Li Jianping and Li Zian exchanged confused glances, while Li Ziqing simply sneered, her lips curling with disdain.
Li Jianping's brows furrowed as he asked in a steady voice, "Weiqiang, what on earth are you talking about?"
But Li Weiqiang ignored his question, his face dark with anger. He suddenly grabbed at Li Jianping's wrist, then at Li Zian's, his voice rising to a near shriek.
"A—and where did you get these clothes and watches? Patek Philippe?!" He jabbed a finger toward Jianping's wristwatch, his eyes burning with jealousy. "You? A useless money grubber who's worth nothing—where did you get a Patek Philippe worth millions?"
Then he swung his glare onto Li Zian. "And you—just a fatherless bastard. Omega? Don't tell me your mother bought it by selling breakfasts on the street!"
His words cut through the air like knives. His voice was loud enough to draw the attention of everyone nearby—waiters, guests, and the waitresses who had followed them earlier, still fascinated by their looks and refined presence.
Whispers rippled through the corridor.
"What is that boy saying? A fatherless bastard?"
"And his mother selling breakfast on the street?"
"That can't be true… Just look at the younger one. His appearance is too divine, too refined. You don't raise a boy like that in poverty."
"Exactly. Children with such presence and elegance usually come from those old-money families, the aristocratic kind."
Their doubts only stoked Li Weiqiang's rage. His face flushed crimson as he snapped at the crowd. "Shut up, all of you! You don't know anything! Aristocratic families? Don't be ridiculous—they're nothing but slum dwellers pretending to be noble. Who knows where they bought that car and those clothes? Probably stolen to flaunt in public!"
He turned back to Jianping and Zian, his expression vicious. "I'm giving you one last chance—tell me the truth. Where did you get that car?"
Li Zian's patience snapped. He yanked his hand free from Weiqiang's grip and glared at him, his voice sharp with anger. "Are you out of your mind, Li Weiqiang? Do you even realize what you're saying? You're accusing your own family of theft?"
"Family?" Li Weiqiang spat the word with open contempt. "You're no family of mine. You're nothing but leeches—low-class parasites. Don't you dare associate yourselves with me!"
The words hung heavy in the air.
Li Jianping's face darkened, his eyes filled with both fury and disappointment. He stepped forward, his tone sharp yet controlled, every word cutting like a blade.
"Weiqiang, I've known for a long time that your father and mother despise us. And to be honest, I never cared much about their disdain. But you—" His voice tightened, his disappointment surfacing. "You're younger than me. You should show me respect as your elder. Instead, you stand here slandering me and my nephew."
He took a step closer, his gaze cold and unwavering. "If this is the kind of man the Li family has raised—arrogant, narrow-minded, and blinded by jealousy—then perhaps your words say more about your own upbringing than they do about us."
For a brief moment, silence fell. Jianping's words were like a slap, echoing in the air.
But Li Weiqiang only grew more venomous, his voice dripping with spite. "Don't act righteous with me, Jianping! You and your sister have always been the shame of this family. A woman who got pregnant before marriage and a man who doesn't know anything but feeload. And Li Ziqing—" before he could speak a sharp slap landed on his cheeks.
Smack!
Weiqiang's head snapped to the side, his cheek burning with the sudden sting. The world seemed to blur for a heartbeat, and when his eyes steadied, he found himself staring at her.
Li Ziqing stood tall before him, her figure straight and unyielding, like a blade drawn from its sheath. Her aura radiated a quiet, dangerous anger, each breath she took measured but trembling with restrained fury. Her sharp eyes, cold as frost yet blazing with fire, bore into him without mercy. The soft flush of anger across her fair cheeks only amplified her beauty, making her seem untouchable—divine, and terrifying all at once.
Her voice, low but cutting like steel, echoed in the silence "How dare you insult my mother, Li Weiqiang?"
Those words were not shouted, yet they reverberated louder than any cry, each syllable carrying a weight that pressed against his chest.
This was not the Li Ziqing who once endured humiliation in silence, not the girl who used to swallow every insult with lowered eyes. She had always avoided violence, even in her previous life—until the very end, when desperation forced her hand. But there was one thing she could never tolerate, one thing that always stripped away her calm: anyone daring to insult her mother.
