"Not going to talk, huh?"
Sikong Yu and Ouyang Qiuhai didn't waste any time and swung their fists directly. Although both were breathtakingly beautiful, as if they could topple nations, each casual punch carried the power of five tripods, and this was them holding back slightly.
Zhang Qiang was rough-skinned and thick-skinned, but even he couldn't withstand the violent pounding from these two. The most crucial thing was that he didn't dare to fight back, because even if he did, he couldn't win.
After a moment.
Zhang Qiang was beaten to the ground, pressed under Sikong Yu's foot: "Are you going to talk or not? If you're still stubborn like a dead duck, huh."
"Believe it or not, I'll strip you and hang you on the flagpole."
Zhang Qiang was instantly a broken defense. Being hung on the flagpole where the whole camp could see him would be nothing short of a shameful humiliation.
