Chapter 11: Do You Really Enjoy Putting Your Hands on Me So Much?

The dinner ended in discord, and Shen Chutang and Lu Beiqin walked out one after the other.

“Did you see the look Liu Shuhua gave us? It was absolutely ridiculous,” Shen Chutang kept reliving the moment as they walked, glancing at the silent Lu Beiqin beside her. She cleared her throat softly. “I’m really sorry about today. It’s all my fault—you came for nothing and had to endure those cold looks.”

Lu Beiqin parted his thin lips slightly. “It’s nothing.”

Seeing his calm and indifferent demeanor, she thought to herself, he must have encountered plenty of similar situations back when he was driving a taxi.

Shen Chutang couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. “There’s nothing shameful about earning your own living through honest work.”

Lu Beiqin cast her a downward glance, his dark, narrow eyes tinged with something complicated. “Mm.”

But Shen Chutang didn’t notice. They hadn’t gone far when a woman’s cry rang out from not too far away. “Stop! Please, I beg you, stop!”

Shen Chutang looked over and saw the house steward wielding a stick, punishing a woman who shielded a child in her arms.

That child was the very same one who, earlier, had been forced by Liu Shuhua to bump into her while she was made to drink the soup.

The steward’s voice was harsh as he brandished the stick. “He was running wild with so many guests here today and caused Madam to scald her hand. Twenty strokes—that’s Madam’s order. If you don’t move, you’ll be punished too!”

The woman clung to the child, pleading, “He’s only seven! Twenty strokes could kill him!”

But the steward, unmoved, raised the stick again.

“Stop!” Shen Chutang strode over and glanced at the steward. “Uncle Zhao, you’re not a young man anymore—why make things hard for a child?”

Uncle Zhao looked over with utter disregard. “Young Miss, this is Madam’s order.” The implication was clear: you have no right to interfere.

Shen Chutang regarded him coolly. “And what if I insist on meddling today?”

“Sorry, Young Miss. I was ordered to deliver all twenty strokes. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to take them in his place.”

The woman shook her head frantically. “That mustn’t happen!”

The boy, Seven, scrambled up. “You’re not allowed to hit our Young Miss! If you have the guts, hit me!”

Uncle Zhao swung the stick down, but Shen Chutang pulled Seven aside. Just as the stick was about to strike her, the pain she expected never came.

She looked up to see Lu Beiqin had caught the stick with one hand. No matter how Uncle Zhao tugged, he couldn’t wrench it free.

“Who are you, daring to interfere?” Uncle Zhao barked.

Lu Beiqin’s frosty gaze grew even colder. He twisted the stick from Uncle Zhao’s grasp and, with a show of force, snapped it in two—though it was as thick as a child’s wrist.

“Get out!” he ordered.

Uncle Zhao, clearly no match for Lu Beiqin, hastily turned and ran inside to summon reinforcements.

The woman, clutching Seven, hurried to thank Shen Chutang and Lu Beiqin. “Thank you, Young Miss, thank you, sir.”

Shen Chutang waved it off casually. “Go on home. It’s the modern age—there’s no need for this kind of punishment. If they ever try to hurt you, call the police.”

Seeing the woman’s timid demeanor, Shen Chutang couldn’t help herself. She recited her phone number and patted Seven’s head. “If things get really bad, call me, understand?”

“I’ll remember it! I have a great memory!”

Once they got in the car, Shen Chutang finally couldn’t hold back. “Is your hand alright?”

“I’m rough and sturdy—don’t worry.”

“Let me see.” Shen Chutang seized his hand and, seeing that it was indeed unscathed, finally relaxed. “Next time, don’t block it with your bare hand. That must have hurt.”

Lu Beiqin lowered his gaze to her. “You… really do like taking liberties with me, don’t you?”