Mary, a woman in ragged clothes, her face streaked with soot, knelt desperately on the cold ground. Trembling, she shrieked, "Peter! Help me!" Beside her, her husband Charlie lay motionless, unconscious. But two young women, Lisa and Sophia, watched as if it were a play, their faces twisted into cruel smiles. "Old hag, what are you crying for?" Lisa curled her lips in a sneer, snatching up a bottle of water and splashing it across Mary's face. "Want help? Lick my shoes clean first!" Then, with a high-heeled foot, she arrogantly prodded Mary's cheek. Just then, a sleek, jet-black luxury sedan glided to a halt before them, its polished surface gleaming. The door opened, and a tall, slender figure emerged. Peter, a young man impeccably dressed in a suit, his demeanor as cold as ice, stepped out, flanked by several bodyguards. His gaze, calm as a deep abyss, swept over the disheveled Mary and the smug Lisa. Lisa's smile instantly froze, her face draining of color faster than a flicked page. She immediately shed her cruel demeanor, replacing it with a facade of concern, pretending to comfort Mary. "Peter, thank goodness you're here! This poor old woman seems to be having a mental breakdown; she keeps spouting nonsense." Peter didn't spare her a glance. He merely tilted his head slightly, his voice like chipped ice, carrying an undeniable authority: "Respect your elders." He uttered no further words, simply giving a terse command to his bodyguards: "Drive the car forward and wait." With that, he turned and walked away, not even affording Mary a second glance. A surge of smug satisfaction filled Lisa. Peter, as she suspected, had no connection to this old hag. She watched the sedan vanish from sight, her facade peeling away instantly, replaced by a savagery even more potent than before. "You old wretch! You almost ruined everything for me!" she shrieked, snatching a small bottle of pills from Mary's trembling hand. She mercilessly scattered them on the ground, then, with her sharp stiletto heel, ground them into powder, one by one. "Still daring to call Peter? What a pathetic thing you are!" She grabbed a piece of coarse cloth and violently shoved it into Mary's mouth, stifling any further cries for help. Just as Lisa was savoring Mary's struggles, her phone suddenly rang. The screen displayed "Assistant Zhang." Her tone instantly softened as she answered, "Hello? Assistant Zhang, what can I do for you?" "Peter keeps inquiring about the Thompsons. How are they doing?" the assistant's respectful voice came through the receiver. With one hand, Lisa pressed down firmly on Mary's head, preventing her escape, while her voice, without a hint of hesitation, delivered a blatant lie: "Oh, the Thompsons! They're doing wonderfully, utterly delighted, and currently... um, resting!" Mary's eyes widened with a desperate mix of humiliation and agony, a muffled whimper escaping her throat. Through the gag, she strained with all her might, finally forcing out a few broken, indistinct words: "I... am... Mary Thompson! My... husband... Charlie Thompson!" Lisa merely scoffed, dismissing it as a dying struggle. "You think I'd fall for such a pathetic trick? Make up any name you like, old hag!" Meanwhile, Sophia, whose curiosity had been piqued by the name "Thompsons," idly opened Peter's social media. With a casual scroll, she stumbled upon Peter's most recent post—a photograph of Peter, beaming, with an elderly person affectionately embraced on either side. And weren't those two elderly individuals none other than the ragged Mary and the unconscious Charlie right before their eyes?! The caption beneath the photo blared unmistakably: **[Enjoying family time with my beloved parents, the Thompsons.]** Sophia's pupils contracted violently. She gasped, sucking in a sharp breath, her phone nearly slipping from her grasp. Her head snapped up to Lisa, her lips trembling so violently she could barely articulate the words: "Li... Lisa... you have to see this!" Lisa shot her an impatient glare. "What are you gawking at? Can't you see I'm busy?" Sophia, pointing frantically at the phone, was deathly pale, her voice a terrified whisper verging on a sob: "Th-this... this is Peter and his parents... We... we're doomed..." Lisa, her suspicion piqued, leaned closer. As her eyes registered the intimate photo of Peter with the "old hag" on the phone screen, her arrogant, triumphant smile instantly shattered. All color drained from her face, replaced by an extreme, bone-deep terror that seeped into her very core. They had, unbelievably, brutalized the parents of the ruthless, cold-hearted 'Beijing Prince' to this extent! In that horrifying moment, they understood. Peter's terse command, "Respect your elders," was not an idle piece of advice; it was their inescapable death warrant. The true conflict had only just begun. And they, irrevocably, stood on the precipice of an abyss. Mary joins a tour with her memory-impaired husband to relive their past, but a mistaken identity leads to humiliation by the guide. When the truth comes out, the guide falls into regret and ruin—while Mary and her husband rediscover their long-lost sweetness.