“Of course it’s necessary.” The man’s voice was soft and low, and a faint trace of sorrow slowly surfaced in the depths of his dark, enigmatic eyes. That sorrow was like a freshly brewed jar of rice wine—slowly fermenting within him, growing richer and more intense with each passing moment, until the sadness became almost unbearable.

When that sorrow reached its peak, the man’s gaze had already settled on the woman sprawled on the floor beside him.

He took a deep breath, then suddenly, without any warning, brought down a brutal kick onto Liu Qingqing’s snow-white calf. A sharp, cracking sound echoed throughout the room, and Liu Qingqing winced in agony, tears streaming down her face as beads of cold sweat poured from every pore, like floodwaters bursting their banks.

But just as she was about to let out a cry of pain, a cold, lifeless iron hammer was thrust into her mouth, silencing her completely—as if to warn her: “Little sister, behave yourself. Don’t scream or make a fuss. If you upset this young master, I’ll smash you to death with one blow—right here, right now.”

Liu Qingqing trembled all over, yet she dared not utter a single sound, nor lift her head to meet the man’s eyes.

A barely concealed wave of disgust crept into the sorrowful depths of the man’s eyes. He eased the boot he’d been pressing against Liu Qingqing’s calf and let out another soft, low voice.

“Liu Qingqing, speak up. While I still have a shred of patience left to listen to your rambling in front of me, raise your hands obediently and take this slap on the face. Otherwise—today, or rather right now—you’ll die a most unsightly death. A truly unsightly one!”

With that, he pulled out the iron hammer that had been stifling Liu Qingqing’s cries, roughly wiped the saliva off its surface on her wedding dress, then precisely aimed it at her chin. With just a little pressure, he lifted her tear-streaked, delicate face upward.

In fact, Liu Qingqing was quite beautiful—not only did she inherit her maternal grandmother’s and mother’s porcelain-white skin and exquisite features, but her eyes also bore the mark of her biological father: naturally alluring, they could easily bewitch any man who looked at them. Even women who knew nothing at all about her character or actions would likely find themselves inexplicably drawn to her.

And now, with her face streaked with tears, she exuded an endearing charm that irresistibly made people want to hold her close, soothe her gently, and protect her fiercely.

Yet the man before her felt none of this. In his eyes, there was only disgust, only revulsion, only hatred.

Liu Qingqing sobbed, and after a long while finally mustered some strength—but she still refused to meet the man’s gaze. It seemed that even one more glance might cause him to tear a layer of flesh from her face. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she managed to choke out, “Where would you like me to start?”

“Start with the day you entered the scheme. Tell me—when exactly did you decide to turn against me? And when did you begin plotting to harm me?” The man’s voice was laced with a chilling deadness. He had already withdrawn the hammer that had been lifting her chin and once again tapped lightly on the stool he was sitting on, playing a tune buried deep in Liu Qingqing’s bones—a melody she had listened to over and over again during her days in that old apartment building, a song that had witnessed countless instances of domestic violence and abuse she and her mother had endured. Back then, whenever that tune played, it reminded her of those painful years. She would instinctively try to escape, and when no one was looking, she would do everything in her power to destroy the source of the sound.

End of Chapter 262: Counterattack 189