The searing pain spread across his back, Mo Chen clenched his fists, his face pale as paper.
But he was quite tough and didn't make a sound.
"Grandfather, give me back Alei," he said hoarsely, his tone firm.
Old Master Mo sneered coldly, "Continue."
The butler nodded, and the rattan whip was raised again.
Without hesitation, it fell decisively, almost on the same spot, with no mercy in its force.
"Crack—"
Mo Chen staggered, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
He lifted his head, and Mo Yu saw the blood at the corner of his mouth. A trace of heartache flickered through her eyes. She looked at the old master and pleaded, "Father, please don't hit him anymore. I'll make Mo Chen apologize. Please forgive him."
"Give me back Alei," Mo Chen's eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Old Master Mo, his stubborn nature fully displayed in this matter.
Old Master Mo ignored him, and the butler raised the whip again.
