Xiao Lie · Chat

【In Public】 When you threw that slap, the air in the entire banquet hall froze for three seconds. The man you hit was Mr. Liang, a fairly prestigious Vice President of the local Chamber of Commerce. In his fifties, he had just finished his speech on stage and was chatting and laughing with a glass of red wine in hand. He never expected that—in front of everyone—a beautiful young woman would walk up in high heels and deliver a crisp slap to his face. The sound was sharp and echoed through the high-ceilinged hall. Half of the red wine in Mr. Liang's hand splashed onto his sleeve. The five finger marks on his face were burning red, and he stood frozen on the spot. The reaction of his surrounding lackeys was delayed by half a beat. You were still fuming. Five minutes ago, you were standing by the dessert table with a drink, waiting for him to come down—Xiao Lie was supposed to accompany you tonight, but he got an urgent job just as you were leaving. He said he’d be there in half an hour and told you to head over first. You were bored alone, and it just so happened that Mr. Liang and a few CEOs were chatting on the nearby sofa. You weren't far away, and a few words drifted over with the breeze. "...Xiao Lie's company has been too prominent these past two years. I had dinner with Old Zhou from the Municipal Bureau last time, and he mentioned that their background isn't quite clean." Mr. Liang's voice wasn't heavy, but he spoke casually, as if discussing an insignificant trifle. "Young people, they don't know their place once they have a bit of skill. Some things in the business world can't be settled by fists alone." Someone nearby chimed in: "Mr. Liang is right. I heard his security company takes a lot of shady jobs. If they ever mess up..." "Whether they mess up depends on whether the higher-ups investigate," Mr. Liang chuckled. "I'm not targeting him, but one should keep a low profile. I heard his wife is also quite flamboyant. I saw that video of her arguing with someone at the mall last time. Tsk tsk, no wonder they're a family." You gripped your glass tighter, a layer of mist forming on the cold glass. Mr. Liang continued: "I've met Xiao Lie a few times. He's young and capable, but he lacks an elder to keep him in check and guide him. If he's willing to come to my side, I could give him some pointers—young people don't know how deep the water is; it's easy to stumble." You couldn't say which sentence triggered your breaking point. Was it "background isn't quite clean"? Or "his wife is quite flamboyant"? Or "come to my side, I'll give him some pointers"? You just remembered putting your drink on the dessert table and walking over, clutching your skirt. Your heels clicked across the floor, and your skirt brushed the sofa legs as you stood before Mr. Liang. He looked up at you, the smile still on his face. You raised your hand, swung it wide, and—SLAP. Clean and crisp. "Uncle Liang, I'll thank you on my husband's behalf for worrying so much," your voice was sharp and cold. "Who does Xiao Lie need pointers from? You? Does the annual turnover of those few security companies under you even cover his monthly payroll?" You shook your stinging, numb palm, not bothering to look at him again. You turned and walked toward the exit, your heels clicking rhythmically on the marble floor, every step carrying your anger. After four or five steps, you suddenly stopped and turned your head. Your volume was moderate, just enough for half the room to hear—including the man leaning against a Roman column not far away, holding a glass of whiskey and watching the whole scene. You said: "Xiao Lie, get out here and deal with this." Your voice carried its usual arrogance and impatience, the end tone rising slightly as if calling a pet dog—but only Xiao Lie could hear that your call was full of confidence because you knew he was there, you knew he would come out, and you knew he would settle everything for you. A very low chuckle came from beside the Roman column. Xiao Lie placed his glass on a passing waiter's tray, straightened up, and stepped out from the shadows. Tonight, he wore a black thin turtleneck with sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, his wrist bones prominent. He held nothing—his hands were empty, making it easier to work. His pace was neither fast nor slow. He first glanced in your direction, his gaze moving from your back to your slightly red palm, then to the five finger marks on Mr. Liang's face. He pressed his lips together, but couldn't hold it back; he smirked anyway. He walked up to Mr. Liang and stood two steps away. "Uncle Liang," he spoke, his tone polite, even respectful like a junior meeting a senior. "You've received that slap from my wife." Mr. Liang's face turned from pale to a deep, angry purple: "Xiao Lie! You—your wife hit someone in public! Do you know—do you know what she just said! She—" "I know," Xiao Lie interrupted, his voice low. "I stood there and heard most of it. I didn't miss a single word of what you said." Mr. Liang choked on his words. Xiao Lie tilted his head with a half-smile: "'Background isn't quite clean,' 'don't know how deep the water is,' 'come to my side for pointers'—Uncle Liang, saying those things to my wife... weren't you just asking for it?" He raised his hand and patted Mr. Liang's shoulder, not too hard, as if dusting him off: "My wife has a bad temper. You're an elder, so please be patient. But as for that slap, you deserved it." The room was pin-drop silent. A few people who knew Xiao Lie had already started backing away. Xiao Lie glanced toward where you were leaving—you were almost at the door, your back straight, your shoulders tense, clearly still furious. He turned back and gave Mr. Liang a smile that didn't reach his eyes, his tone casual: "I'll talk to you about this later. The wine tonight is good; keep drinking. Put the tab on my name." With that, he started walking toward you. After two steps, he stopped, as if suddenly remembering something, and turned to add: "By the way, Uncle Liang—my wife just got her nails done. If you find any scratches later, I'll cover the medical bills." Only then did his pace quicken. He caught up to you in a few strides, his arm wrapping around your waist from behind. He leaned down close to your ear, his voice low and husky, carrying that uncontrollable mirth: "...Damn. Good hit." "You stood there and heard the whole thing?" You shot him a sideways glance. "Heard it all," he replied as if it were natural. "I arrived just when he started talking. I was going to come over, but seeing your expression, I didn't move—I was afraid of interfering with your performance." You were so annoyed you laughed. He looked down and picked up the hand you used to hit the man, his thumb gently rubbing over the reddened knuckles, his brow furrowing slightly: "Does your hand hurt? I'll massage it for you when we get back." You curled your lip: "Your Uncle Liang is thick-skinned; my wrist is sore from the impact." Xiao Lie chuckled low and pulled you closer into his arms: "I'll make him compensate you for your hand later." He half-hugged, half-pushed you out the banquet hall doors, leaving the entire room staring at each other. Mr. Liang stood there with his half-spilled wine, unable to say a word. Meanwhile, the boss of the security company known as Thorn Shield had already tucked his wife into the car. He was crouching by the car door, holding your hand and carefully checking if the knuckles were swollen. He was still muttering: "...Shit, use your palm next time, not your fingers. Finger bones break easily. Use your palm, you hear me?" You looked down at him, and he looked up at you. The car lights hit him from the side. This decisive, ruthless man was now crouching before you, his eyes filled only with your one reddened hand.