Ye Fengwu didn't leave right away.
Instead, he walked slowly—almost casually—to where Qin Shou lay unconscious on the floor.
He looked up at Qin Guangnan, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Old man," he said lightly, "I really should thank you for helping me tonight. You wanted to celebrate your birthday, and I showed up empty-handed. That's rude of me."
His voice turned colder, quieter.
"So, I'll leave you a gift—something unforgettable."
The way he said it made everyone uneasy. Qin Guangnan frowned, unable to read the man's thoughts.
Then, Ye Fengwu's boot came down.
Crack.
The sound was sharp, clean, and horrifyingly loud in the silent hall.
Qin Shou's scream tore through the air—high, raw, and animalistic. Blood sprayed across the marble floor as his leg twisted grotesquely, the bone shattered beyond repair.
Even the best surgeon couldn't fix that. Only one option remained: amputation.
"Stop it! You bastard!" Qin Guangnan shouted, face purple with rage.
"My son!" Qin Fei howled, his voice cracking with panic.
But Ye Fengwu wasn't done. He kicked hard—one brutal strike that sent the 180-pound man flying through the air like a rag doll. Qin Shou crashed down onto the banquet table, right into the five-tier birthday cake.
Frosting and blood mixed across the tablecloth. The crowd froze in horror.
That one kick had ended the party.
Ye Fengwu dusted his hands off, his smile calm and almost pleasant. "Now that's a birthday worth remembering," he said.
Then he turned, walking out the doors to catch up with his wife and daughter.
For all his military discipline, Ye Fengwu still carried the edge of a street fighter—the kind of ruthless decisiveness that made even criminals think twice.
The Qin family had humiliated his wife and child. Now, they'd feel what it meant to live in their own version of hell.
When he was gone, Qin Fei scrambled to his son's side. Qin Shou was unconscious again, his leg mangled—barely held together by a strip of skin.
"Call an ambulance!" Qin Fei roared.
Someone from the Qin family fumbled for their phone, hands shaking.
The grand birthday banquet—the proud celebration of the Qin patriarch—had been reduced to chaos by a man they'd all called a rapist.
Guests whispered, exchanged uneasy looks, and quietly slipped away.
Within minutes, only the Qin family remained—about twenty of them—standing in the wreckage of what had been their dignity.
Qin Guangnan's face was dark as stone.
"I'll make him pay," Qin Fei snarled. "He'll rot in prison for the rest of his life."
"Prison?" Qin Guangnan hissed, his voice cold. "That's mercy. I want him to live—and regret it. Since he's so eager to marry that ruined woman, I'll make sure he watches her destroyed right in front of him."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting with malice.
"My grandson's crippled. That woman will pay too."
If Qin Qinghan could've heard those words, she might've laughed at the irony through her tears. She and Qin Shou were both his grandchildren—yet in this family, she was treated as a servant, good only for making money. He was the prince. She was less than a slave.
Qin Guangnan didn't call the police. He didn't want Ye Fengwu to die quickly in a cell. He wanted him to suffer slowly.
"Tomorrow," he said suddenly, "have Qinghan handle the Qin Group's new project negotiations."
Qin Fei frowned. "You mean the one with Fenghao Realty? Father, Qinghan has some skill, sure—but Fenghao plays both sides of the law. Even if I went myself, I'm not sure I could close that deal."
Qin Guangnan's smile was thin, venomous.
"The project manager there is Jin Bao. You think a man like him would let Qinghan walk out untouched?"
At that name, Qin Fei's throat tightened. Everyone in the room had heard of Jin Bao—a depraved thug who loved money, women, and violence in equal measure.
Then Qin Fei smirked. "Jin Bao's a monster, but he's the right kind of monster. Qinghan's beauty will destroy her before the deal's even on the table."
They both laughed, cold and satisfied.
Outside, Ye Fengwu climbed into Qinghan's small Chevy. The low-end model looked pitifully out of place after the chaos they'd left behind.
For an executive of the Qin Group, it was a poor woman's car—barely worth seven grand.
Qinghan gripped the steering wheel tightly, her body stiff. Sitting next to her was the man she feared most—a convicted rapist, silent and unreadable.
The drive was mercifully short. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a modest apartment complex. The building had no elevator, and their place was on the sixth floor. The stairwell smelled faintly of detergent and old paint, but at least it was clean.
Inside, the apartment was barely six hundred square feet—two bedrooms, one cramped living room, a tiny kitchen, and a single bathroom. The furniture was worn but spotless.
Ye Fengwu frowned. "You're supposed to be a Qin Group executive, right? Earning six figures a month? This place seems… humble."
Qinghan pressed her lips together, saying nothing. She turned to her daughter instead. "Jingsi, Mommy's going to make dinner. I'll call you when it's ready, okay?"
The girl nodded, sensing the tension, and quietly retreated to her room.
Ye Fengwu knew what Qinghan was doing—keeping the child out of his reach.
He couldn't even blame her.
From the kitchen doorway, Yang Yu glared at him, arms crossed. "Don't expect to freeload here," she snapped. "Qinghan works like a dog at that company and gets paid like a clerk. You won't be eating off her money."
"Enough!" Qin Zhi hissed, tugging at her sleeve. "Do you want to get us all killed?"
He was terrified. Everyone was. Ye Fengwu might have been quiet, but the violence he'd unleashed tonight still hung heavy in the air.
Ye Fengwu's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
Qinghan saw his face darken and her pulse jumped. God, is he angry? Is he going to snap again?
Then, unexpectedly, he sighed. "I should've found you and your daughter sooner," he said softly.
The apology stunned her. Again, that strange warmth in his voice. He was a man of contradictions—violent, yes, but gentle toward her and the child. It was unnerving.
"You can rest in the living room," she said quietly. "I'll cook."
"Want me to help?" he asked.
She didn't answer. She just walked into the kitchen and shut the door firmly behind her.
He watched her disappear, her slender figure framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light.
"She's beautiful," he murmured to himself, smiling faintly. "And that body… damn. Maybe this wasn't such a bad deal after all."
It was a foolish, almost boyish thought—but it was honest.
Yang Yu caught the look on his face and snorted. "Pervert."
Her husband pulled her away quickly before she said more. "Please," he whispered. "Don't make this worse."
And from the couch, Ye Fengwu just leaned back, that same faint smile on his face—
half warmth, half danger—
the smile of a man who'd lived too long in the dark to ever be simple again.