The restaurant was quiet. Only the soft clatter of kitchen dishes could be heard, and the rich aroma of roasted meat filled the air.
DING—the clear, intrinsic sound of the bell rang as the door opened.
Li Hao turned his gaze toward the entrance, just beside his table, as did several others.
A young man in his twenties stepped in. His golden-blond hair was partially tied with a silk ribbon, the rest cascading gracefully down.
His dark-golden eyes radiated arrogance and wealth. He wore white inner garments and a blue outer robe adorned with dark blue flowing leaf patterns.
A black wristband held up the sleeves of his robe.
Behind him were two disciples, following just a step behind. They appeared to be outer disciples, wearing their signature blue robes with white inner garments.
Li Hao turned back to the window, uninterested in these minor disturbances.
The golden-haired youth glanced around the store, scanning for familiar faces.
His gaze eventually landed on a window seat—bathed in sunlight—where a young boy sat, looking to be five or six years old.
He wore blue robes patterned with flowing stars, and white inner garments.
His snow-white hair resembled the northern forests, and his unusual eyes shimmered with hues of white, blue, and purple.
The young man's mouth twitched slightly, but he kept his composure.
"Who is this kid? Does he not know the rules here?" he thought.
With calm, entitled steps—as if the ground beneath him were obliged to support him—he approached Li Hao.
His two followers came close behind.
Seeing Li Hao seated at the window, their brows furrowed in confusion and irritation.
"Who is this boy, taking our Young Master's seat?" they both wondered.
The golden-haired youth stopped beside Li Hao and stared silently at him, clearly expecting the boy to notice his presence, vacate the seat, and leave.
But Li Hao didn't even turn his head.
The young man cleared his throat with a soft "Hmm", hoping to draw attention.
Still, Li Hao didn't move.
"Hey, kid, you're sitting in my spot," the youth finally said, reaching out and placing a hand on Li Hao's shoulder.
Li Hao, lost in thought, felt the unfamiliar touch.
He turned to look.
And the moment his eyes met the arrogant young man acting like he owned the place, his hand moved—swift and silent.
He grabbed the young man's wrist.
The touch was gentle, like soft persimmon.
Then—
CRACK.
A faint, crisp sound echoed through the room.
The youth's expression twisted as pain shot through his wrist.
The bones cracked, his veins and blood flow disrupted.
"Aaaargh!" he screamed. His voice echoed even outside.
Li Hao's free hand moved like a snake striking prey—fast, fluid.
He seized the man by the neck and yanked him close, silencing his scream.
Face to face, Li Hao stared at him with a serene expression as he asked:
"Who are you?"
His tone was calm, void of malice—like a child marveling at the world for the first time.
But to the young man, those star-pupiled eyes—blue, white, and purple—felt like the endless void, ancient and terrifying.
The two outer disciples behind him stood frozen, unable to understand what had just happened or how the situation escalated so fast.
"I'm the Young Master of the Zhong family… Zhong Ming," the man gasped, his voice strained from the pressure on his neck.
"Let me go… or my Zhong family will—"
He paused as Li Hao interrupted his grand threat with a soft question:
"Why did you touch me?"
His voice was like sunlight through silk—innocent, almost childlike.
But to Zhong Ming, it was a blade.
Not because of its sharpness, but because of its terrifying calm.
Zhong Ming struggled to breathe, his mind racing.
"Who is this kid? How is he so strong? He must be at the level of a Perfect Master... but how is that even possible?"
Fear took over. Survival became his only goal.
"Please… let me go. I can't… breathe…" he begged.
Li Hao released him.
Zhong Ming collapsed to the floor, gasping, then quickly sat upright.
Li Hao remained seated and asked again:
"Tell me why you touched me."
Zhong Ming looked up, into those unsettling yet strangely innocent eyes.
He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and calmed himself.
"I thought you mistakenly took my seat," he said, steadying his voice. "But I realized… my seat was actually over there."
He motioned toward another table.
"So if you don't mind letting us go… we'll take our leave."
Resentment simmered in his throat, but fear gagged it.
His instincts screamed—"Speak out, and die."
And Zhong Ming… valued his life.
"You can leave," Li Hao replied calmly, turning his head away, uninterested.
Zhong Ming stumbled out of the restaurant, one hand clutching his shattered wrist, the other clenched tightly.
His steps faltered—not from pain, but from sheer humiliation.
He, the Young Master of the Zhong family, had been treated like a servant.
In public.
His two disciples followed silently.
"Young Master… what now?" one finally asked.
Zhong Ming didn't answer immediately.
He stood still, his golden hair swaying in the breeze, eyes cold and distant.
Then he slowly turned.
"Send word to my father," he said, voice low and sharp.
"Find out who that boy is. Where he's from. Who he's tied to."
A pause. His breath was shallow, calculated.
"Erase everything."
The disciple blinked, confused.
"Everyone he's related to," Zhong Ming clarified,
"Burn their names from the family registry."
He took a single step forward.
"As for the boy… bring him to me. Cut off his arms and legs."
His tone remained composed, but his eyes blazed with vengeance.
"I'll finish him myself."