At the wedding banquet, the direct descendants of the Su family forced Lu Zheyuan to kneel down and toast in public. "My son-in-law is just a dog, and he deserves to sit at the main table?" As the whole room burst into laughter, he slowly raised his head, and a flash of dark gold flashed across his eyes. Three years ago, the Lord of the Dark Night Palace resigned from the command of one hundred thousand mercenaries and joined the Su family under a pseudonym, just to fulfill the saying "Hiding in the market can defeat the evil spirit." But the indifference of his wife Su Wanqing, the trampling of the children of the aristocratic family, and even his father-in-law offering his hands to him in order to cling to the powerful - all made him understand that tolerance cannot buy peace. When the Gu family sent half-step innate masters to bloodbath the Su family's old house, and when Su Wanqing's heart was shattered by a palm while trying to protect him, Lu Zheyuan finally dialed the number that had been dusted for three years: "Shadow Blade, let all the 'Dark Nights' obey orders." The next day, three stealth fighters flew across the city skyline, and mercenary legions from twelve countries were mobilized at the same time. The president of the Ancient Martial Arts Alliance came to the door in person, dripping with cold sweat: "Master, you have violated the 'Law of Hidden World'..." Lu Zheyuan picked up the dying Su Wanqing, and said in a voice as cold as an arctic ice blade: "From today on, I am the law."
The sound of the porcelain bowl breaking was particularly harsh in the dining room of the Su family villa.
The fragments splashed open, and a puddle of white porridge flowed down Lu Zheyuan's trouser legs, seeping into the fabric fibers in a sticky manner. He did not move, and his eyes fell on the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor tiles - they were bone china from Jingdezhen. One bowl was worth half a month's salary of an ordinary person.
"Hey, you don't have long hands? You can't even catch a bowl."
Su Mingyuan was leaning across the dining table, with his legs crossed and half a fried dough stick in his hand. The curvature of the corners of his mouth was just right between "disgust" and "drama"
