The two men looked like they were hunched over and being beaten.
Shuisheng landed a stick on someone's back, and the stick immediately snapped into two pieces with a crack.
Shuisheng was stunned.
This firewood stick was thicker than his own arm, and though he had used a lot of force, it shouldn't have broken the stick with one strike.
If the stick was broken, how was the person? He immediately looked down.
He saw the young man, whose stick he had broken, straighten his back, stretch lazily, and dust off the flour and dirt from his body, "Big brother, you must not have eaten, right? That strike felt like you were just tickling me?"
The other one burst out laughing.
Shuisheng realized something was wrong; even if he wasn't smart, he could tell that it wasn't a matter of not being able to break the stick or the stick breaking—it must be that this person had some skill.
He was just about to shout at the top of his lungs.
