On the Martial Arts Arena.
One person ran ahead, babbling nonsensically.
Another person, carrying a long spear, leisurely gave chase from behind.
In the spectators' stands, everyone stared wide-eyed at the bizarre scene.
Finally, Zhao Ci estimated that the Imperial Extreme True Qi in Ying Rui's cheeks was about to dissipate. He tossed aside his spear, lunged forward, and grabbed the back of his collar.
Then...
"BAM!"
A fist hammered into his stomach.
He didn't use his full strength.
But it was enough to make Ying Rui's body curl up like a shrimp.
His miserable state was just as bad, if not worse, than Yang Mo's earlier.
Zhao Ci planted a foot on his face, flashing a wide, brilliant smile. "So it turns out all your output is from your mouth. Without it, you're not so tough after all!
Here's your chance!
Concede now, and you can avoid another beating.
Oh, right, I forgot. You can't speak.
But you can still make sounds.
I'll understand!"
Ying Rui: "Ngh... ah!"
