The moment Ye Fengwu stood up, the entire banquet hall fell into an eerie silence.
Something about his eyes made the air freeze—cold, predatory, and faintly tinged with red, like a starving wolf just before it tears into its prey.
Qin Shou's face blanched, but with a dozen bodyguards nearby, his arrogance quickly returned. He sneered, "Where the hell did this bum crawl out from? Look at those ragged boots! You think you can just waltz into my grandfather's birthday party, you filthy nobody?"
Ye Fengwu said nothing. He was dressed simply—faded desert camouflage without rank insignia, old combat boots worn smooth at the toes. To anyone else, he looked like some construction worker who'd wandered into the wrong place.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, gravelly, and dangerous.
"You laid a hand on them?"
The sound rumbled from deep in his chest, like a wild beast ready to pounce. The killing intent in his eyes could have frozen blood.
As the most decorated soldier in his unit—a legend whispered about in the military—Ye Fengwu had seen and done things no sane man should. He had taken lives by the dozens, maybe hundreds. Yet never once had he lost control like this.
Qin Shou spat, "Yeah, I did! So what? Who the hell are you to butt into Qin family business? Get out before I—"
He never finished.
Smack!
A sound sharp and crisp as breaking ice split the silence.
Ye Fengwu's hand clamped around Qin Shou's wrist like an iron vice. The pressure made bones creak audibly.
"Y—you bastard—"
Before Qin Shou could even curse, a blur of motion struck him across the face.
Thud!
The slap echoed through the hall like thunder.
The crowd gasped as Qin Shou's six-foot frame spun sideways and crashed to the marble floor face-first. Blood splattered like paint; the crack of bone was unmistakable.
He didn't even scream. He was out cold before his body stopped moving.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning. Then—chaos.
"Shou'er!" cried Qin Fei, his father, as he lunged forward. His face twisted with fury. "What are you standing there for? Kill that bastard!"
Dozens of uniformed guards surged forward, gripping rubber batons.
The old man at the head table, Qin Guangnan, didn't even blink. His voice was cold, heavy with authority.
"Do it. Whatever happens, I'll handle the consequences."
Gasps rippled through the guests. Everyone knew how much the patriarch adored his grandson. For him to say that meant one thing—this intruder was not leaving alive.
The lead guard barked, "Get him! Break every bone in his body!" and swung the baton down at Ye Fengwu's head.
He never even saw what hit him.
Whoosh—crack—thud—
Ye Fengwu moved like lightning, every motion precise and brutal. A punch to the ribs. A kick to the knee. An elbow to the throat.
To the guests, it was a blur. To the guards, it was hell.
Within seconds, the air was filled with the sound of bodies crashing into tables and shattering glass. Men flew backward like rag dolls, slamming into furniture, scattering plates and food across the floor.
Each one went down with a single blow—and not one got back up.
When it was over, the silence returned. Only groans and the faint clatter of broken dishes filled the hall.
Ye Fengwu stood tall, breathing steadily, his face expressionless. Not a drop of sweat touched his brow.
He turned his gaze to Qin Guangnan and Qin Fei, his tone low and deadly.
"Old man… you were saying something about killing me?"
The insult—old man—made Qin Guangnan's face darken like a stormcloud. Yet behind his fury was something else: fear. This was no ordinary thug.
Still, the patriarch tried to regain control. "Today is my birthday," he said, voice quivering with restrained rage. "You've injured my grandson, disrupted my celebration, and insulted my family. Why? What's your purpose here?"
Ye Fengwu gave a short, bitter laugh. "A celebration? You call it that? Forcing your granddaughter to marry a man she doesn't love—ripping her child away from her—and you call it a happy occasion? You're no elder. You're a tyrant."
Qin Fei bristled. "Watch your mouth, you bastard! You think a few punches make you a man? You—wait…" His expression shifted. Recognition dawned. A cruel smile followed.
"Dad," he said slowly, "I know this guy. We were in the same cell eight years ago. Yeah… that's it. He's a rapist."
The words struck like a thunderclap.
Guests recoiled. Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Even Qin Qinghan, who had been standing frozen near the wall, felt her stomach twist. A rapist. The word alone was enough to make her skin crawl.
The man who had just defended her daughter—was one of them?
Her first instinct was revulsion. Then fear. She backed away, pulling Jingsi into her arms, shielding the girl with trembling hands.
"Stay away from us," she whispered, her voice shaking.
Ye Fengwu's chest tightened. He could see the disgust in her eyes—the same disgust the world had shown him for eight long years.
He wanted to explain. To tell her everything. But what words could erase what he'd done?
Qin Guangnan's expression shifted again, cold calculation returning. "A rapist, you say? Then his fate is sealed. I have nothing more to say to him."
He turned to Qin Qinghan, his voice sharp as a whip.
"Qinghan, today is my birthday and your engagement day. Whether you agree or not, you will marry the Zhang boy."
"I've already told you," she said through gritted teeth, her eyes wet but defiant, "I've accepted my fate. I've lived eight years in hell. The only reason I've survived is my daughter. If you force me to abandon her, I'd rather live on the streets."
Ye Fengwu's eyes softened. The guilt in his chest deepened. He didn't know if he could ever love her—but he owed her more than anyone in the world.
Qin Guangnan's face hardened. "That's not your choice to make."
Zhang Ge, standing smugly nearby, sneered. "My father will never allow a rapist's child into our family."
The implication hung heavy in the air.
Ye Fengwu's eyes flicked from Qin Qinghan to Zhang Ge, then back to the old man. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
"So that's how it is," he said softly. "You're all so eager to decide her fate. Tell me, old man—are you also arranging a marriage for me?"
The sarcasm was sharp enough to draw blood.
The room froze again.
And for the first time, even Qin Qinghan's hatred faltered—because in Ye Fengwu's cold, blood-red eyes, she saw something else.
Something that looked like… remorse.