Everyone watching the fight winced as they heard the sharp, high-pitched grunt of Gao Ren.
THUD.
The boy didn't even have the luxury of cursing before he collapsed to the ground, his limbs twitching like a fish out of water. His eyes welled up with tears, his mouth foamed like an over-shaken bottle of ale, and then—silence. A couple of seconds later, he simply passed out, unable to bear the ungodly pain that had been inflicted upon him.
And it wasn't just Gao Ren who felt the agony; every man present—young, old, warrior, or scholar—grimaced, instinctively cupping their groins as if protecting themselves from a ghostly aftershock.
Even Elder Nie Jing, a battle-hardened master who had seen all manner of carnage, winced. Several male disciples paled, some falling to their knees as if they, too, had been struck by Han Yu's legendary technique.
"Terrifying… Too terrifying!" the boys watching all muttered in horror.
