In the eyes of outsiders, Wen Leyu was undoubtedly an exceptionally composed person. Especially in recent years, as her position rose and the resources under her control expanded, she had acquired a steady authority that did not need anger to inspire awe.
But as Li Ye watched his little wife swing her arm and fan the air, he remembered that she, too, had once possessed the impulse to throw a punch whenever words failed.
Back then, the two of them had been in the Retake Class at Qingshui No. 2 High School. A classmate had made some snide remarks about Li Ye and Wen Leyu, and Wen Leyu had walked over and punched him right in the jaw.
So now, facing two loudmouthed grown men, merely using her fan to stir the air was already remarkably restrained of her.
But while Wen Leyu thought she was showing restraint, the two men seated ahead felt they had been "offended."
The man with slicked-back hair suddenly turned around and glared sharply at Wen Leyu.
But Wen Leyu returned his gaze just as coldly, her fan never stopping as it whooshed gust after gust straight at his face.
The slick-haired man became enraged.
Although Wen Leyu and the little boy's mother were only fanning away the secondhand smoke drifting toward them, without preventing the men from continuing to smoke, the actions of the two women clearly conveyed a sense of "disdain."
How could someone accustomed to throwing his weight around at work all day possibly endure that kind of "disdain"?
"What are you doing? Are you done yet?"
The slick-haired man abruptly stood up and began berating Wen Leyu.
But he only got out that one sentence before Li Ye stood up as well.
Li Ye wore a smile as he pressed one