"Ding, detected that the host is wealthy but unkind. First-tier plot characters Wu Yi and Wu Xuewen have suffered severe physical and mental trauma. Reward: fifty million yuan, two lucky draws."
"Keep up the good work, host."
The next second.
A critical hit effect triggered, multiplying everything by five.
A smile appeared in Su Ning's eyes. Seeing this, the others felt complicated emotions they could hardly put into words—after all, the Wu Yi kneeling below had once called them uncles and elders, had been watched growing up since childhood, had been patted on the shoulder and praised.
Now he was a sorry mess.
He had become a criminal—let alone a future, he might not even keep his life.
Although they knew it was perfectly normal for Su Ning, as the injured party, to feel pleased now that the culprit had been caught, human hearts were never that simple.
Besides, there was also a child suffering alongside him, pale-faced, covered in wounds.
Someone spoke up in dissatisfaction:
"You were sent to arrest Wu Yi—why did you bring his son along? And you even laid hands on him!"
The men who made the arrest felt deeply wronged.
They protested loudly:
"No, who would raise a hand against a child? He was kicked by his own father." The kick was no light matter, and the kid held no grudge—he insisted on following his father here no matter what.
Everyone: ...
Ah. Well, then.
Wu Xuewen felt the gazes falling on him, his face flushing red. What did these people know? His father had already explained on the way here that he hadn't seen clearly and thought it was someone else—that was why he kicked.
He naturally believed that.
Although.
When he first arrived, he could sense his father wasn't exactly warm toward him—even somewhat indifferent.
But the power of blood was something miraculous; the longer they were together, the closer they grew. He admired his father's character, his abilities, his boldness, and his father, seeing his potential, not only accepted him as a son but came to appreciate him.
"We are very much alike."
When he heard those words, Wu Xuewen felt a joy he had never known before.
This was recognition.
A subtle, undeniable inheritance between father and son. He felt an unprecedented sense of security, like a weary fledgling finally finding a nest that could shelter and teach him.
He raised his chin stubbornly.
Staring hard at Su Ning—this persistent, hateful woman—his eyes burning with hatred. He would never show weakness in front of her.
A sharp child's voice rang out:
"It's not my father's fault! Su Ning is the one to blame—the real culprit is Su Ning!"
Everyone fell silent.
They merely thought it was a child who didn't understand. Su Ning toyed with the white porcelain teacup in her hand—though this was only a brief stopover for her, none of the items were anything but fine, with delicate porcelain, glaze as warm as jade, cool yet warm to the touch.
Hearing this, she lifted her eyes lazily.
Looked at him for two seconds.
Then suddenly smiled, sat up straight, and said: "Well now, I thought you looked familiar. So it's you. Haven't seen you in a while, still as filial as ever."
Wu Xuewen's face went pale.
The others were completely confused. Assistant Lin stepped forward timely to explain: "Previously..."
Even in a new place, this story remained bizarre and melodramatic enough.
Gasps rose one after another.
"There are actually such... well, selfless people in this world." They couldn't find the right words, so they settled for "selfless"—raising someone else's child as his own, and hiding it from his own wife. If that wasn't selflessness, what was?
"What happened to that man afterward?"
Someone asked curiously.
Su Ning answered kindly, shaking her head: "I'm not too clear on that myself. He should still be alive, I suppose. Perhaps you could ask Zhao Xuewen—sorry, it should be Wu Xuewen now. Back then, they were father and son, thick as thieves, quite touching to behold."
The next second.
Ding.
Without looking, she knew exactly who the source was. She raised an eyebrow in annoyance.
What did that mean?
She was complimenting him—was that wrong?
Besides, after all this time, she still remembered his name, even corrected herself when she said it wrong. Shouldn't he be flattered?
Flattered? No. Wu Xuewen wanted to kill her, that was true—but for now, he could only kill with his eyes.
He bit his lower lip hard.
A suffocating wave of humiliation engulfed him, and he couldn't say a word.
"Miss Su, why must you torment a child?"
Hearing the familiar voice.
Wu Xuewen instinctively turned to look. There was his father, Wu Yi, haggard in appearance but with unwavering eyes, shaking his head and sighing:
"Aim everything at me. I admit, it was because of a previous conflict with Miss Su, where I suffered a loss, that I harbored resentment and sought revenge. Blinded by malice, I did such a thing. I've let down the Northeast Army, the Young Marshal, and all you uncles and elders."
As he spoke, his face was full of regret.
He struggled desperately, then slammed his head hard against the floor three times—THUD, THUD, THUD—and when he raised his head, his forehead was already bleeding, showing how hard he had struck.
He then looked seriously at Su Ning.
Speaking with fervor and passion:
"It was all my fault alone. The Northeast Army has nothing to do with it. I can die—that's fine—but I don't want to die meaninglessly. As a soldier, I want to die on the battlefield. Let me go to the front lines as a common soldier instead. At least then, Xuewen can someday say that his father, though he erred, died for his country in the end!"
"Father!"
Wu Xuewen finally broke down.
Tears streaming down his face.
"I don't want you to die! I don't want you to die! We were only just reunited!"
Then he turned to the others, pleading:
"Please, I beg you! My father did wrong, but Miss Su—no, Miss Su—she's not hurt, is she? We can apologize, we can pay compensation..."
"Enough."
Wu Yi looked at his son disapprovingly. "Wrong is wrong. A real man doesn't blubber. What kind of example is that? When I'm gone, you must hold up the family and protect your mother, understand?"
"I... I understand."
Hearing this, Wu Yi nodded with a gratified look on the surface.
Caught red-handed.
He couldn't completely distance himself from this, so he had to retreat in order to advance. The front lines were a meat grinder, but for him, it was a perfect chance to slip away.
It was a pity, though—without the other chips, he'd have to start from scratch with the Japanese.
He felt a twinge of regret.
Then he noticed something off. He looked up—the faces of those present showed no trace of emotion, only cold indifference. Wu Yi's heart suddenly sank.
"What a spectacular performance."
Su Ning remarked.
She tilted her head, asking with feigned confusion: "But I have a question. The country you wish to die for—is it China? Or Japan?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Cold sweat poured down Wu Yi's body.
He forced the words out.
"Never mind. You don't need to know—someone else does... Miss Xing."
The moment the words left her mouth.
Xing Qiu walked slowly out from the inner room, and spoke: "Before, I didn't know. But now, the country in his heart... is probably Japan."
