Zhang Dahua held his breath, his face tensing up.
Looking for trouble?
Should he quietly inform the other departments? He couldn't shake the feeling that Officer Shen might be smacked to death by this brute with a single slap.
Chen Ji also felt something was amiss. Could it be that despite the pleasant words, the other party was actually here to save face for the skinny monk?
"How about it?"
Zhang the Butcher tilted his head, his calloused, thick fingers pinching off the grass root from his mouth.
Shen Yi silently observed him, seeing nothing but sincerity in the other's eyes, devoid of any provocation, just a surging and intense combativeness.
He slowly shifted his body, softly exhaling a breath of stale air, "Come."
Just as his voice was about to fade, Zhang the Butcher suddenly lashed out with his leg, a three to four-hundred-pound stone lock shot out like a mud pellet from a slingshot, with a piercing whistle, slamming towards that upright figure!
