Su Yang also paid no more attention to the people of the Qin Family; to him, they were just a bunch of buffoons, unworthy of his concern.
Su Yang walked over to the Iron Arhat, the bruiser who had been so formidable just moments ago, now slumped on the ground like a puddle of mud.
Seeing Su Yang approaching, his face went deathly pale.
When his palm had been stuck to Su Yang's, he had realized the immense gap between them—it was as vast as that between heaven and earth.
Thinking back to when he had bullied Su Yang on his way up the mountain, and as he had boasted about flaying and dismembering Su Yang, a shudder of fear ran through him.
If Su Yang could kill even Qi Zhian's nephew, wouldn't snuffing out his life, the Iron Arhat, be as easy as flipping his hand?
After staring at the Iron Arhat for a while, Su Yang waved his hand and said, "You're not suited for martial arts. Cripple your martial arts, and you can live and leave this mountain."
