The Crown Prince of the Shangwu Dynasty was completely stunned; he hadn't expected that slap to land so solidly on his face, let alone to be felled to the ground by it.
Indeed, he, along with the chair he had been sitting on, was now toppled over, appearing more disheveled than ever before—hardly resembling a Crown Prince of a great nation, and more akin to a beggar on the streets.
It must be known that he was a Cultivator himself, and not an ordinary one at that; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to live for hundreds of years.
Yet, amidst all these factors, he was still slapped across the face, a slap that left him utterly powerless to retaliate—the speed was simply too fast for him to react.
His cheek, struck harshly by the slap, swelled visibly, the burning pain writing shock and disbelief all over his face.
Just then, Shi Wangdao pulled out a silk handkerchief from his bosom and wiped his palm, as if disgusted by the dirt he had sullied his hand with.
