Being looked down upon by a little brat younger than him, the normally short-tempered Zhang Minghui finally couldn't hold back and threw his book onto the table, standing up.
Soon enough, he realized it was right for him to stand up.
Because he was taller than Mo Ziye.
"I want to read, what's it to you."
Zhang Minghui glared furiously at Mo Ziye, completely forgetting the fact that he was Wen Jin's relative.
Ziye frowned, "Why so fierce, if you scare Qingqing, I won't let you off."
"Pah, you're just a kid from a slightly rich family, thinking you're something special. What can you do about me, can you beat me?"
Zhang Minghui found the little brat in front of him more and more unpleasant with each look.
Such a pretty face, what a waste.
Ziye shook his head, looking at Zhang Minghui with pity, "Are you stupid? One hand in a sling, the other swollen like a pig's head, and you still want to fight me. I, Mo Ziye, never bully the old, weak, sick, or disabled."