And today, Li Weiqiang had crossed that line.
For a second, Li Weiqiang was stunned, unable to believe what had just happened. His palm trembled as it rose to his cheek, feeling the heat where her hand had landed. His lips quivered before he finally stammered out, "Y… you… you actually dared to slap me?"
Li Ziqing's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes narrowing with contempt. "Why so surprised? With the way you bark, I thought your face was already used to being smacked."
Li Weiqiang was about to explode when a cold, authoritative voice cut through the tense corridor.
"What's going on here?"
Everyone turned. From the far end of the hallway, the doors of the private room opened, and Li Jianguo along with Wang Yunmei stepped out. At the front was Li Jianguo, his expression dark and questioning, eyes scanning the scene.
Before anyone else could speak, Wang Yunmei noticed her son. Her gaze locked on the bright red imprint on Weiqiang's cheek, and her heart lurched. She immediately rushed forward, her silk dress swaying with each hurried step.
"Weiqiang! What happened to you?" she cried, reaching for his face with trembling hands. "When did you arrive? Why didn't you come inside straight away?"
Li Weiqiang, seeing his mother's concern, no longer held back. His bottled-up rage erupted like a flood.
"Mom! It's this bitch—she slapped me!" he shouted, his finger jabbing toward Li Ziqing. His face was twisted with humiliation, voice loud enough to make passersby flinch. "Do you know what they've done? Jianping actually stole a car and this watch! And when I confronted them, this fatherless bastard slapped me!"
The corridor fell into stunned silence. Gasps rippled through the bystanders who hadn't yet dispersed.
"What?!" Wang Yunmei's face hardened instantly. Her eyes, sharp as blades, darted to Li Ziqing. "Li Ziqing! How dare you lay a hand on my son? Have you forgotten that he is your eldest cousin?!"
But Li Ziqing only sneered, her lips curling with disdain as she met Wang Yunmei's glare head-on.
"Eldest cousin?" Her tone was cold, mocking. "Did you suddenly lose your hearing with age, Aunt Yunmei? Did you not hear how your son just addressed his uncle—calling him by name as if he were some stranger on the street?"
Her words were sharp, deliberate, slicing straight into the air like the crack of a whip.
Wang Yunmei stiffened. The onlookers' gazes wavered, some frowning at Weiqiang's earlier disrespect. For a fleeting second, color rose in Yunmei's cheeks. But the humiliation quickly gave way to fury.
Her chest heaved as anger boiled over. In truth, she had been holding back for nearly a month now—ever since that humiliating day when she saw Li Jianfang stepping out of a Rolls-Royce. That image had burned into her mind like a brand, a constant reminder that someone she looked down upon could suddenly rise above her.
Her husband, Li Jianguo, had warned her repeatedly to control her temper today, not to cause unnecessary scenes. And until just now, she had forced herself to endure. But now—now she finally had the opportunity to vent, and she would seize it without hesitation.
Li Jianping immediately stepped forward, his usually mild expression hardening. His voice carried a rare weight, steady but sharp enough to slice through the rising clamor.
"Sister-in-law, don't jump to conclusions based solely on what Weiqiang has said," he said gravely. "It was he who provoked us first. He even dared to insult my sister."
The air froze for a moment, but Wang Yunmei erupted at once, her eyes blazing with disdain.
"So what if he insulted Jianfang?" she snapped, her words like poison. "She did those shameless things herself. If people have mouths to speak, why shouldn't they speak?"
A sharp crack broke the moment—Li Jianguo's voice, cold and thunderous.
"Yunmei, shut up."
His glare was ice-cold, his hand darting out to grip her wrist with such force that she involuntarily flinched. He leaned closer, his voice low and harsh, audible only to her.
"Did you forget what I told you earlier? Didn't I warn you to control your tongue?"
But rather than calming, Wang Yunmei's fury flared hotter. She jerked her hand back, her voice rising with hysterical pitch.
"What? You want me to keep quiet even when that bastard girl slapped my son? Jianguo, are you even a man anymore? Weiqiang is your son too—your flesh and blood! He was beaten in front of everyone, do you even understand?"
Li Jianguo's brows tightened. His patience frayed as he shot her a withering look.
