Sun Lao San had tears of excitement streaming down his face early on. In more than twenty years, even when beaten to a pulp by his opponents, he never shed a single tear, but today, for Wang Hao's sake, he just couldn't hold them back.
"Fist God, kill this bastard who has insulted us and Chinese martial arts!"
"Kill him! Kill him!"
"Fist God, you must not be merciful. If you had been defeated just moments ago, he would not have shown you any mercy!"
The audience below began to encourage Wang Hao to make his move.
Wang Hao turned his head and glanced coldly at Billy, who was still struggling on the ground.
"Yo, you're not dead yet!"
Wang Hao's tone was full of mockery, and the look he gave Billy was filled with a murderous intent.
Billy, seeing that look in Wang Hao's eyes, felt like he was just a piece of meat on Wang Hao's chopping block, completely at Wang Hao's mercy.
