The next second—
A surge of force struck.
Song Wantang was shoved away entirely.
She stumbled back two steps, nearly falling, and only managed to steady herself by gripping the table beside her.
Lu Shaodong stood there, looking down at her from above.
His eyes were as cold as ice shards in the dead of winter.
He lowered his head and glanced at the spot on his suit where she had grabbed him—a gesture as if he were looking at something dirty.
Then, he spoke.
"Get lost. Don't you know I hate women the most?"
His voice wasn't loud.
But it was like a bucket of ice water, drenching her from head to toe.
Song Wantang stood frozen on the spot.
The entire venue fell into a deathly silence once again.
The guests who had been whispering just moments ago now held their breath.
Who did Lu Shaodong tell to get lost?
He told Song Wantang to get lost.
Song Wantang's face lost all color in an instant.
Little Dumpling's voice exploded inside her belly: "Ahhhh! Dad, what are you doing?! That's Mom! How can you tell her to get lost?!"
"He's just putting on an act! Mom, don't be sad. Once he falls in love with you, he'll instantly turn into a simp."
No one heard it except Song Wantang.
Song Wantang didn't give up and stepped forward again to grab Lu Shaodong.
Song Changfeng saw this and nearly fainted on the spot.
Damnable scourge!
He quickly stepped forward, bowing and scraping, "President Lu, I'm sorry, my daughter's brain isn't right. Please be magnanimous and don't bother with her."
Shen Mozhou also rushed over, his face alternating between pale and green, "President Lu, it's my failure to discipline her properly. I apologize for offending you. I'll take her away right now—"
But Song Wantang's hand had already grasped Lu Shaodong's wrist.
That wrist, with distinct bones, and blue veins clearly visible beneath the skin.
Lu Shaodong looked down at the hand gripping his wrist.
Pale, slender, the fingertips still trembling slightly.
Then he raised his eyes to look at the owner of that hand.
Song Wantang's face was drained of color, her lips pressed white, but her eyes stared straight at him, refusing to look away.
"If you don't want to die, let go immediately." Lu Shaodong warned coldly.
Any woman who dared to grab him like this was either dead or not yet born.
This woman wanted to find a scapegoat, but she didn't even weigh herself on the scale.
Lu Shaodong shook off Song Wantang viciously, then turned to leave.
In desperation, Song Wantang couldn't help blurting out, "Mr. Lu, the child in my belly is yours."
Again, the entire venue fell silent.
Everyone in the hall looked at her as if she were a monkey at the zoo.
Song Yurou's lips curled upward, her eyes full of schadenfreude.
"Sister, you want to climb up the social ladder, but have you looked at yourself? Do you think Mr. Lu is someone you can just latch onto?"
As everyone knew, Lu Shaodong kept his distance from women—he was the Big Shot of the Beijing Circle.
Anyone here could be possible, except him.
Song Wantang was practically asking for her own destruction.
The last woman who dared to say that now has grass two meters tall over her grave.
The crowd buzzed with discussion.
"Is this woman tired of living? Or is she brainwashed? How dare she provoke Mr. Lu?"
"The Song family is finished—"
Sure enough, Lu Shaodong stopped, turned around, his face full of chill.
His eyes were as cold as if tempered in ice, his thin eyelids pressing down as he fixed his gaze on Song Wantang, word by word: "Say that again."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was like wind scraping out of an ice cellar.
Song Wantang knew how dangerous this step was.
But she had no way back.
She lifted her head, met that gaze that could almost freeze a person, and steadied her voice, "I said, the child I'm carrying is yours."
Lu Shaodong stared at her. After a long moment, he suddenly let out a light laugh.
That laughter didn't reach his eyes; it was chillingly cold.
"Ha," he said, "Miss Song, well done. You dare to look for a scapegoat in me? Do you know where the last person who spoke to me like that is now?"
Song Changfeng's knees went weak, nearly collapsing to the ground.
Song Wantang's nails dug into her palm.
It hurt.
Good that it hurt—pain meant she could stay clear-headed.
"Mom, don't be afraid!" Little Dumpling's voice rang out urgently in her belly, soft and sticky, yet carrying a reckless determination, "I am 100% Dad's child! As long as you can prove it, he won't ignore you!"
"With Dad as your backing, they won't dare to bully you! Then you'll be the Young Madam of the Lu family!"
Song Wantang laughed bitterly in her heart.
How was she supposed to prove it?
That remark earlier was blurted out in a moment of desperation. Now she was taking it one step at a time, with no idea what the next step would be.
Song Changfeng rushed over, his face turning the color of pork liver, "You scourge! If you keep talking nonsense, you'll ruin the whole family!"
Song Wantang didn't look at him.
She was trying hard to recall the details of that night—a fragment, an image.
"Mr. Lu," she said, her voice surprisingly calm, "Do you still remember what happened three months ago in the Presidential Suite at Qifeng Club?"
The smile faded from Lu Shaodong's face.
"Miss Song, you think just by making up a story, you can latch onto the Lu family?"
"I'm not making it up. That day you were drugged—do you have any memory of it?"
"Evidence."
Just two words, with no room for negotiation.
"Mom, think fast! Did you see anything special that night?" Little Dumpling cried out anxiously.
A glint flashed in Song Wantang's eyes.
She took a step forward.
Close to Lu Shaodong.
So close she could smell the cold scent of cedar on him.
Then she rose slightly on her tiptoes, leaned close to his ear, and her voice was light as a wisp of smoke:
"Mr. Lu, you have a red birthmark the size of a copper coin on your buttock."
Lu Shaodong's pupils suddenly constricted.
That birthmark, in a hidden spot, was known only to a very few besides himself.
His parents, and—
And the woman he had held in his arms in the darkness that night three months ago.
Could it really be her?
"Mr. Lu," her voice was soft, carrying a barely perceptible tremor, "Is this evidence enough?"
Lu Shaodong was silent for three seconds.
Three seconds, like three centuries.
"Step back, all of you."
He suddenly spoke, his voice low.
The bodyguards around were momentarily stunned, but without any hesitation, they immediately retreated several paces and, with trained precision, separated the surrounding guests, forming a human wall.
Song Changfeng was completely dumbfounded.
Lu Shaodong's seed?
That Big Shot of the Beijing Circle, who never touched women, actually... actually...
Shen Mozhou's face turned iron-gray. He wanted to rush forward, but two bodyguards grabbed his arms, immobilizing him.
"President Lu! You can't believe her! She's just a crazy woman—"
Song Yurou stood to the side, her face pale as a ghost.
She stared intently at Song Wantang, her eyes filled with shock and insane jealousy.
That bastard... that bastard, how could it be Lu Shaodong's?!
Absolutely impossible!
Lu Shaodong looked at Song Wantang, his tone considerably softened, "Is the child in your belly really mine?"
Song Wantang didn't speak. She just met his gaze and slowly nodded.
Little Dumpling's voice rang out again in her belly, soft and smug:
"Mom, don't be afraid! I am 100% Dad's child!"
"Once you two are together, I'll teach you how to handle Dad and make him willingly become your simp! I promise!"
✦✦✦