The flames leapt and surged, burning through the entire restaurant.
The man's shrill laughter pierced the setting sun harshly.
"Hahahahaha! Old thing, you went to report me to the Martial Arts Department, huh?"
"What's the use? What the fuck is the use!"
"Do you even know what the word privilege means? I'm a Martial Artist, part of the privileged class, do you understand what political immunity means!"
"Don't even talk about not paying for a meal, even if I burn down your shop now, the Martial Arts Department won't care."
The man's voice was sharp and grating, his foot pressing harder and harder, trampling the once resilient Uncle Gong, who now lay pressed against the ground with a face full of wrinkles.
Dirt and water clung to Uncle Gong's wrinkled face.
Around them, many people hid in their houses to watch, but none dared to stand up.
