The moment he entered the room and saw Ma Yunbin's state, Qin Fan froze. Ma Yunbin had nothing on but a towel wrapped around his waist. His hands and feet were bound in cheap handcuffs, and his entire body was covered in red welts from a whip. Beside him, a young man with a treacherous expression held a leather belt.
"Holy shit— What's going on here?"
"Mr. Qin, save me, save me!" The moment he saw Qin Fan, Ma Yunbin seemed like a withered tree blooming in spring. Forgetting the scorching pain, he shouted as if he had seen his Savior.
"Well, well, another one. Come on, grab him!" the leader sneered, his Mandarin broken and his expression ruthless. At his command, three young men who had come prepared charged at Qin Fan, raising their baseball bats to strike.
"Trash," Qin Fan said with an impassive, disdainful look.
