Liang Run took Zhao Yao around the West Market. After a while, they saw a crowd gathered not far ahead, seemingly watching some commotion.
Zhao Yao loved a spectacle, and as soon as he saw one, he dashed forward. With his small frame, he slipped through the crowd like an eel, squeezing right to the front. It was then he saw several teenagers in their teens beating up a frail young man.
Each of these teenagers was dressed in brocade clothes, their expressions fierce, with smirks of glee on their lips. The man under their feet wore gray linen, and his face was bruised beyond recognition. Curled up on the ground, his eyes were full of fear, and he continuously begged for mercy.
Yet the more he pleaded, the happier the teenagers became. They kicked him occasionally and sometimes whipped him with a horsewhip.
Seeing this, Zhao Yao frowned. However, he didn't rush to judge; instead, he asked an elder beside him.
"Sir, why are they beating him?"
