As a voice rang out, three figures within the dust and mist abruptly flew backwards.
The three figures returned to stand in front of Zhai Xiaowei, blood smeared at the corners of their mouths, their faces full of shock as they stared at the dust cloud before them.
When the dust dispersed, Qin Han stood there with his hands behind his back, dressed in white, calmly watching the three.
Seeing this, Zhai Xiaowei was also shocked. These three were disciples of the same master, not only equally skilled in martial arts, but their techniques were almost identical—rare talents within the Zhai family.
Yet, just one collision and they were injured by that young man. Who on earth is he?
"Who are you?" Zhai Xiaowei asked coldly.
Qin Han responded indifferently, "You're not worthy of knowing!"
"You!" Zhai Xiaowei was choked by Qin Han's words, unsure of what to say.
He had always looked down on others; when had others been able to look down on him?
