Chapter 246: Come home to me...please
The room was quiet.
Quieter than death.
Unlike the rest of the house, this one looked... livable. The windows, though small and clouded, let in a dull silver light. There was no rot. No stench. The bed was clean. Sheets tucked in neatly. A chair had been placed nearby—someone had been coming in here, watching her. Maybe guarding her.
But she was alone now.
And she was sleeping.
Fu Jing Rong stood at the doorway like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.
He didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
His eyes were locked on her—on the soft rise and fall of her chest. On her hands, resting lightly by her sides. On her face, serene, untouched, fragile.
So fragile.
His feet moved forward before he realized it. The floor didn’t creak under him. His whole body felt like it was floating.
He sank to his knees beside the bed.
"Hua Jing..." he whispered, barely able to form the words.
His hands reached out, trembling. He didn’t touch her. He was afraid that if he did, she would vanish.
Just like the first time.
He had come so far. So far.
Through death.
Through war.
Through dimensions.
And now she was here, lying in front of him... and she wasn’t waking up!
Her lips were slightly parted, as though she were about to say something. Her lashes cast soft shadows across her cheeks. Her skin, though pale, still looked warm.
She looked like she was only sleeping.
But he knew better.
Hua Jing looked so peaceful.
All of the injuries she had sustained had already healed up quite nicely, and only faint scars could be seen on her skin. But even those couldn’t mar the ethereal beauty that still clung to her like a second skin—delicate, soft, breathtaking. It was the kind of beauty that never ceased to steal his breath away!
Fu Jing Rong swallowed hard, trying to push down the anger, the panic, and the raw fear that clawed viciously at his chest. The emotions storming inside him couldn’t be named—grief, rage, helplessness—they all twisted into one unbearable pressure.
All he wanted to do... was kill the person who dared to bring Hua Jing to this godforsaken place!
The dust. The filth. The sheer neglect of this decaying house! It was no place for a patient—no place for anyone, let alone a woman in a coma. His fists clenched as he looked around, disgust written all over his face. Whoever had done this... the Hua family... he couldn’t destroy them just yet, but when the time came—they would pay! They would all pay!
In the middle of that fury, a darker thought struck him cold.
What if he hadn’t woken up when he did?
What if he hadn’t found her?
What if she had been left here to rot—to die—in silence, with no one to protect her? No one to see her one last time? The thought alone made his stomach twist violently. He shuddered as he reached for her hand, caressing it gently, his touch trembling.
She was still warm.
Still with him.
But how much longer?
There was fear, deep—so deep—it nearly drowned him. This was a different world now. They had lived another life. Fought another war. Loved in a world that now only lived inside their memories.
If she woke up... would she remember?
Would she remember him?
Would she remember them?
His gaze softened as it rested on her face. That perfect face. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the moments they’d shared—the fights, the laughter, the nights they’d held each other like the world would crumble around them.
But now wasn’t the time.
This wasn’t about memories. This was about survival.
He had to get her out!
The medical team was on their way. He had called them the moment his men secured the area. But until they arrived, he had these few stolen minutes alone with her—and he intended to use them.
Fu Jing Rong had never been one to show emotions. Not easily. Not openly. The world called him stoic. Unshakable. Cold. Only Hua Jing had ever seen what lay beneath that mask.
When he was still an actor, a year ago, the only time he could truly express emotion was on screen. It had earned him the title "Movie King"—an ironic crown, since everything he portrayed was fiction.
But this?
This fear? This agony?
It was all too real.
And no matter how much he tried to swallow it, the tears welled up, burning in his eyes like fire.
Because he was terrified.
Terrified of losing her.
Of being too late.
Of never hearing her voice again!
Tears stung his eyes.
He didn’t care if anyone saw.
"Wake up..." he choked. "Please... just open your eyes. Even for a second."
His fingers finally brushed against hers.
Cold.
Too cold.
He gripped her hand gently and brought it to his lips.
He had missed her more than he could say. Missed her fire. Missed her sharp tongue. Missed the way she always stared at him like he was something to be figured out.
He’d give anything—everything—for her to look at him that way again.
He placed his forehead on the back of her hand.
A long silence stretched out between them.
Then, softly, he laughed. A broken, bitter sound.
"Why do you always do this to me?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
"You drag me to hell... and I follow like a fool."
He lifted his head again and stared at her face, memorizing every inch, terrified it would change—terrified it wouldn’t.
"What if you don’t wake up?" he asked her, though she couldn’t hear.
"What if this is it...?"
The idea shattered him.
This wasn’t Hua Jing.
Not the one he knew.
Not the one who had bled beside him. Fought beside him. Held him when he thought he would break.
No...
He refused to believe it.
"You promised," he said, voice sharp now, desperate. "You said if we came back... if we ever made it back... we’d find each other again."
He gripped her hand tighter.
"I found you!"
His voice cracked.
"But you’re not here!"
He couldn’t lose her again.
He wouldn’t.
He reached forward and touched her cheek gently, brushing back a strand of hair from her face.
"I’m here now," he whispered. "You can come back. It’s safe."
A pause.
Then—his voice barely audible—
"Come home to me, Hua Jing... Please... come home."
