The sachet was indeed not very well made, and there were many pebbles on the ground.
With that kick, the brown-haired young man meant not only to humiliate Feng Yue, but within moments, he had trampled the sachet to pieces.
The silk fabric tore, and the medicinal herbs Ying Zijin had put inside scattered on the ground, now tainted with dust.
It was obviously completely unusable now.
Feng Yue watched, eyes nearly bursting with fury, but he was utterly powerless to stop it.
With a glance filled with disdain, the young man lifted his foot and kicked the torn sachet away: "I thought you had something good in there, but this is it? As expected, just poverty-stricken rubbish."
He always looked down on Eastern people.
Whenever Easterners came here to study, he would bully them whenever he felt like it if he took an issue with them.
This time, it involved Irina, and the brown-haired young man was even less tolerant.
