Jian Tianlin looked up to see a petite figure crashing into his arms.
His face turned cold, and he was about to push the person in his arms away when he met the girl's spirited eyes, which softened his expression a bit.
"Maomao, why is it you?"
"Tianlin, someone has been bullying me." Maomao saw him and immediately felt emboldened.
Jian Tianlin frowned. Who else could bully this little witch?
"Hey kid, hand over the girl in your arms, and we won't trouble you," the man who caught up, donned in a flashy floral shirt, exuded hooliganism from head to toe.
Jian Tianlin glanced at him indifferently, noting the soaked-through shirt and the blood flowing endlessly from a wound on his forehead. The corner of his mouth curled slightly.
"Trouble me?" His voice suddenly turned cold, "Are you worthy?"
