Chapter 57: Which Hand Struck Her

Song Wei flung the phone aside with a sharp snap, her delicate face twisted with malice. How did Song Qingyou find out about the double apartment? She had been so secretive, always sneaking around—how could Song Qingyou possibly know?

Screaming in frustration, Song Wei swept everything off the table onto the floor in a fit of rage. The loud crash drew people from outside to her door. Someone knocked.

“Song Wei, are you all right?”

Song Wei quickly smoothed her appearance, kicking the ashes on the floor into a corner and forcing a smile. “I’m fine, just knocked something over by accident.”

“Be careful, Weiwei.”

“I will.”

The footsteps faded, but Song Wei’s expression turned stormy, fury burning inside her. Five hundred million—where was she supposed to get five hundred million? Song Qingyou really had the nerve to ask for such an outrageous sum!

These past years abroad, Song Wei had burned through money like water. She never had more than two million on hand. With no other options, she had to turn to her brother, Song Shi.

When Song Shi heard she wanted five hundred million, he hung up on her immediately.

Seething with anger, Song Wei could only seek out Song Yuan.

She drove from the dance studio to the Song Corporation headquarters. At the entrance, she spotted a silver Maybach with the window half rolled down. A man’s hand, pale and cold, dangled outside holding a cigarette.

From this angle, Song Wei could only make out half his profile, but something about him seemed oddly familiar. She didn’t dwell on it, hurrying toward the Song Corporation’s main entrance.

Song Yuan was coming out of the building with several business partners, chatting and laughing at the curb.

A sudden gust of wind brushed past Song Wei’s ear—before she could react, the silver Maybach shot past her from behind, heading straight for Song Yuan.

She was startled out of her wits. “Dad!”

Her exclamation saved Song Yuan’s life. He turned just in time to see the car barreling toward him and leapt back, narrowly dodging but not quite fast enough. The car grazed his right arm, sending him sprawling onto the steps with a tremendous force.

Song Yuan lost consciousness on the spot. The business associates were terrified, and someone called the police in a panic.

Song Wei rushed over and knelt by Song Yuan’s side. “Dad, are you all right? Dad!”

The silver Maybach had stopped not far away, and the man stepped out, cigarette still between his lips.

Fu Wenzhou strode over, his features cold as frost, obsidian eyes deep and unreadable. He stopped beside Song Yuan, raised his foot, and kicked him sharply, jolting him back to consciousness.

Even at that moment, Song Wei didn’t forget her carefully maintained image. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she cried out, “Who are you? Why did you try to hit my father? We’ve already called the police!”

A few of the business associates recognized Fu Wenzhou and dared not say a word.

Fu Wenzhou didn’t even glance at Song Wei, instead turning his icy gaze to Song Yuan, who was struggling to open his eyes. “Which hand did you use to hit Song Qingyou?”

Song Yuan, though shaken and bruised, had suffered no grave injuries aside from his aching right arm. Recognizing his assailant, he was furious. “Fu Wenzhou! This is a crime! It’s attempted murder!”

Song Wei was stunned, looking up at Fu Wenzhou. So this was Fu Wenzhou—the current head of the Fu family? After all these years, he’d grown even more handsome. With his background and looks, no wonder Song Qingyou refused to let go.

Song Wei’s mind raced, a plan quickly forming. She shot to her feet and placed herself in front of Song Yuan, glaring at Fu Wenzhou. “I won’t let you hurt my father!”

Fu Wenzhou narrowed his eyes. “You’re Song Wei?”

She seemed terrified, but stood her ground for her father’s sake. Her voice trembled, soft yet resolute. “Yes, I’m Song Wei. Fu Wenzhou, we met as children—do you remember me? Is there some misunderstanding between you and my father?”

Fu Wenzhou exhaled a plume of smoke, his face expressionless, his gaze as sharp as a blade. Something about his stare made Song Wei’s heart quiver with guilt. She forced a smile. “Wenzhou…”

“Who said you could call me that?” His voice was cold and cutting, his eyes as dark as a winter’s night, edged with menace. Before Song Wei could reply, he kicked her aside without the slightest hesitation. “Get out of my way. I have no time for your nonsense today.”

Song Wei had never imagined a man would truly strike a woman. The blow left her doubled over in pain, her face contorted in agony as she curled up beside Song Yuan. Fearful of another strike, she dared not utter a word.

Father and daughter made a pitiful sight.

Fu Wenzhou’s voice was low and hoarse, his eyes tinged red, his whole presence radiating a terrifying, violent energy. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and ground it out ruthlessly. “I asked you—which hand did you use to hit Song Qingyou?”

Song Yuan bit out a laugh. “You want revenge for her? Fu Wenzhou, you swagger around as if you own the place, but one day you’ll stumble. Let me tell you, Beijing doesn’t belong to the Fu family!”

Fu Wenzhou sneered. “Still stubborn?”

His deep voice was laced with extreme danger, like a bloodthirsty beast closing in on its prey, exerting suffocating pressure. Song Yuan was seized with a sense of dread. Just as relief flickered through him at seeing Fu Wenzhou turn away, the man opened the trunk and pulled out a large iron hammer.

A jolt of terror shot through Song Yuan. He scrambled backward on the ground.

Song Wei’s pupils contracted in fear. “Fu Wenzhou! What are you doing?”

The business associates on the sidelines were just as frightened. Some wanted to intervene but were held back by others. Fu Wenzhou was a mad dog—once he lost control, he recognized no one. Who would dare cross him? Who wanted to risk their life?

All they could do was pray for Song Yuan’s luck.

Fu Wenzhou advanced, his presence darker and more menacing than ever, exuding a murderous aura.

“Song Yuan, I remember warning you before—don’t lay a hand on her.” His laugh was low and chilling, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. “Why didn’t you listen?”

Song Yuan’s eyes were wide with terror, all pretense of dignity gone as he pleaded, “Fu Wenzhou, calm down! This is a crime—do you understand? I advise you not to do anything reckless. I won’t hold this hit-and-run against you!”

“You talk too much,” Fu Wenzhou said coolly.

The hammer came crashing down. Song Yuan couldn’t escape; his arm was struck brutally, and he screamed in agony.

But it wasn’t over—his other arm suffered the same fate. Both arms were left mangled and bloody, the pain so intense he fainted once more.

Song Wei was so terrified she lost her voice, trembling uncontrollably, unable to move.

The sound of police sirens approached. Fu Wenzhou tossed aside the hammer, lit another cigarette, and smoked calmly.

The officers had never witnessed such a scene; they were momentarily stunned before hastily calling for an ambulance and having Song Yuan and Song Wei sent to the hospital.

“Young Master Fu, forgive us,” one said.

Fu Wenzhou was handcuffed and taken away in a police car.