"Since you insist on seeking death, then I'll send you to meet King Yan!"
The middle-aged man roared, charging toward Monk Kongkong and Zhan Xueru with a dozen men behind him.
Seeing the dozen men wielding knives and charging toward them, Zhan Xueru, frightened, clutched tightly at Monk Kongkong's arm and hid completely behind him.
It seemed that at this moment, Monk Kongkong was all she could rely on.
Monk Kongkong glanced back at Zhan Xueru, put his hands together, and chanted a Buddhist mantra.
Afterward, he lightly struck out with a palm.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
In an instant, the dozen men, as if they had agreed beforehand, all fell to the ground, wailing in pain.
"Ouch, damn, this guy's a master!"
"Damn, we've been deceived, this damn monk is not to be messed with!"
"Let's go, let's go, go back and report to the elder!"
While wailing, the middle-aged man and his companions supported each other and quickly disappeared into the night.