"Didn't you just hear Jianping?" His voice was sharp, restrained yet seething. "It was our Weiqiang who insulted them first. Why must you make an even bigger spectacle out of this in front of so many people?"
But before the words could sink in, Li Weiqiang burst out, his fury spilling unchecked. His cheeks were still burning from Ziqing's slap, and humiliation twisted every feature of his face.
"Dad, don't take their side!" he shouted, pointing at Jianping and Ziqing. "It was them! This useless man showed up driving a Porsche Panamera Turbo. And look at his wrist—he's wearing a Patek Philippe! Do you seriously believe these beggars could afford such luxury? Something is definitely wrong here!"
His words dripped with contempt, but they also carried the sharp sting of envy.
For a moment, Li Jianguo's composure cracked. He pressed his palm to his forehead, the weight of his son's reckless outburst pressing heavily on him. Everything he had so carefully planned—his quiet scheme to rebuild ties with Li Jianfang, to stand in the glow of her sudden wealth and power—was unraveling before his very eyes.
This was supposed to be his chance. His chance to secure a brighter future for his son, for himself, for the Li family name. But Weiqiang's impulsive arrogance was tearing that fragile bridge apart brick by brick.
His gaze flickered subtly toward Li Ziqing, who was glaring with eyes like sharpened blades at both Weiqiang and Wang Yunmei. Jianguo's heart sank. He could already see it—her patience had reached its end. The situation was slipping beyond repair.
But then his eyes caught a glimmer. His son's angry hand was still raised, pointing toward Jianping's wrist—and there, indeed, gleamed the Patek Philippe watch. Greed, sharp and bitter, curled through him once again. No… I can't give up so easily, he thought. If I can still turn this, if I can lessen Ziqing's anger, if I can salvage even a shred of goodwill with Jianfang… there will still be hope. This cannot be the end.
Decision hardened in his chest. With a sudden, violent movement, Li Jianguo strode forward.
Smack!
His palm landed with brutal force across his son's face. The sound cracked through the corridor like a whip. Li Weiqiang stumbled backward, eyes wide with disbelief, before collapsing onto the floor, clutching his cheek in shock.
He had never been struck before. Not once in his life, but today he experienced it twice.
"Didn't I teach you to respect your elders?" Li Jianguo roared, his chest heaving. "He is your uncle, you unfilial brat! How dare you call him names?!"
The words were fierce, but inside, Jianguo's heart twisted painfully. His hand still burned from the slap, a stinging reminder of what he had just done.
This was his son—his eldest son, the boy he had raised with endless patience and indulgence. From childhood, he had never allowed a single hardship to touch Weiqiang. The best cloths, the finest toys he could afford, the softest reprimands—all because he could not bear to see even a shadow cross his son's smile.
And now, he had struck him. With his own hand.
A bitter ache spread through Jianguo's chest. Rage surged again, not only at his son's recklessness but also at Jianfang and Jianping. If it weren't for them—if it weren't for the situation they forced me into—I would never have needed to raise my hand against my precious boy.
But he buried the thought deep. For Weiqiang's future, for the chance to secure Jianfang's favor, sacrifices had to be made. Even if it meant hurting his son today, it was for the sake of tomorrow.
Still, as he looked down at Weiqiang's wide, betrayed eyes staring up at him from the floor, Li Jianguo felt the burn of regret scorch his heart.
"Aiguo, what are you doing?!"
The sudden voice cut through the suffocating silence like a blade. Everyone turned to see Old Lady Li, with rest of the Li family, hurrying out of the private room.
Earlier, when the raised voices had reached their ears, Li Jianguo had excused himself to deal with it, and the others—believing it was nothing serious—had allowed him and Wang Yunmei to handle the matter. But when neither of them returned after such a long time, the entire family finally emerged to see what was happening.
And the first sight that greeted them was Li Jianguo's palm striking Li Weiqiang's face with resounding force.
Old Lady Li's heart clenched painfully at the scene. The boy she had spoiled since birth, the apple of her eye, stood frozen with one cheek already swelling crimson. Her cry was sharp, raw, almost hysterical as she rushed forward, gathering her grandson into her arms as though shielding him from further harm.
