Ethan Bennett originally thought that there was no greater sorrow than a dead heart, and the physical pain was nothing compared to that. But when the wooden stick hit his thin body hard, he almost gritted his teeth in pain.
Ethan Bennett had never suffered such a disaster before. When the first stick hit him, his back was burning and his chest tightened for a moment, making it difficult for him to breathe. When the fifth stick hit him, his fingernails were all scratched and torn, and his ten fingers were bright red and almost hideous. When the tenth stick hit him, he felt a sharp pain in his lower body and the bone of his injured left leg broke. When the twentieth stick hit him, his face was completely pale and he was drenched in sweat as if he had been thrown into the water to wash. When the thirtieth stick hit him, he could almost smell the bloody smell of torn flesh. His clothes and flesh stuck together, and as the sticks were swung down, there was blood foam in the air. Ethan Bennett's tightly clenched ten fingers suddenly loosened and he finally fainted.
A basin of cold water was poured over his head, and he was forced to wake up again. Yongming stopped him and said with a livid face: "Enough! You are not hitting with a board, but a solid stick! A martial artist like me would have to lie down for a month after being hit with 20 sticks! If you continue, someone will definitely die!"
Zeng Yourong was sitting not far away drinking tea, and as if he hadn't heard anything, he said lightly, "There are still twenty sticks."
Yongming refused to give way, stood up and grabbed the stick, and said sternly: "Madam! You have punished him, and Doctor Pei is already in such a miserable state, it's enough! He is not a servant, if someone dies, how will I end it! Just consider it for me!"
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