Jiang Yiyu smiled. He lightly touched the cheek that had been hit with the tip of his tongue. A faint smell of blood spread in his mouth. He paused for a moment, stood up straight, wiped the corner of his mouth with the pad of his finger, lowered his eyes to look at the blood on his fingertips, rubbed it lightly, and said with a sigh: "You have a bad temper. You hit people and you only hit them in the face. It's been so long since we last met. Can't we talk calmly?"

As he spoke, he walked around Song Ming and sat down on the single sofa near the door. He took out a cigarette case from his pocket and turned to ask Song Ming, "Do you have a lighter?"

"Jiang Yiyu, how dare you ask me for a lighter? How come I didn't beat you to death!"

Song Ming sat down opposite Jiang Yiyu, with a glass coffee table between them. This distance also provided Song Ming with the remaining calmness: "What, you don't want to play nice anymore?"

Jiang Yiyu poured out a cigarette, held it between his fingers, and sniffed it: "I have always been very well behaved. At least I don't hit people in the face."

"Don't bother talking to me. Anyway, I don't agree with what you and Song Shengsheng are doing."

"My uncle and aunt have no objection to Shengsheng and I's marriage, so why do you have such a big objection? Don't you know me well? You should feel more at ease if Shengsheng marries me."

"Bah, it's because I understand you that I'm worried! My sister has been well-behaved since she was a child, has a bright future, and is the treasure of our family. Her future husband must be someone with a clean background, someone who resonates with her spiritually and can give her a sense of security. At the very least, they can walk hand in hand openly on the street. Jiang Yiyu, you can't give her these. You are not in her future."

"Who's there?" Jiang Yiyu raised his eyes: "As long as she wants, I can give her."