He Huatang was so angry that his blood was boiling, and he glared at He Chen with bloodshot eyes, "You unfilial son, do you think you're worthy of our ancestors?"
"He Huatang!" He Chen stepped forward, hands gripping the wheelchair's armrest, leaned down, and sneered, "Do you think I'm part of the He Family? Hmm? Do you and the hundred mouths of the He Family think of me as one of you? You ask me this now, where the hell do you get the nerve?"
He Huatang stared at that familiar yet unfamiliar handsome face, momentarily speechless.
He Chen gave him a prolonged, grave look before saying darkly, "This is just the beginning."
At five in the morning, the east was dawning.
The members of the He Family were exhausted, the rear hall of the ancestral hall was in disarray.
He Huatang sat in the wheelchair with a dark red complexion. The upheaval throughout the night had plunged the entire He Family into grief.
