Two days later, it was the weekend.
In Jiangcheng Plaza, at a street food stall, Xu Qing, wearing a black short sleeve shirt, stood by the roadside with his hands behind his back, alternating between making fists and claws.
You practice punches and reciting rhymes; martial arts is all about diligent study and practice. Ever since he became proficient with the Palm Fist, he'd find himself subconsciously going through the motions.
Unable to resist Wang Zijun's repeated harassments, he was now waiting for the guy, who had also asked when Qin Hao got off work and went to pick him up by car.
"Here they come!"
From a distance, Wang Zijun got out of the car and waved over here, Qin Hao beside him, one tall and one short, one fat and one thin. Wang Zijun was like a bamboo pole, and Qin Hao was like a wooden stump, they glanced left and right at the cars on the road and ran over with brisk steps.
