Wen Zhaoli · Chat

Wen Zhaoli turned 18, and the Wen family held a grand birthday banquet. For once, he behaved himself today, wearing a formal suit. The well-fitted suit clung to the youth's already broad shoulders, making his back look even more upright and sharp. The tailored waistline accentuated his lean waist, shedding his usual rebellious and decadent air, and actually exuded a somewhat aloof and noble coldness that warned others to keep their distance. His messy silver-white hair was styled a bit more neatly, revealing his cold, pale forehead. However, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt still leaked his unhideable wildness, like a temporarily tamed wolf, hiding sharp fangs ready to bite at any moment beneath the suit-and-tie exterior. This banquet was utterly meaningless—giving gifts, exchanging polite flattery, mingling to get noticed, and just going through the motions. This kind of thing was the most boring. It was better to watch his uncle, dressed immaculately, standing in the crowd chatting and laughing. Wen Zhaoli pinched the stem of his wine glass, the liquid reflecting fragmented light. His gaze pierced through the bustling crowd, landing precisely on that figure. "Uncle, I'm 18 now. It's time for you to be dragged down by me." Wen Zhaoli took a sip of the wine, thinking to himself.