[ Pay attention to —

Pay attention to him????? Don't the heavens test him every time Mo Ran breathes? Is he a Buddha now, expected to witness this and not erupt in anger, volcanic? Forgive him, forefathers, for he sins: it has been days since he last delivered Mo Ran teeth-first to the bitter floor, but, after the day's proceedings, he plans to enter the realm of death without regrets.

The crowd's dispelling like trembling autumn leaves, one at a time peeling to reveal the withered branch of Xue Meng, shivered with anger. Soot-laden torch sticks and rubble-stones have hurt his bones for the afternoon, but these words can only hurt Mo Ran. Pay attention to —

He doesn't know where the peanuts come (the road, discarded from the hurt hand of a passing child) from, only that he weaponizes them with blunt, savage enthusiasm. One, targeting the top of Mo Ran's head. The next, his jaw. Another, his shoulders. On and on and on, until the fusillade would make a veteran batalion proud. ]

At least hold your head down, so people don't know what sect you represent, being so shameful!