After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 33

Red wine dripped down Wen Ziqian’s meticulously styled hair, staining his expensive custom-tailored suit with a dark crimson stain. The entire banquet hall fell silent, so quiet you could hear the wine droplets splattering on the carpet.

“You!” Wen Ziqian roared, his face contorted with rage. He wiped his face haphazardly and raised his hand to strike Jing Feizuo.

Slap!

The sharp sound of the slap echoed through the hall. Everyone froze in shock.

Jing Feizuo slowly withdrew her hand, watching the palm-shaped red mark bloom on Wen Ziqian’s cheek. She casually flicked her wrist.

“This slap is to teach you a lesson on behalf of your cousin,” she said, a cold smile curling her lips. “You’ve completely humiliated her.”

Wen Ziqian stood frozen, unable to believe he had been slapped in public by a mere “decorative vase.”

“What are you all standing around for?!” he screamed hysterically at the waiters. “Get this madwoman out of here!”

No one dared to move.

Jing Feizuo gracefully stepped back, distancing herself from the enraged man. She picked up another glass of champagne from the tray and tapped the rim lightly with her fingertip. “What’s wrong? Can’t you even take a little joke?”

“B1tch!” Wen Ziqian lunged forward, ready to strike. “You think getting involved with my sister—”

“Ziqian,” a gentle male voice interrupted. A tall man in his thirties approached and lightly pressed Wen Ziqian’s arm. “Don’t lose your composure.”

He turned to Jing Feizuo, flashing what he thought was a gentlemanly smile.

“Hello, I’m Li Mu from the Li Group. Ziqian has had too much to drink tonight and may have offended you, but you also struck him. We’ll let this slide without requiring an apology, but I hope you’ll know when to stop.” He glanced pointedly at Jing Feizuo’s attire. “However, Wen Jin may not have informed you that the Wen Group Banquet has a dress code for guests. If there’s a next time, you could borrow some of my sister’s unused formal gowns…”

“I don’t need to apologize, but you should be thanking me,” Jing Feizuo retorted, suppressing the urge to splash the wine in her hand onto this greasy man. “And regardless of what I wear, Wen Jin has no objections. It’s none of your business.”

Li Mu suddenly chuckled.

“Really?” He tugged at his tie. “Did you notice Wen Jin’s navy blue tie tonight? What a coincidence—it’s the same color family as mine today.”

The atmosphere in the banquet hall instantly became charged with unspoken tension as guests exchanged knowing glances.

“Speaking of which,” a balding man interjected, “I heard President Li gifted Director Wen that ruby jewelry set he won at last year’s charity gala?”

“It wasn’t exactly a gift,” Li Mu said casually, flashing his expensive wristwatch. “After all, what’s mine is Wen Jin’s. Take this watch, for example. I told her not to bother, but she insisted on giving it to me.”

“Ms. Jing, don’t misunderstand,” Li Mu added with a light laugh. “Wen Jin and I are just old family friends. We grew up together and share a bond stronger than most.”

Jing Feizuo: “……”

She wasn’t misunderstanding at all.

Wen Ziqian, now emboldened by his newfound support, finally regained his composure and sneered, “Cousin’s tastes have been quite… peculiar lately. But artists, you know…”

Li Mu glanced pointedly at Jing Feizuo’s wrist. “At least it’s economical. No need for jewelry—a few wooden beads will do.”

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Before Jing Feizuo could respond, Li Mu continued, “Ms. Jing, I heard your new art exhibition opens next week? The National Art Association’s review panel happens to be visiting that day.”

Jing Feizuo finally gave him a serious look.

She knew this review wasn’t critically important, but it wasn’t insignificant either. It would indeed affect her eligibility for the national annual exhibition.

Though the exhibition itself would merely be icing on the cake for her.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention,” Li Mu said, observing Jing Feizuo’s expression and grinning smugly. “My father happens to be the honorary chairman of the association. He’s looking to select some outstanding young artists for the exhibition. Ms. Jing might not qualify on merit alone, but if it’s for Wen Jin’s sake…”

Jing Feizuo cut him off, her face expressionless. “I don’t need it.”

“So stubborn,” Wen Ziqian’s rat-like follower chimed in, sidling up. The pen in his suit pocket suddenly “accidentally” fell at Jing Feizuo’s feet.

He grinned and gestured with a flourish. “Could you do me a favor and pick up my pen?”

Jing Feizuo glanced at the fallen pen, a sudden thought striking her. She chuckled softly and actually bent down to retrieve it.

But the moment she bent over, the lackey abruptly stepped on the hem of her suit jacket. With a sharp rip, the high-end tailored fabric tore open.

“Oh dear!” he exclaimed, feigning surprise as he stumbled back. “Your suit’s quality seems rather… lacking, wouldn’t you say?”

Amidst the uproar, Wen Ziqian suddenly clapped his hands.

“Everyone! Since Ms. Jing seems so fond of suits…” He exchanged a meaningful glance with someone, who immediately brought over a tray bearing a waiter’s vest. “Why not try this instead? It might be more… fitting for your station.”

He added, “Or my driver could take you to buy a new one? The sales season at his usual shop should still be ongoing.”

Jing Feizuo finally frowned. She knew they were trying to humiliate her, but she hadn’t expected such underhanded tactics.

As she stared at the torn hem, she remembered this was the first suit Wen Jin had taken her to get tailored. A pang of regret tugged at her heart.

