Night. Moonlight, cold and clear, shone upon Zhang Yinghe's face.
He held his head high, gazing at the bright moon above. His frail body, thin as kindling, stood alone in the moonlight, striking a desolate figure.
"Martial Arts, Martial Arts. Martial Arts!" Zhang Yinghe let out a resentful, low growl.
Just three days ago, he had discovered whip marks covering his sister Zhang Yingyu's arms. Only then did he understand how much she had suffered. With a concerned eye, he further discovered that his sister was covered with injuries, scars upon scars.
