Not long after Chen Jiao left, Ye Rong, Yuan Sheng, and the others woke up one by one. The only one who didn't stir was Zhang Ping. He was in the worst shape of them all; having muddled through the fame and fortune of the entertainment industry, his body had long been hollowed out by drink and debauchery.
Yuan Sheng clutched his chest, where the phantom of an excruciating pain seemed to linger. He shot Zhang Ping a vicious glare. "Wake him up. Find out what the hell happened."
Ye Rong's face was grim. "I've spent my life hunting, only to get my eye pecked out by a hawk today. That little bitch is vicious. Wake him up. Let's see what kind of person he brought us."
When the boss gave the order, the henchmen naturally scrambled to get to work. They were especially motivated, since they blamed Zhang Ping for the torture they had just endured.
Zhang Ping was sprawled out like a dead pig, but who was going to feel sorry for him? They were too busy feeling sorry for themselves.
