Slow to mature after marriage

Mu Siwan moved the phone away a little, and only brought it back to her ear after the volume on the other end had decreased.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are you pretending to be stupid for?" Meng Wan's voice trembled. "Bo Yan came today and, in front of a room full of guests, pinned my father to the ground and beat him—he broke two of his ribs! He's in the hospital now!"

Two ribs were broken.

Mu Siwan frowned. Her professional instincts made her quickly realize that two broken ribs constituted minor injury level two or above, which was a bit bad and met the criteria for filing a case of intentional injury.

But now she only cares about one thing.

Where is my husband now?

"At the police station!" Meng Wan practically screamed. "He hit my dad in front of me, a police officer! I can't just send him to a nursing home!"

Mu Siwan hung up the phone.

-

Two hours ago, at the Mu family's old house.

The banquet hall was brightly lit, and the crystal chandelier illuminated every smiling face. Most of the prominent figures from northern Beijing were present.

Wearing a custom-made dark suit, Mu Cheng strolled around the room with a wine glass in hand, exchanging pleasantries with impeccable manners and a perfectly timed smile. Since joining the AI ​​project with Yanhe International, the Mu family's status in Beijing had risen dramatically. Today's birthday banquet, ostensibly to celebrate Meng Wan's birthday, was in reality Mu Cheng's way of announcing to everyone—the Mu family has returned.

"President Mu, I heard that President Bo of Yanhe, your son-in-law is also coming today?" Someone leaned over, their tone both probing and ingratiating.

Mu Cheng smiled, neither confirming nor denying: "My son-in-law is very busy, so it's not certain. He just called to apologize to me."

"Really? Everyone says the Mu and Bo families have a close relationship, and now it seems that's true."

After exchanging pleasantries for a while, a commotion arose at the door.

It wasn't human voices, it was the roar of an engine.

A black sports car crashed through the side door of the banquet hall, its front end rolling over the red carpet, its headlights piercing through the lights of the hall, before coming to a steady stop in the center.

The noise seemed to have been cut off. Everyone looked in that direction.

Mu Cheng's face darkened, and he gripped his wine glass tightly. His first thought was that his business rivals had deliberately sent people to cause trouble. There were also quite a few media friends present today. He turned his head and hissed, "What are you standing there for? Hurry up and bring them here—"

Before the words were even finished, the car door opened.

Black shirt, cold face.

Mu Cheng's voice caught in his throat, and the rest of his words broke into silence.

Bo Yan stepped out of the driver's seat and smiled unhurriedly. He casually closed the car door, his gaze sweeping over the guests in the hall before finally settling on Mu Cheng. His tone was as relaxed as if he were chatting about the weather: "I heard that Father-in-law has made a grand entrance this time. Look at me, I was in such a hurry that I accidentally drove the car in. Father-in-law, please don't mind."

Mu Cheng's facial muscles twitched a few times. No one, not even a ghost, would believe that reason. He was annoyed, but in front of all the guests, he didn't dare to openly confront Bo Yan—at least not now. He forced a smile: "...It's nothing, I was just making a mountain out of a molehill."

Bo Yan casually picked up a glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray and raised it to the distance: "Apologize to my father-in-law."

Mu Cheng was undecided, completely unable to fathom Bo Yan's purpose. But in front of so many people, he could only bite the bullet and walk over, raising his wine glass in preparation for a toast.

Bo Yan raised his hand.

Red wine was poured over Mu Cheng's head, flowing down his hair, forehead, nose, and chin, instantly soaking his custom-made suit.

Mu Cheng stood frozen in place. The hall was completely silent.

If he still didn't realize by now that Bo Yan had deliberately come to cause trouble, he'd be a complete fool. It must have been that bitch Mu Siwan who whispered something in Bo Yan's ear.

"Mr. Bo," his voice was extremely low, and the smile on his face finally crumbled, "is there some misunderstanding between us?"

"What misunderstanding could there be?"

Bo Yan flicked his wrist, and the wine glass smashed against Mu Cheng's forehead. The sound of shattering glass was particularly crisp in the silence.

The next second, Mu Cheng was grabbed by the collar and slammed to the ground. Bo Yan pressed one knee against his chest, and his fists came down—once, twice, three times. Clean and efficient, without a single wasted word, each punch carrying a powerful gust of wind.

Mu Cheng let out a scream, blood trickling down his nose.

The man was so imposing that no one in the room dared to step forward to stop him.

It wasn't until Xu Ruolin and Meng Wan came downstairs and let out a scream that the bodyguards snapped out of their daze and rushed over. Bo Yan delivered one last punch, stood up, shook the blood off his hands, and looked down at the utterly disheveled face on the ground.

Bo Yan twitched the corner of his mouth, his voice not loud, but every word was clear: "I'm here to cause trouble."

-

The incandescent lights in the interrogation room were blindingly bright.

Bo Yan sat in the chair, his handcuffs removed, a few dark red stains still clinging to his shirt cuffs. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, as if he were sitting in his own living room.

The door opened, and Meng Qing walked in, holding a notebook in his hand, before closing the door behind him.

The two men exchanged a glance, both understanding the subtle tension in each other's eyes.

Meng Qing sat down and asked in a businesslike tone, "Name."

"Bo Yan." The man raised his eyes with a half-smile. "Mu Siwan's husband."

Meng Qing paused, pen in hand, without replying. "...Why did you take action?"

"If you want to fight, you just fight. Do you need a reason?"

Bo Yan's indifferent attitude finally provoked Meng Qing's dissatisfaction. His voice deepened: "Let me remind you, Mr. Bo, Mu Cheng has two broken ribs. The preliminary assessment is that it constitutes a minor injury of the second degree. According to Article 234 of the Criminal Law, anyone who intentionally injures another person shall be sentenced to fixed-term imprisonment of not more than three years, criminal detention, or public surveillance."

Bo Yan remained unmoved, leaning back in his chair and saying casually, "Go talk to my legal team."

He certainly had the confidence. Yanhe International's legal department maintained the top criminal defense lawyers in Beijing year-round, with an undefeated record. Let alone two ribs, even if it were heavier, those people could break it down into a civil dispute.

Meng Qing stared at him for two seconds, about to speak, when there was a knock on the interrogation room door.

A young police officer leaned halfway in: "Brother Meng, someone's looking for us outside—they say they're a relative of the suspect."

Bo Yan's eyebrows twitched slightly as he looked up.

The door was pushed open, and Mu Siwan stood in the doorway.

She was wearing a dark coat, her hair was loose and unkempt, and her face still carried the chill of someone rushing in from outside. Her gaze first fell on Bo Yan, scanning him from head to toe, then settled on the bloodstains on the man's cuff, and she frowned imperceptibly.

"Mu Cheng's blood is not mine," Bo Yan explained almost immediately.

But the soundproof glass of the interrogation room completely muffled his voice, and not a single word escaped.

Mu Siwan couldn't hear.

Meng Qing walked towards her, and the two stood side by side by the corridor window. The distance wasn't too close, nor too far, just the normal range for conversation between acquaintances. Mu Siwan's expression remained calm as always, while Meng Qing listened attentively with his head slightly lowered, occasionally saying a few words in a low voice.

Bo Yan watched this scene expressionlessly through the glass.

It made him, the husband who was out in the open, seem like an outsider.

I'm not happy about it.

He leaned back in his chair, pressed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and made a very soft "tsk" sound.