Dried grass?
The Orcs of the Watson Tribe looked strangely at the tall, muscular Xiu Yan in front of them, and they all thought in their minds: If Xiu Yan is a piece of dried grass, wouldn't that mean they are even less than a root of grass?
"Xiu Yan, he just called you dried grass, you absolutely can't tolerate this, beat him up!" Nan Xing incited from behind Xiu Yan.
Xiu Yan remained unmoved, and even gave Nan Xing a meaningful look: "You seem pretty brave, why don't you go? Give him a lesson."
Nan Xing looked at the mountainous physique of the opponent, then at his own normal body, chuckled awkwardly, and retreated to the back: "I think this guy can only be handled by you, Xiu Yan. I am too weak, I'll pass."
The Orcs looked at his body which was wider than Xiu Yan by an arm's length, and disdainfully wore it on their faces.
Power surged within Xiu Yan's body, and a touch of gold gradually appeared in his eyes.