"Kid, you're dead meat, you're so dead, nobody can save you today," Zhang Xinpeng said, enraged and ashamed. If he could swallow this, how could he, Zhang Xinpeng, show his face in the future?
In his gaze towards Chen Feng, there flashed a barely noticeable viciousness. Just then, everyone saw a figure suddenly move, a whooshing sound erupted, and a fist was already aimed at Chen Feng's head.
Chen Feng stood still, watching the incoming fist with an amused look in his eyes. He hadn't expected that this playboy who wanted to woo his wife was actually a martial artist.
Given the speed of the punch and his stance, it seemed to be a legacy of the Jiangdong South Fist. He remembered that there was once a famous Southern Fist King in the Jiangdong area who also had the surname Zhang, but he had no idea what relation this kid might have to him.
