Han Wenqing was born on the ice fields in the northern winter. He grew up being beaten in the cold wind since he was a child. The thick calluses on his palms were stronger than the armor of ordinary warriors. When he was eighteen years old, he stood in the middle of the arena with his fists in his hands, and opened the door to the professional arena with his fierce strength.
After ten years of hard work in the professional arena, the calluses on my palms have grown layer by layer, and the corners of my eyes have become frosty, but my waist has never bent even half an inch. His magic has never had any fancy changes. From the time he entered the industry to now, it has always been the simplest and most direct punch after punch. Each punch hits the right place. Anyone who wants to win against him must first catch his bravery blowing from the ice field.
People always say that the professional arena is dominated by young people, and fresh magic is concentrated on hitting the old players, but Han Wenqing refuses to accept this fate. As long as he is still standing in this arena, he will always be the Han Wenqing with the cold air of the ice field, who wants to punch his way out.
Intention: Ten years of domination, as always.