Ye Fan didn't have the slightest pity for Han Feiyu. He didn't know how many times he hit the bastard, but in the end, even his hand was starting to feel a bit bruised before he tossed him on the ground. He then walked over to the others, and miserable cries immediately began to rise again.
"Ye Fan, don't keep hitting them. They might die," Zhang Wenchang said nervously.
"Don't worry, their lives are all quite strong."
Half an hour passed before the place quietened down. All of the disciples had fainted.
Ye Fan looked at the old man running this misty small pub, and then also towards the other small pub owners. Only then did he stop and quietly ask, "The pub's old people…"
"The people who run the small pubs here are all the same kind of people as me. They don't have any talent and wasted half their lives, turning old without any accomplishments. But in the end, they don't want to leave here…" Zhang Wenchang sighed.
