While the relatives were tense, Pei Qingqing's expression also didn't look very good.
The group exchanged glances, as if everyone was waiting for Pei Zhiyao to issue a command.
As long as he spoke, the table would inevitably sink into silence.
Sure enough, as Pei Zhiyao approached step by step, Pei's father grew so nervous that he dared not utter a word.
The father and son locked eyes, and the air between them was charged with unusual tension.
Pei Zhiyao gripped Wen Mian's hand tightly, as though seeking to give her some form of reassurance.
Indeed, in the midst of the silence, Pei Zhiyao's words plunged the room's atmosphere to its freezing point.
"Dad, what did you do to Wen Mian? You called her to the old house without consulting anyone, and then you burned her hand with tea. I never expected this behavior from someone who's supposed to be a senior member of the family."
Pei's father took a deep breath, his gaze evasive.
