Clearly, Li Qiao had no intention of dwelling on the topic of Shang Lu calling off the engagement.
An engagement with such a suspicious background — being called off suited her just fine.
At this moment, Li Cheng was lounging in a high-backed desk chair,
one leg crossed casually over the other, exuding an air of relaxed elegance.
The lazy, unruly demeanor he displayed was remarkably similar to Li Qiao's.
He tilted his chin slightly,
the sharp lines of his face softened by a doting smile.
"Don't want to talk about it?"
Li Qiao lifted her eyes to look at him, casually tossing the handgun back into his lap.
She leaned backward, propping herself up with her hands at the corner of the bed, her expression indifferent.
"Mm."
Perhaps only in front of her third brother, Li Cheng, could Li Qiao naturally reveal glimpses of her true emotions.
Li Cheng narrowed his dark, dangerous eyes, a cruel glint hidden within them.
"Then we won't talk about it. Whatever grievance you suffered, third brother will make sure you get even."
Sitting at the edge of the bed, Li Qiao lightly swung her feet, her gaze falling on the black trench coat draped over the back of the chair —
but in her mind, another black-clad figure surfaced.
Her brows furrowed slightly in frustration as she asked lazily,
"Tired from rushing back from the border?"
"Not tired. What do you want to do?"
Li Cheng always indulged Li Qiao without any bottom line.
Seeing this, a rare spark of heat ignited in Li Qiao's normally aloof, misty eyes.
"The usual?"
"No problem. Let's go!"
Li Cheng stood up as he spoke, roughly ruffling Li Qiao's hair with his wide palm.
Then, the two of them headed straight for the garage.
About five minutes later, two Ferrari sports cars roared out of the Li estate.
Their sleek silhouettes tore through the twilight haze,
the thunderous engine noise drowning out all worldly troubles.
——
Around 7 p.m., at Boran Shooting Range.
Li Qiao wore protective goggles and earmuffs, standing at a private shooting booth.
Dressed in a fitted black shooting outfit, her skin looked almost snow-white by contrast,
her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, giving her a cold and striking air like plum blossoms blooming in a harsh winter.
It seemed only on the shooting range did Li Qiao shed all her usual languor.
She lowered her eyes, examining the civilian pistol on the table.
She hefted it lightly —
neither the weight nor the grip could compare to the firearms produced under her third brother's network.
Picking up a magazine, Li Qiao smoothly assembled the gun,
then raised her arms, took aim at the target, and fired three shots in quick succession.
Two bulls-eyes, one slightly off.
Li Qiao squinted slightly, dissatisfied with the results.
She flexed her wrist and fired again, rapid and precise.
The force of each shot ripped through the air, the sharp reports echoing non-stop through the private range.
In less than an hour, Li Qiao had fired a full hundred rounds.
When her hands finally went numb, she emotionlessly dropped the gun,
leaned against the shooting booth, and rubbed her forehead, her voice hoarse and low,
"Enough…"
Li Cheng had been sitting all along in the resting area behind her,
his long legs stretched out, casually rocking one ankle over the other.
Hearing her speak, he glanced at the monitor and clicked his tongue, half-smiling:
"You hit twenty-three shots on the eighth ring.
If you were on the border, you'd have been dead a hundred times over."
Li Cheng understood his little sister better than anyone.
Tonight's poor shooting performance could only mean one thing —
her mind wasn't calm.
At that moment, Li Qiao rubbed her sore forearm, turned around, and looked at Li Cheng,
her bloodshot eyes faintly glinting.
"Li San," she said slowly, "do you know Shang Shaoyan?"