"Aiyaa! Just look at the way your father hit you! Omita, your face is already swollen. My poor A-Qiang!" She caressed his cheek with trembling hands, her voice breaking. "Are you in pain? Should we call a doctor? Jianjun! What are you standing there for? Call an ambulance immediately! Can't you see how badly my precious grandson is hurt?"
Her words rang out like thunder, panic lacing every syllable.
Li Jianjun stood rooted to the spot, utterly stunned. His mother's sharp cry snapped him from his daze, but the command seemed impossible to obey. He knew—everyone knew—how much his elder brother treasured Weiqiang. Since the day the boy was born, Jianguo had never allowed him to suffer even the smallest grievance. Weiqiang was his pride, his only heir, the vessel into which he had poured all his love and ambition.
And yet… he had struck him. So hard that the sound had echoed through the corridor.
Why? What could have possibly driven Jianguo to such an extreme?
Beside him, Chen Lihua's face had gone pale. She, too, was unable to comprehend what had provoked such a violent reaction. Her gaze flickered instinctively across the scene and landed on Li Ziqing, Li Jianping, and Li Zian—standing not far away, their expressions dark, cold, and heavy with suppressed anger.
It didn't take her long to piece it together. A knot of realization formed in her chest. Something must have happened—something ugly enough to push Jianguo, who never raised a hand against his son, into doing the unthinkable.
Her grip tightened on Jianjun's arm. A discreet tug. A silent warning.
Don't interfere. Don't speak. Not now.
Jianjun caught the signal. Though confusion still clouded his heart, he swallowed his words and remained quiet, lowering his gaze.
On the other side, Old Lady Li was still wailing, rocking her stunned grandson in her arms as though he were a child again. But Weiqiang remained silent, too shaken, too humiliated to respond. His mind reeled from the shock—he was not only the victim of that slap but also the one least capable of processing it. His father had struck him, and in front of everyone.
"Aiyaa! He won't even speak to me now!" Old Lady Li's cry rose another pitch, grief-stricken and indignant. "What should I do? My poor A-Qiang, so frightened, so wronged!"
Her tear-streaked face turned abruptly toward her husband, who had been watching quietly with narrowed eyes.
"Why are you standing there like a stone, old man?" she demanded furiously. "Say something! Ask your son why he raised his hand against my precious grandson!"
Old Master Li's brows furrowed deeply. He, too, felt pain seeing his grandson slapped, but unlike his wife, he didn't allow his emotions to cloud his judgment. His gaze swept across the corridor—landing on Li Jianping, Li Zian, and Li Ziqing, who stood with solemn, stormy expressions. In that moment, he understood enough to guess what had transpired. Still, he chose to address his son first.
"Aiguo," his voice was low, measured, but carried authority, "what's going on here? Why create such a public scene? Can't matters within a family be handled in private?"
Li Jianguo, torn between regret and calculation, opened his mouth to speak. But before he could, Wang Yunmei's shrill cry split the air.
"Ahhh—!"
She launched herself at Jianguo, fists pounding against his chest as tears streaked her face. Her voice was wild, hysterical, as though every grievance of her life spilled out at once.
"Why? Tell me why you slapped my son! All because of them? Because of that slut and her bastards?!" Her eyes were red, feral. "Who is dearer to you, Jianguo? Your son or that bitch and her spawn?"
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Even the Li family members were stunned into silence by her outburst.
The crowd that had gathered in the corridor watched with undisguised fascination—whispers and murmurs rising like a tide.
At that moment, the restaurant manager arrived, his expression dark with irritation. "What's going on here? You people are disturbing the other customers. If this continues, I'll have no choice but to call security."
But Wang Yunmei, completely lost in her rage, didn't hear him. She clawed at her husband's shirt, her voice breaking as she continued to hurl accusations.
The manager, growing impatient, stepped forward again—but before he could say more, a waiter hurried to his side and whispered discreetly into his ear. The manager's eyes widened in shock. His gaze flicked instinctively toward Li Jianping. Just one look at the man's understated yet impossibly refined attire, the gleaming Patek Philippe Grand Complications on his wrist, was enough. The truth was clear—this was not someone to be trifled with.
