Merely making eye contact with him made the woman feel as though a knife was pressed against her throat, nearly scaring her soul away.
How could a person's gaze be so terrifying? Compared to it, the threat of jackals, tigers, or leopards seemed trivial.
Even when dealing with someone like Tian Qiliang, who had blood on his hands and took lives, the woman had never felt such immense pressure just from making eye contact.
She was on the verge of speaking but hesitated.
Her mind raced to organize her thoughts, and finally, she mustered the courage to say, "Probably around thirty or forty punches, definitely at least forty."
No answer?
The woman didn't have the guts for that. She worried that if she didn't reply, she wouldn't even have to wait for Tian Qiliang to make his move—Chen Wei would take her life first.
"Forty punches, huh? Good, I got it." Chen Wei picked up the boxing gloves that had fallen to the ground and quietly put them on.
