He was an old man in his sixties, and he was not lying on the ground of his own volition. Four burly men were holding down his limbs, his left hand in particular wrenched out forcefully.
Pinned down hard to the ground!
His little finger was already a bloody, fleshly blur!
He screamed pitifully, "Dean Hai, spare me... spare me... please, I'm begging you, spare me, don't do this... "
The Dean Hai he called out to – in his fifties and wearing only a pair of floral boxers – looked lean but ferocious. Half-lying on the ground, he raised a hammer high, poised above the man's left hand.
"Straighten it! Pull it out! With this hammer I... I... I must crush his palm to smithereens! Don't be scared, Old Zou, you've got a ghost in your hand, and I... I..."
"I'm going to smash it out! Smash it until its soul disperses! Otherwise, it's going to devour your entire hand!"
