Pei Ye soon found out why the phrase "without a scratch" existed.
Just as that row of galloping horses had passed not long before, and the teenager was about to shout out to the passersby to perform his tricks, his mouth suddenly closed, his expression hardened, and he slowly tilted his chin upward, looking towards the approaching figure.
It was a burly bald man with a rich scent of alcohol on him, striding forward directly, followed by four fierce-looking men.
One couldn't say that his presence was out of place on this street, because even though he was far removed from the slender dancers and brocade-clad pedestrians, he also belonged here, representing another underlying tone of this district.
"Do you have a death wish?" the bald man said, his voice both cold and rough, "You stole Mr. Zhou's hawk, and you dare to hang it out here? Who are you showing it to?"