The manager's irritation melted into caution. He gave a subtle nod to the staff and withdrew slightly, choosing silence over offense. He would observe quietly. In his line of work, one instinct mattered most: never provoke the wrong kind of guest.
Meanwhile, Wang Yunmei, hair slightly disheveled and chest heaving, suddenly whirled toward Li Ziqing. Her glare was sharp, venomous.
"Are you satisfied now?" she spat bitterly. "First you dared to slap my son, and now his own father! Look at you—standing there with that cold face. Why don't you smile, why don't you celebrate your little victory?"
Li Ziqing's lips curled into a frosty sneer. Her aura was icy, her voice razor-sharp.
"Victory?" she scoffed. "Aunty, you're giving your son far too much credit. He is nowhere near my competition, so don't flatter yourself. If he hadn't behaved like a stray mutt barking at shadows, do you think I would have lowered myself to dirty my hands?"
Her words hit like a whip, and silence followed for a moment.
Then, Wang Yunmei suddenly burst into manic laughter. It was shrill, almost unhinged, startling those around her.
She had been suffocating for weeks, eaten alive by resentment. Ever since she discovered that Li Jianfang had moved out of the shabby northern district, her heart had been restless. When her husband's connections revealed Jianfang's new residence in the school district of Central City—one of the most expensive and coveted neighborhoods in Wuhan—she had felt as though thousands of ants crawled under her skin.
First, a Rolls-Royce; then a truckload of luxury goods; then the purchase of a restaurant on Jiangshan Road; and now a new Porsche Panamera Turbo. None of it made sense to her.
All her life, she had believed that she was destined for comfort and prestige, that she deserved the best. Yet here she was, stuck in a cramped apartment in the eastern district—while the woman she despised the most, the woman she had always believed would live like a dog for the rest of her life—was living the dream she herself had coveted.
The irony gnawed at her like poison. And now, Li Jianfang's daughter dared to call her son a dog.
Her laughter stopped abruptly, her eyes gleaming with malice.
"A dog, is it?" Wang Yunmei hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a blade, trembling with malice. Her eyes, bloodshot with fury, glared straight at Li Ziqing as if she could burn her alive. She leaned forward, every word laced with venom.
"Do you even know what a dog is? A creature with no one to protect it, destined to die alone in the dirt. Li Ziqing, don't think that just because you suddenly have wealth, you can surpass us. Humph… keep dreaming! You will never rise. Your mother will never rise. She will forever remain in the shadows where she belongs. Do you know why? Because of you—because of you bastards. It's her own sins that gave people the right to mock her! And today—" her lips curled into a cruel smile, "today, let me tell you what your mother did years ago, the shame she brought upon this family!"
"Enough, Wang Yunmei!" Li Jianguo's face paled as panic surged through him. His voice cracked, desperate. "That's enough! Haven't you vented enough anger already? Must you dig up the past? Must you tear open old wounds? Let it go!"
But Wang Yunmei only sneered, her laugh brittle and cold. "Shut up, Jianguo! Do you still harbor those pathetic dreams of reconciling with Li Jianfang? Don't delude yourself. You know very well how you and your parents treated her back then. Can you deny the sun's existence just because you choose to close your eyes? Stop fooling yourself!" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch, every word like poison dripping into the air. "So let me finish what I have to say!"
At that, Li Jianping, who had been silent until now, could no longer hold back. His face flushed with anger, his voice quivered with both pain and dignity. "Sister-in-law, that's enough!" he snapped. "I should have known agreeing to come here today would only invite more humiliation. I should never have subjected my sister to this again. Not today, not ever!"
He turned swiftly, his voice firm. "Let's leave. A'Qing, An'an—come, we're done here."
But Li Ziqing did not move. She stood tall, her sharp eyes fixed on Wang Yunmei. Slowly, she shook her head. "No, Uncle," she said softly but with unyielding determination. "I want to hear what she has to say."
"Ziqing!" Li Jianping's eyes widened in alarm. He stepped forward, his voice urgent, almost pleading. "Don't listen to her. Let's go—come with me!"
Yet Ziqing only gave him a faint, reassuring smile, one that held both steel and fire. She turned back to Wang Yunmei, her voice calm yet commanding, each word striking like a whip.
"Go on," she said coldly. "Speak."