"Let go of me! Let go of me!"
A piercing scream drew nearer as a cultivator from the Supervision Department, his face obscured by a black conical hat, dragged Wang Jie over by his collar.
Wang Jie struggled desperately, punching and headbutting, but how could he possibly break free? Instead, he stumbled and fell, his white clothes tearing against the sharp gravel.
THUD.
The Supervision Department cultivator flung Wang Jie heavily onto the courtyard ground.
Having been pampered since childhood, Wang Jie had never suffered such humiliation. He cried out in pain, his body curling into a ball.
Li Ang looked down indifferently at the noble young man. His face, hands, and feet were still covered with numerous black spots and egg-sized swellings, clear signs he was still suffering from the plague. But aside from the black spots and swellings, he seemed otherwise unharmed—in far better condition than ordinary folk afflicted with the plague.
