With that, Yang Ce casually—and seemingly gently—traced a few touches over Wu Ming's body, and Wu Ming began rolling all over the floor. Beads of sweat poured from his forehead, his eyes bulged, and he could not help letting out anguished moans. Yang Ce had used this move before, on the baseball-cap kidnapper who had abducted Yang Dashan, and the effect had been excellent. This was not the pain of flesh and skin—it was in the nerves, impossible to suppress, like tens of thousands of ants burrowing into the heart. Even the most iron-willed person could hardly bear it.

Yang Cenbin's move not only stunned Hou Lin—Bao Lin was left slack-jawed. Today Yang Ce had brought them far too many surprises. Hou Lin had only just learned that Yang Juehuan was skilled in combat, but now, seeing Yang Ce display this trick as well, his admiration only deepened.

Bao Lin had been shaken enough already; it was as though the Yang Ce standing before him now was not the same man who had shared a cell with him at all. This Yang Ce was simply too mysterious.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Yang Ce said, looking at Wu Ming rolling on the ground, a note of mockery in his voice.

"If you've got the guts, then finish me off!" Wu Ming roared.

"Oh, let me see... you just keep holding on like this. I'd say three to five days and you'll be dead," Yang Ce said, curling his lip.

To be continued.