Old Master Zhang continued to rage after going upstairs, never having imagined that the son he had painstakingly raised would use boiling water to scald him, distracted by a woman. He felt a discomfort in his heart, always having believed that his son, no matter how much he loved his wife, would at least know to treat him well and not scald him with boiling water. The more Old Master Zhang thought about it, the angrier and more annoyed he became.
Soon after Old Master Zhang had gone upstairs, Zhang Zhentian brought up another jar of wine to his bedroom, where he kept pouring drink after drink down his throat just like before. He recalled every word he had said to Xia Jing, each one clear in his mind—even he, a forgetful person, remembered them vividly, let alone the proud Xia Jing. Every time he remembered the hurtful things he had said to Xia Jing, it felt as if a knife were slicing through his heart, causing unbearable pain.