The past.
CRASH!
"Where is she?" A boy seethed. His rigid eyes were filled with acrimony and disgust for the shaking servants in front of him. He had finally returned home from his abrupt study abroad session. The first thing he did was sought after Zhao Lifei. He did not expect the message that followed after his request.
Yang Feng had trashed one of his mother's ancient European vases. It was worth a mansion or two. The cracked porcelain littered the ground; accompanying it was other pieces of furniture, decorative pieces, and paintings.
The damage he accumulated should've earned him a solid beating. No one had the guts to discipline the Young Master himself. If they wanted their limbs intact and family members alive, the servants were required to keep their mouths shut.
When none of the quivering maids with tucked heads spoke up, he stormed to his dagger collection. He picked out the sharpest one, twirling it in his hand.
