The Return Of The Scorned Son In-law

The First Move

“We’re really married aren't we?”

“Yes, my love, we are.”

“And I just got disowned right?”

“Yes, you did. Your mom is a bitch.”

“My mother is going to make our lives hell.”

“I won't let that happen. I would always protect you even if it's the last thing I do.”

“How can you be so calm?” Lin Yue stared at the laminated certificate like it might explode. “Li Feng, we have nothing. My trust fund is gone. My position at the company is gone. This apartment—my mother owns the building. She’ll evict us by the end of the week.”

“Then we’ll move,” I said. “We’ll find work. We’ll eat cheap noodles.”

“You don’t—” Her laugh cracked. “You don’t understand. In the original—” She stopped, swallowed. “Everything fell apart. She evicted us in three days. I sank. You took three jobs. I—” She choked on the memory.

“I remember,” I said. “I remember exactly.”

“You’re being weird,” she accused, eyes bright with tears. “You’re calmer than anyone has a right to be.”

“Check your phone.”

“What?”

“Just check it.”

She fumbled, thumb trembling. Her mouth formed an ‘oh’ that inched into a whisper. “There’s… there’s a hundred thousand yuan in our account. Li Feng, where did this come from?”

“I’ve been saving.” I kept my voice light. “Side gigs. Little investments. Wedding fund turned emergency fund.”

“You lie badly.” She was half-smile, half-horrified. “That’s almost everything we need.”

“Or almost everything we need to make more.” I leaned forward. “Listen to me.”

“Make more how?” She frowned. “We’re disowned. We’re broke. You want to gamble our emergency money?”

“There's an auction coming up next week,” I said. “Eastern district. Land. Plot 47A. Eighty thousand starting bid.”

“You know that?” Her hand clamped the certificate like a lifeline. “Real estate? Feng, are you serious?”

“My phone buzzed.” I slid it across the table. She read the message, then looked up like she’d been slapped. “Eastern District Land Auction, June 15th. Plot 47A. Announced as new tech park site July 3rd. Current bid estimate: 80,000. Value after announcement: 2.4 million. Time until auction: seven days.”

“You… what?” Her voice went thin. “You knew this before?”

“No.” I exhaled. “Yes. I knew.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Her fingers trembled. “We have almost nothing. If we put the hundred thousand into one plot and lose—”

“We won’t lose,” I said. “Trust me.”

“Why should I trust you? Right now I’m supposed to hate you for making me choose this life. Now you say ‘trust me’ and expect me to gamble our only cushion?” She glared. “Give me one good reason to trust you.”

“Because in ten years I’ll make you richer than your mother ever was,” I said. “And it starts with this plot.”

She stared as if she didn’t recognize me. “Who are you?” she whispered. “You’ve been different all day. Calmer. You know things you shouldn’t. Like—how do you know my mother will call me seventeen times tonight? How do you know Chen Hao will try to ‘rescue’ me?”

“Because I watched it happen once,” I said softly. “Because I remember every move.”

“Stop being cryptic.” She slammed the certificate down. “If you know, say it straight. Not riddles.”

“Chen Hao will be offered as a lifeline.” I waited for her to react. Her face went white. “Your mother will push him. He’ll promise independence, a project, a foot in the door. He’ll be ‘helpful.’ He’s not helping you—he’s positioning.”

“You mean he’s in love with me?” She laughed, but it had no humor. “That’s ridiculous.”

“He’s been in love with you since university,” I said. “Your mother cultivated him as Plan B. She praises him in front of you when she wants to embarrass me. He’ll act like a friend; he’ll be a replacement.”

“You sound like a paranoid child.” She bit the word and it tasted like truth.

Her phone lit up. “Mom,” she said, face changing. “It’s her.”

“Don’t answer,” I told her.

“Li Feng—” she whispered.

“Not yet. Let her wait. She’s used to immediate obedience. We’re not giving her that.”

She hesitated, then declined. Two seconds later the text arrived: Mom: You’re making a mistake. Call me. We can fix this.

“She’s already negotiating,” I said, eyes cold. “Notice she said ‘we can fix this,’ not ‘you can fix this.’ She’s angling.”

“How do you know her like this?” she demanded.

“I watched her break me,” I said. “I learned how she phrased poison.”

A second text: Mom: Chen Hao has a business proposal for you. Something independent. Your own project. Call me.

“See?” I tapped the screen. “Plan B is live.”

“You think she set him up?” She swallowed and shook her head. “This is insane.”

“Is it?” I asked. “How many times has Chen Hao ‘coincidentally’ been there when you needed help? How many times has your mother singled him out as the sensible option?”

Her jaw clenched. Memories clicked—an approving look here, a praised achievement there. “He did seem strange when we announced the engagement,” she admitted. “And my mother—she said something about me ‘settling.’”

“Exactly.” I folded my hands. “She’s a strategist. We were pieces.”

“She’s going to guilt me,” she said. “My father will call. He always calls when—”

“Don’t pick up,” I said. “This is coordinated. Threats, guilt, offers. We go silent.”

“How long?” She asked. “Days? Hours? Weeks?”

“Three days,” I said. “No calls. No texts. We find a new place, prepare for the auction, and show them it doesn’t break us.”

“Three days?” She weighed it.

In the original timeline I called back in hours. I begged. I came crawling.

Not this time. I watched her digest that and decide. “Just three days.” My hands intertwined with hers.

She shoved her phone into her purse like she’d committed an act. “Okay,” she breathed. “Three days. Then the auction.”

“You’ll need to trust me,” I said.

“You make me trust you with your answers,” she countered. “But how can you be so sure the land will pay off? What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong.” My voice had a hard edge. “I know the timeline. I know the value. I know what happens if we don’t act.”

Her eyes searched my face, hungry and scared. “If this fails—”

“It won’t fail.” I reached across and took her hand. “We take this chance. We don’t beg. We build.”

Her phone buzzed again. Another system message blinked across my screen; I didn’t hide it.

[Side Quest Update: You have identified Chen Hao as a threat 9 years, 7 months earlier than original timeline. Bonus reward unlocked: Advanced Market Analysis Skill. Warning: Chen Hao is now aware you are not a typical opponent. He will adapt.]

Her breath hitched. “He knows?” she asked.

“He will adapt,” I said evenly. “Let him. We adapt faster.”

She studied me, seeking the man who’d been wrecked by their machinations and the man who now promised something else. Hope eased the lines of her face.

“Okay,” she said, voice tentative but firm. “Okay. Three days of silence. Then the auction.”

“After that,” I said, eyes on the certificate, “we make our first move.”

She looked up at me fully for the first time since the courthouse. “Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

“You won’t.”

This time, I added silently, I'm going to make them all regret everything.