Mo Tingyan was dragged to a deserted corner of the residential garden.
Before the other side could even open their mouths, he swept a brutal kick across the ground—
His movements were lightning-fast.
By the time the others reacted and rushed forward, the two young men restraining him were already cleanly taken down.
Ten against one.
All of them trained fighters.
Everyone present was certain Mo Tingyan wouldn't stand a chance.
Yet no one expected this man to fight like an outright madman.
Sharp. Decisive. Ruthless.
Every strike went straight for vital points, no wasted motion, no hesitation.
A violent crimson flooded his eyes—
like a fully unleashed lion, intent on tearing every prey around him to shreds.
Cries of agony erupted one after another.
Fear quietly crept into the onlookers' gazes.
It had been a long time since Mo Tingyan had fought this freely.
Just as the fight reached its peak, he caught sight of a figure in the hazy glow of dusk—
Wen Zhi rounded the corner by the wall, crouching suspiciously before hiding behind the shrubs.
Mo Tingyan didn't want her to see him like this.
In an instant, he reined himself in, deliberately allowing the trained men to surround him.
Even so, blocked from her view, not a single one of them could truly get close.
Hidden behind the holly bushes, Wen Zhi knew calling the police now would be too slow.
Charging out to help would only make things worse—she'd be delivering herself straight to disaster.
Panicked, inspiration struck.
She pulled out her phone, turned the volume all the way up, and played the sound of a police siren.
The group froze immediately.
The leader clutched his ruptured abdomen.
Terrified though he clearly was, he forced out a tough line:
"This isn't over. Just you wait."
Supporting one another, the group fled in disgrace.
The moment they disappeared, Mo Tingyan dramatically collapsed onto the ground, hands bracing against it, looking utterly miserable.
Wen Zhi burst from the bushes and ran straight toward him.
She crouched beside him, anxiety written all over her face.
"Are you hurt badly?"
Mo Tingyan tilted weakly into her arms, clutching his stomach, his voice frail and pitiful.
"They didn't hit my face… all the kicks landed right here."
He looked up at her, eyes damp.
"Zhangzhu… it hurts so much."
Wen Zhi hurried to help him up, ready to take him to the hospital.
But he grabbed her hand and shook his head.
"We can't go. If the doctors report it, your father will spend the rest of his life in prison.
Whether he goes to jail or not doesn't matter to me—but your reputation will suffer.
It'll affect your background checks, your career, your whole future."
She froze.
"…My father sent them?"
Mo Tingyan nodded.
"It's nothing serious. Just a few kicks. Some medicated oil will do."
Guilt flooded Wen Zhi's heart.
Even like this—he was still thinking about her future.
And her biological father?
He only wanted to sell her off for wealth and glory.
She clenched her teeth, swallowing the bitterness, and supported Mo Tingyan.
"I'll take you home."
After settling him onto the bed, Wen Zhi checked the medicine box—
no bruise treatment at all.
She had no choice but to go out.
As she walked toward the gate, she dialed Wen Renhao.
The call connected.
"Well, well," he sneered.
"So my daughter finally remembers to call her father."
She didn't waste a word.
"On what grounds did you have people attack Mo Tingyan?"
"He refused a toast only to drink a forfeit. I gave him money to leave you—he wouldn't take it.
Men like that deserve what they get."
"What?" Wen Zhi was stunned.
"You met him privately? You even paid him to leave me?"
"That's right. Let me tell you something, Wen Zhi.
You're destined to marry into a powerful family.
Mo Tingyan is nothing but a Mo family bastard. I've investigated him—his mother was just a pretty whore.
Back in the day, countless men—"
"Enough!" Wen Zhi screamed, cutting him off.
"You think that Su Nanying you brought back is any better?
And you—what gives you the right to humiliate anyone?"
Wen Renhao laughed coldly.
"Say whatever you want. You're my daughter. My blood runs in you.
I will never allow you to be with that poor bastard.
Your face exists to pave the way for my career.
If he doesn't let go of you—sooner or later, I'll kill him."
Her teeth clenched.
"If you dare touch him again, I won't let this go."
She hung up.
Leaning against the wall, head lowered, she struggled to calm the fury, the humiliation—
and the overwhelming guilt toward Mo Tingyan.
If he hadn't met her…
he wouldn't have had to endure any of this.
Half an hour later, she returned with the medicated oil.
From the bedroom, Mo Tingyan called out in a spoiled, aggrieved tone:
"Zhangzhu… why did you take so long?"
She hurried in.
"Is your stomach uncomfortable?"
"Yes," he said seriously.
"It really is."
She lifted his shirt, staring at his firm abdomen—
not a single bruise in sight.
"Is it serious? Maybe we should still go to the hospital…"
Mo Tingyan grinned, roguish and unapologetic.
"I'm uncomfortable because I'm hungry."
Wen Zhi: "..."
She sighed helplessly.
When would this man ever act like a normal patient?
Sitting down, she took out the medicated oil.
"I'll cook after applying this.
Let's have rice bowls tonight."
"As long as it's made by my Zhangzhu," he said lazily,
"I'll eat anything."
She avoided his gaze, opening the bottle softly.
"My dad came looking for you. Why didn't you tell me?"
He raised a brow.
"You just called him, didn't you?"
She nodded.
Mo Tingyan scoffed.
"Your dad's hilarious. No money, yet he tries to act like a tycoon.
When I saw that one-million check, I almost laughed myself sick.
That little bit of cash to buy my woman?
Dream on. My wife is mine—no amount is enough."
She couldn't help laughing quietly.
After warming the oil in her palms, she gently rubbed it over his abdomen.
Barely one pass—
Wen Zhi fell silent.
Her ears burned red.
Before she could react, Mo Tingyan grabbed her shoulders, flipped her over, and pinned her down.
His fingers brushed her flushed cheek, his voice low and dangerously intimate.
"Zhangzhu… teasing a patient is cruel.
The fire's already lit, and you pretend not to see it?
You strike without burying the dead—how heartless."
"What teasing? Don't talk nonsense."
It was his lack of self-control.
He chuckled softly, lowering his head, lips brushing past her ear, breath warm and lethal.
"Fine. I'm the useless one."
He murmured, voice husky.
"Then, beautiful… could you lend me some water—
just enough to put out this fire?"