Du Changfa sneered, looking Zhang Yang up and down, his gaze as if he was staring at a naive youngster.
The lobby manager beside him chimed in, full of contempt, saying, "Kid, there's a limit to bragging. Pretending to be rich here won't work."
Zhang Yang ignored their ridicule, walked straight to the front desk girl, gently took the fifty thousand yuan from her arms, and stuffed it back to Du Changfa: "Your money, keep it to buy yourself a coffin."
Du Changfa's face turned livid: "You're courting death!"
With that, he raised his hand as if to hit Zhang Yang.
Zhang Yang sidestepped, grabbed Du Changfa's wrist in reverse, and with a slight squeeze, Du Changfa turned pale with pain, breaking out in a cold sweat.
"Looks like your brain isn't the only thing malfunctioning, your limbs aren't dexterous either." Zhang Yang's tone was calm. These self-righteous people truly didn't know their place.
The lobby manager, seeing this, hurriedly shouted, "Security! Get security!"
