The young man’s voice grew increasingly uncertain.
“But… but we were in the right. That guy spilled tea all over Sixth Brother first. How could we—”
The older youth said, “You’re something. Don’t you ever use your brain? Think about why your family told you never to mess with people like them. Do you think they’re the type to reason with you? None of those three are reasonable people.”
The teenager was indignant. “Why the hell not? How is that fair?”
The older youth replied flatly, “That’s just the way it is. What can you do about it?”
“I… I…” The teen was at a loss. This was just absurd.
The older youth shook his head. “You don’t even have the most basic information. Once you find out what Dong Xuebing has done, you’ll realize how ridiculous everything you just said was.”
There was a difference in levels.
But those like the older youth and Chen Family’s Sixth Young Master knew exactly what kind of person Dong Xuebing was. And to be honest, they wouldn’t dare cross him.
Even among the children of noble families, there were levels.
Even within families like the Fang, Xie, or Chen clans—or others on the same tier within the Republic—there were internal hierarchies.
The eldest sons versus the youngest? Not the same status.
Direct descendants versus extended relatives? Not the same weight.
It was the way of the world.
Fang Shuiling was merely a third-generation daughter of the Fang family.
Chen Family’s Sixth Young Master was the youngest son of the third generation.
And sons and daughters weren’t treated equally either, so he dared, under certain circumstances, to ignore Fang Shuiling’s face.
But what about Fang Wenping?
What about Xie Huilan?
Fang Wenping was a senior figure in the Fang family, a whole generation above them, and she held the position of provincial-level deputy governor.
Xie Huilan was the eldest daughter of the Xie family, the only child of the Beijing City party secretary, and herself a City party secretary in another city.
Neither Fang Wenping nor Xie Huilan were people Chen Family’s Sixth Young Master would ever dare provoke—not in family, not in politics, and certainly not with their temperaments. Compared to them, Fang Shuiling didn’t weigh the same.
Sure, his official title as a county-level party secretary might not sound impressive.
But what made even people like Chen’s Sixth Young Master back off was Dong Xuebing’s temperament.
Yes, these kids were all from influential families. Fighting teachers, bullying classmates—none of it was new.
They’d even brawled with other second-gen elites. But it was all schoolyard stuff—games to show off their “strength.”
He didn’t play games.
That man once stormed the city’s National Security Bureau compound, dragged a bureau leader out by the hair, and beat him bloody in the courtyard—in front of everyone.
And no one dared say a word.
Someone even pointed a gun at him—he didn’t even blink.
What kind of guts did that take?
What kind of brute force?
Compared to the childish fights Chen’s Sixth Young Master got into, it wasn’t even in the same league.
So, when Fang Shuiling uttered “Dong Xuebing,” and it became clear that the man was sending someone on official business to the capital, Chen’s Sixth Young Master’s mind raced.
He wasn’t like that clueless teenager.
He thought things through.
He wasn’t the kind to charge in blindly without assessing the risks. That kind of reckless insanity? That was Dong Xuebing. Not him.
And Chen’s Sixth Young Master had enough self-awareness to know that.
He wasn’t afraid of teachers.
He wasn’t afraid of his classmates.
He wasn’t afraid of most second-gen elites, because those threats were manageable.
He could always rely on family to smooth things over.
As long as the consequences were predictable and controllable, he dared to act.
He honestly didn’t dare.
He didn’t even dare touch Dong’s subordinate.
Because he knew—if Dong Xuebing ever flew into a rage, he wouldn’t stop to consider the pros and cons.
He was the kind of guy who’d do anything.
That was Dong Xuebing.
If Chen’s Sixth Young Master had laid a finger on Xu Zhuang, he couldn’t be sure Dong wouldn’t storm into his family’s home and beat him to a pulp. And if Dong Xuebing did do that, there wasn’t a single bodyguard in the Chen residence who could stop him.
Everyone in Beijing’s elite circles knew Dong Xuebing’s combat strength was terrifying.
That kind of scummy, low-down behavior?
Others might hold back.
But Dong Xuebing absolutely would not.
So in the end, Chen’s Sixth Young Master held back.
He didn’t touch Xu Zhuang.
He just said, “I’ll give Brother Dong some face,” and walked away.
Just those three words—Dong Xuebing’s name—were enough for him to yield.
He was pissed off inside.
But what could he do?
Some people you can push around.
Some people need to calculate risk before acting.
And some people—you never mess with.
Chen’s Sixth Young Master knew very clearly which was which.
And not just him—even his eldest brother, the family’s next leader, would think twice before crossing someone like Dong Xuebing.
Because conflict with Dong meant endless, unmanageable trouble.
In elite political families, the scariest enemies weren’t the ones with power. Everyone had power.
The scariest were the unreasonable ones—like Dong Xuebing and Fang Wenping.
They had power. They had rank.
But more than that, they had that crazy, fearless streak.
Sometimes, even if it meant losing their jobs, they’d still do what they felt was right.
That’s what made them terrifying.
Dong Xuebing had survived plane crashes.
Had dared to storm the city’s National Security alone.
Had broken into a military compound to rescue someone.
Could take on over a hundred men by himself like it was nothing.
These weren’t rumors.
These were legends about Dong Xuebing.
Only that clueless teenager, who never left his house, didn’t know any of this.
And that’s why Chen’s Sixth Young Master made the safest, smartest choice he could.