Nan Zhubin held his breath, planning to expand his advantage steadily.
Wang An suddenly looked up: "You suspect I have a target? Who is it?"
Wang An's face was flushed because of facial congestion, a symptom of nervousness, timidity, anger, among others.
At this moment, he should have been speechless. His eyes were like a trapped beast, yet he did not bow his head for execution; instead, he extended his claws and teeth.
As if triggered by some switch, Wang An began a counterattack that seemed almost reflexive.
Nan Zhubin frowned, realizing something was wrong.
This person's reaction was somewhat uncoordinated. A bad premonition began to surface in Nan Zhubin's heart.
"Who is it, who do you think my target is?" Wang An continued to press.
Nan Zhubin didn't plan to let Wang An lead him by the nose and was about to speak to continue his questioning at his own pace.
But he saw Wang An take a sudden step forward and slap Nan Zhubin—
"Thud"
A dull sound.
Not a crisp "slap."
