When the whip hit Yu Haoran's back, he heard the sound of bones dislocating.
The burning pain spread from his skin to his internal organs. He fell forward, his forehead hit the dirt, and he instantly tasted rust in his mouth.
The night wind from the elixir garden was filled with the sweet smell of rotting leaves of medicinal herbs, mixed with the blood dripping from his own back, and seeped thickly into the ground.
Sun Bao's whip-retracting hand stopped in mid-air, and he stepped on the flesh-and-blood whip mark on his back with one foot, and his voice sounded like it was being crushed from his throat: "Trash, kneel down!
The frost moon grass has been raised to death by you, and the elders will intervene tomorrow. Even if you kowtow until dawn, you won't be able to pay for it. "
After speaking, the tip of the whip hit his shoulder blade again. Yu Haoran groaned and dug his nails into the mud.
His fingers were already bloody and bloody, and mud mixed with blood filled the gaps between his nails. Every time he took a breath, his whole body trembled with pain.
He heard whispers around him.
Those outer disciples who had lowered their heads and called him "Senior Brother Yu" just a month ago, now had sharp and harsh sneers in their voices, like crows pecking at carrion.
