stop their attack despite this brave voice.
