"If that's what you're saying..."
Fei Mi had no choice but to pull out a black leather whip.
Not thick—about as thick as Song Xia's pinky.
But anyone who had been whipped regularly knew that this thickness was actually the most painful.
That fiery, extremely gratifying sensation could reach deep into the soul, causing uncontrollable trembling of the body.
"Hehe, you're not going to whip me with that, are you? Come on, just see if I submit and it's all settled!"
Still talking tough?
Fei Mi didn't waste any more words, and simply kicked the pesky old Wang Ye, who was kneeling nearby, out of the way and prepared to teach Song Xia a lesson about life.
"Smack!"
⁰º·(˚˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅)º·˚ "Ow~"
"Smack!"
(ʃƪ﹃) "Yah~"
"Smack!"
⁽⁽٩(๑⁰̷̴ ꒨ ⁰̷̴)۶⁾⁾ "Yo-west Yo-west Asia-my-tower~"
"Smack!"
˚₊*(ˊॢo̶̶̷̤﹃ o̴̶̷̤ˋॢ)*₊˚ "yeah～"
Fei Mi looked at the whip in her hand with suspicion. His expression, ruined from being "whipped", seemed a bit off.
