Wei Ting was sent flying out of the bedroom and hit the stone table in the courtyard, splitting it in half. Dust and stone fragments scattered in all directions, dyeing Wei Ting's black head with a layer of dust.
Steward Chang was so nervous that he held his breath.
Ling Yun frowned even more.
Jiang Guanchao looked coldly at Wei Ting, who was pressed under the fragments. He retracted his gaze and looked at Ling Yun behind the corridor pillar. "Do you want me to do it, or do you want to do it yourself?"
"Uncle Jiang…"
Wei Ting's weak voice suddenly sounded from the courtyard. "Didn't we agree on… three palm strikes? You have to… keep your word…"
Wei Ting faced the twilight and sunset, bathing in the warm orange light. His feet were like the battlefield of golden spears and iron horses. He was the guardian general of the border.
