Clapping as he walked toward Qin Fan's group, the middle-aged man with the ponytail sneered, "Oh right, and you! Kid, you were lucky last time—just a knife in the ass, right? What's wrong? It's only been a few days. Has the scar not even healed, and you've already forgotten the pain? Or do you think you'll be luckier this time?"
With that, the middle-aged man pulled a folding knife from his pocket and pressed a button.
CLICK.
The blade, almost thirty centimeters long, sprang out.
"HAHA! HAHAHA!"
The moment Li Guofu began rubbing salt in the wound, the lackeys who had witnessed Li Qiuzhe get stabbed before all burst into riotous laughter.
"Fuck you! Bastard!" Clenching his fists, Li Qiuzhe hissed through gritted teeth.
"Was it you who slashed him last time?" Ignoring Li Qiuzhe's fury, Qin Fan stepped forward and looked at Li Guofu.