She showed no further emotion, setting down her champagne glass and picking up the fountain pen. Under the puzzled gazes of the crowd, she strode toward the massive landscape painting hanging against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Wen Ziqian demanded sharply.

Jing Feizuo didn’t turn around, holding the pen’s nib poised above the canvas. “I heard this Wu Yong original is worth over twenty million?”

“Stop!” Wen Ziqian’s face paled. “That’s a Wen Group collection!”

Jing Feizuo scoffed. “The person who collected this painting has truly terrible taste.”

She had spotted the painting the moment she entered the room, instantly recognizing the artist—Wu Yong, who had reaped the benefits of entering the art world early. This man, riding on his meager fame, had flaunted his “masculinity” everywhere. Wave after wave of accusations of sexual harassment had surfaced, yet Wu Yong had even dared to criticize Luna’s work with an air of superiority.

Of course, he had also benefited from dying young. His remaining paintings fetched increasingly exorbitant prices, but they were all superficial.

If this painting truly belonged to Wen Jin’s collection, Jing Feizuo resolved to give her a proper lesson in art appreciation.

Jing Feizuo held the pen like a gun. Lost in thought, she had already fired a massive bullet hole into a prominent spot on the canvas.

She gazed at the large ink stain and nodded in satisfaction. “Now it’s probably only worth two thousand yuan.”

The entire banquet hall erupted into chaos.

“Madwoman!”

“Security! Stop her!”

“Director Wen will kill her when she finds out!”

Jing Feizuo turned to face the agitated crowd, the pen spinning gracefully between her fingers. Her gaze locked onto Wen Ziqian, whose face had turned ashen.

“Now, who wants to bet whether Wen Jin will kill me first…” She aimed the pen tip at Wen Ziqian and Li Mu, who were leading the charge, “…or deal with those who show their true colors the moment she’s gone?”

The pen tip glinted coldly under the lights. The two men’s faces drained of color, and they instinctively took a half-step back.

“You… you wouldn’t dare!” Wen Ziqian’s voice cracked, but he didn’t dare advance another inch.

Jing Feizuo gripped the fountain pen, a dangerous curve tugging at the corner of her lips. “Want to test me?”

In that tense moment, a cold, sharp female voice cut through the air from the doorway. “Looks like I missed quite the show.”

Everyone turned in unison.

Wen Jin stood there, her black blazer casually draped over her shoulders, revealing a crisp white shirt tucked into her pants. The outfit accentuated her already tall frame, making her legs appear even longer, radiating an effortless yet formidable aura.

Her icy gaze swept over Wen Ziqian, drenched in red wine, before landing on Jing Feizuo, who still held the fountain pen. Instantly, her expression softened with concern.

The hearts of everyone who noticed Wen Jin’s shift in demeanor sank.

Her smile was colder than their fear. She turned to Wen Ziqian. “On my way back, I heard you’d turned the Wen Group Banquet into a theatrical performance?”

Wen Ziqian’s face drained of color, his voice trembling. “Big… Big Sister, this lunatic started it—”

Wen Jin cut him off. “Who are you calling a lunatic?”

Perhaps Wen Jin’s aura was too overwhelming. Wen Ziqian stammered, unable to utter a single coherent word. He pinched his thigh, his fingernails digging deep into his pants, the red wine stains in his hair looking sticky and pathetic.

In the end, Wen Jin seemed too annoyed to even glance at him. Without waiting for a response, she strode past him.

She stopped before Jing Feizuo, her gaze fixed on the torn hem of her suit jacket. The words were practically ground out of her mouth: “Who did this?”

The volume was neither loud nor soft, just three words, yet they sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.

The rat-faced henchman’s legs buckled, nearly dropping to his knees. “D-Director Wen, it’s a misunderstanding—”

Wen Jin raised her hand, and the assistant behind her immediately handed her a document.

“The audit report on Yang Construction Materials’ tax evasion from last quarter.” She tossed the file in front of the henchman. “The tax bureau should find this quite interesting.”

The henchman’s face turned ashen. Before he could scramble for a way to salvage the situation, Wen Jin’s icy voice cut through the air: “I don’t want to hear your excuses right now. Say another word, and I’ll submit this report to the tax bureau an hour earlier.”

The lackey immediately fell silent, his face flushed crimson like a pig’s head.

Wen Jin turned her gaze to Li Mu.

Li Mu forced a strained smile, desperately clinging to his gentlemanly composure. “Wen Jin, about this matter—”

“Young Master Li,” Wen Jin interrupted, a cold smile curving her lips. “The National Art Association will receive an anonymous tip tomorrow, alleging that your father bribed judges to manipulate the evaluation process. How convenient. It might even include a surprisingly comprehensive chain of evidence.”

Li Mu completely lost control of his expression. “Wen Jin, you can’t—”

“All collaborations between the Li Group and the Wen Group are terminated.” Wen Jin raised her hand in a simple gesture, yet the effect was as if she had pointed a gun at Li Mu’s head, instantly robbing him of his ability to speak. “Stop using the Wen Group’s name to solicit business. Everyone knows how insignificant the Li Group truly is, and how absurd your delusions of affection for the Wen Group have become.”

Li Mu trembled so violently he could barely hold his champagne glass. With a clatter, the glass slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor, sounding like a small, muffled gunshot of execution.