"Xiaoyao!" Li Chengfeng called out to him.
"Is there something you need, Patriarch Li?" Li Xiaoyao halted his steps, his back to him, his voice indifferent.
Li Chengfeng enunciated each word: "You are my son!"
"Your son?" Li Xiaoyao scoffed coldly, turning to face him with anger flickering in his eyes.
"You chose to abandon me twenty-eight years ago, and now you want me to acknowledge you as my father? I'm sorry, but I refuse to accept this kinship!" Growing up amid the ravages of war and bullets, and upon returning home, contending with cultivators, Li Xiaoyao had long since developed a formidable mental resilience.
But now, in the face of Li Chengfeng, he couldn't suppress the rage in his heart.
This was the man who had abandoned him shortly after he was born. And now, he wanted to talk about father-son relations, which was utterly laughable.
