Chapter One: A Slap

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On the outskirts of Shanghai, at Su Qingcheng’s villa.

The villa was filled with the cheerful clamor of voices. In the spacious living room, a grand table large enough to seat thirty took center stage. Around it sat all the core members of the Su family, led by the patriarch, Su Dashan. Faces glowed with excitement, glasses clinked, and the entire scene was one of prosperity and celebration.

In stark contrast to the lively gathering inside, a man dressed in simple clothes sat alone by the cold, dark back door of the villa, hunched in a corner, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of chicken and rice into his mouth. This man was our protagonist—Mo Ran.

Mo Ran, orphaned from childhood, grew up in an orphanage. With the help of government policies and years of juggling part-time work and study, he barely managed to finish college. Sadly, his limited abilities and low emotional intelligence meant that, after several years working at Su Group—founded by the Su family—most of his colleagues who joined with him had since been promoted. Only he remained a veteran among the junior staff, plodding along month after month, drawing a modest salary, and muddling through life.

Everything changed the day a man in a traditional Republican-era gown arrived at the company, accompanied by none other than Su Dashan, the family’s undisputed authority. The man carried a Bagua compass. Mo Ran remembered that on that particular morning, he had overslept and rushed to work in a panic. As he tried to slip in unnoticed among the crowd, the stranger—whose aura screamed reclusive master—caught sight of his flustered state.

Su Dashan, noticing the anomaly, followed the mysterious master’s gaze and soon, all eyes in the company’s upper management turned toward Mo Ran, their expressions tinged with displeasure.

Mo Ran’s heart skipped a beat. He was certain he was about to lose his job. But what happened next changed the course of his life.

“A good son-in-law will bring three generations of fortune to the Su family,” the master pronounced. With that, he ignored Su Dashan’s attempts to detain him and walked away.

Su Dashan, a devout believer in feng shui and the mystical arts, disregarded his granddaughter Su Qingcheng’s vehement protests. Leveraging the CEO position and ten percent of Su Group’s shares as both carrot and stick, he forced Su Qingcheng’s consent. Then, offering a million yuan to renovate the orphanage as bait, he obtained Mo Ran’s acquiescence. Thus, the two were wed—Mo Ran, in a daze, became both Su Dashan’s grandson-in-law and Su Qingcheng’s husband in the eyes of the law.

By late autumn, the Shanghai air was already tinged with the chill of the season. Mo Ran hadn’t even finished his chicken and rice before it went cold in his hands. The icy food unsettled his stomach, but he had no choice—if he didn’t eat now, Su Qingcheng would soon have the servants clear out everything from the kitchen, including his meager meal.

He finally managed to finish the bowl, his insides uncomfortably chilled. He wanted to slip into the kitchen for a cup of hot water to ease his stomach, but Su Qingcheng had strictly forbidden him from entering through the back door connecting to the kitchen. Deterred, he hesitated, unable to muster the courage to disobey.

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He stood silently in the darkness for a while, but finally, unable to bear it, he quietly pushed open the door. Listening to the noisy commotion in the living room, he made sure all the servants and Su family members were outside before tiptoeing in. He didn’t even dare turn on the lights, instead feeling his way to the sink and filling his bowl with half a bowl of hot water from the faucet. He drank it in one gulp, then slipped back out as quietly as he had come.

And so, Mo Ran waited, idly playing on his phone, until the guests had all departed and a servant came to summon him. Only then did he rise and enter the living room.

“Mo Ran, go fetch me a basin of water to soak my feet in. I want to do it right here in the living room.” Li Lan, Su Qingcheng’s mother, had just been smiling moments before. Now, as soon as she saw Mo Ran, her expression hardened and she issued her command in a clipped tone.

“All right, Mom.” Mo Ran paused, abandoning his attempt to help clear the table, and replied obediently before turning to leave.

“Mo Ran, wait a moment.” Suddenly, Su Qingcheng, who had been absorbed in her phone, spoke up. Her cheeks were tinged with a flush, clearly from the wine she’d drunk at the family banquet.

“What is it, Qingcheng?” Hearing his “wife” address him by name for the first time, Mo Ran stopped in his tracks, a faint smile on his lips.

“Did you go into the kitchen just now?” Su Qingcheng fixed her gaze on his face, which she’d endured for three years, her eyes still brimming with loathing, her tone icy.

“Yes, just now I…” Mo Ran started to explain, but before he could finish, Su Qingcheng’s next action cut him off.

With a loud smack, she suddenly lashed out, slapping him hard across the face.

“I’m telling you for the last time: from now on, when our family is eating, you are not allowed in.” Su Qingcheng’s face was taut with anger as she spoke.

Feeling the sting burning on his cheek, Mo Ran’s fists clenched. He struggled to contain the surge of anger rising within him.

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“Well, look at you, living off our family. You eat our food, drink our drink, took a million from us, and get ten thousand a month in pocket money. What—one slap is too much for you?” Seeing Mo Ran’s knuckles turn white, Li Lan stepped forward, pulling Su Qingcheng behind her, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, Mom.” At those words, Mo Ran deflated like a punctured balloon. His attitude softened immediately, and he hung his head.

“Good. Let there be no next time. If there is, a slap will be the least of your worries.” Li Lan nodded in satisfaction. Having achieved little in her own career, her only pleasure was in humiliating this so-called son-in-law.

Mo Ran turned away in silence. In this house, scenes like this played out for him nearly every single day. To be honest, he felt his heart growing colder with each passing day, just a straw away from breaking completely.

Enduring Li Lan’s biting mockery, Mo Ran helped the servants tidy up the living room, then retreated to his own half-basement room—damp, dark, freezing in winter and stifling in summer.

Late at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Mo Ran quietly emerged from the basement, carrying his change of clothes. He slipped through the kitchen into the back garden, turned on the outdoor tap, and let the icy water from the hose soak him through. He quickly lathered himself with shampoo and body wash, then rinsed off with the hose. The whole process took less than five minutes. Barring the coldest days of the year, this was how he bathed, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

He returned to his room, preparing to sleep, when suddenly a soft knock sounded at his door.