The entire shooting room was so silent that one could hear a pin drop, with only the intermittent sounds of breathing.
Ten bullets, a hundred percent hit rate—each and every one struck a ping pong ball.
Chen Siyu's eyes were filled with disbelief. She was well aware that although the shooter had prepared ten ping pong balls, even the best marksmen in the world could hardly hit all ten, so Qin Mingtao's achievement in hitting five was already enough to crown him the undisputed "King of Marksmanship" in Nangang.
But Ye Chenfeng had casually hit all of the ping pong balls? And with his left hand? From the information she had gathered before, Ye Chenfeng had been nothing more than a frivolous scion with no proper schooling, but now, the image of Ye Chenfeng in her heart had completely flipped—had this frivolous scion actually become the master of all marksmen?
