"Slap..."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the sound of the glass being forcefully set on the table reached his ears.
With a slight tilt of his peach blossom eyes, he was taken aback.
"Damn, Old Iron..."
Comrade Iron Hand, who had just been sitting there stone-faced, without a glance or a word, was now striding out of his seat under everyone's watchful eyes, pushing through the noisy, wild dance floor and heading straight for the center stage with great strides.
By then, the stage was already ablaze with fervor.
Iron Hand furrowed his brows.
She was a grown woman; didn't she know how dangerous it could be to get so drunk in a place like this and be eyed by a pack of predatory men?
After struggling to reach the front, amidst the angry stares of several men, he looked up at the woman on stage.
"Get down!"
The two emotionless words, serious and straightforward as if from a rigid textbook, contrasted sharply with the frenzied screams and cheers surrounding them.
