A moment later, in the living room.
Yu Luomian leaned close to Yu Yuanzhen's ear and recounted the whole story from beginning to end.
As he spoke, Yu Yuanzhen's expression darkened little by little.
First it was slightly gloomy, then livid, and finally black as the bottom of a pot.
A few days ago, he had also stopped here and even eaten dinner—the very dinner made in this kitchen.
His fingers trembled slightly. He didn't know whether it was from anger or disgust.
"Go."
He spoke in a cold voice:
"Bring Xiaogang to the backyard, then get me a whip."
"Yes."
Yu Luomian left at once.
A moment later, in the backyard.
Yu Xiaogang was hanging beneath a thick tree branch, his hands bound with rope and his toes barely touching the ground. He swayed unsteadily, like a salted fish dangling from a hook.
The leather whip in Yu Yuanzhen's hand cracked through the air, every snap like a thunderclap.
"Crack!"
The whip came down across Yu Xiaogang's back. His clothes split with a sharp rip, revealing a blood-red welt.
"Aagh!"
Yu Xiaogang cried out in pain, his voice as shrill as a pig being slaughtered. He twisted and struggled in the air, but there was nowhere to run.
"Dad! I was wrong! Please let me go!"
He begged hoarsely, tears and snot smeared across his face.
"At worst, I'll find somewhere else to study gourmet cooking from now on! I won't go near the kitchen! I really won't go near the kitchen again!"
"You're my dad!"
Yu Yuanzhen swung the whip even harder, each blow more vicious than the last. Soon he was sweating.
Of course, he wasn't sweating from exertion. Yu Xiaogang had angered it out of him.
The whip carved afterimages through the air and struck Yu