Chapter 320: Drive slowly
Fu Jingrong’s jaw tightened, his arm instinctively wrapping around Hua Jing’s shoulders as though shielding her from the world outside. His gaze turned glacial.
"Drive slowly. Don’t let anyone get hurt. I’ll handle this."
Fu Jingrong’s voice carried a weight of authority that immediately silenced the trembling driver. Then, without hesitation, he pulled out his sleek black phone, his fingers flying across the screen with practiced speed. He made a series of short, clipped phone calls — his tone sharp, decisive, leaving no room for questions.
Hua Jing, who had been quietly watching him, tilted her head. Her clear eyes softened with curiosity.
"Who is that? Who are those people you’re calling?"
Fu Jingrong didn’t look at her. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the dense wall of screaming fans outside the windshield. He answered in just one word, his voice low:
"Help."
Before she could even process what he meant, the sound of heavy boots hitting pavement cut through the screams.
Out of nowhere, men in deep black attire emerged from within the throngs of fans. They moved like shadows, coordinated and sharp, as if they had been waiting for this very moment. With quick precision, they began to push back the surging crowd, forming narrow passages that could allow the car to inch forward.
But the fans were relentless.
The tinted windows of the car shielded most of the interior, but the front windshield betrayed just enough. The blurred outline of Hua Jing’s delicate profile, the sharp lines of Fu Jingrong’s face, the red gleam of her dress — all of it was enough to ignite the frenzy to its peak.
"I SEE HER! IT’S HUA JING! SHE’S RIGHT THERE!"
"FU JINGRONG LOOKED THIS WAY! HE LOOKED AT US!"
"Don’t let them leave! Don’t let them go! Please, just one wave!"
The chanting grew louder, the screams more desperate. The sound reverberated against the walls of the alley, deafening even through the closed car doors.
Fu Jingrong’s eyes narrowed. He had expected chaos, but he had underestimated the raw, terrifying strength of the crowd’s devotion. Even with his men in black forcing their way forward, the sea of fans surged back each time, filling every inch like water breaking through a dam.
Beside him, Hua Jing watched, stunned. Her lips parted in astonishment as she took in the sheer number of people, their tear-streaked faces, their trembling hands clutching banners and posters with her name written in bold, glittering letters.
She felt a sudden warmth wrap around her hand.
Her head turned, and her gaze fell onto Fu Jingrong’s steady grip. His palm pressed firmly against hers, as though transferring his strength directly into her.
Hua Jing blinked, then smiled softly, her lashes lowering.
"I’m all right."
The corners of Fu Jingrong’s lips barely moved, but his gaze sharpened, as though testing her words. His voice was husky when he asked,
"Do you... want to go out there?"
Hua Jing inhaled slowly, her gaze drifting back to the feverish crowd. She could see young girls jumping up and down, tears running freely. She could see men waving their arms desperately, screaming her name as though their lives depended on it. She could see the banners that had been carefully painted, the glow sticks that lit the night sky.
And most of all, she could feel the ache of absence, the bond of longing that stretched between her and them.
"My fans," she said at last, her voice firm, "they’re quite well behaved. If I just see them once, maybe they’ll calm down. They’ve waited so long... I’ve missed them too."
Fu Jingrong’s eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, the storm in his gaze wavered, and he saw only the sincerity in her expression. Slowly, he nodded.
He reached for his phone again. This time, he didn’t make a call — instead, his fingers flew across the screen, sending a flurry of text messages.
The effect was immediate.
The men in black, who had been scattered through the crowd, suddenly shifted positions. Abandoning their attempts to clear the path, they rushed toward the vehicle instead. In seamless formation, they surrounded it tightly, creating a protective wall of bodies.
Then, with one silent signal, the right-side door swung open.
The crowd erupted.
A fair, slender hand emerged from the darkness of the car. The moment that delicate hand touched the cool air, the screams doubled, tripled, echoing like thunder.
"HUA JING! HUA JING! HUA JING!!!"
The cries of her name shook the night sky. People shoved forward, some collapsing to their knees from sheer emotion, others reaching out desperately though they knew they would never touch her.
And then, slowly, Hua Jing stepped out.
Her red dress shimmered under the floodlights, her hair flowing like a silken cascade. The men in black immediately closed ranks around her, forming a protective circle. Police officers, already alerted by Fu Jingrong’s calls, rushed in with barriers, forcing the crowds back just enough to give her a small clearing.
There, in the middle of a sea of frenzied fans, Hua Jing stood.
The sight was breathtaking.
From the safety of the car, Fu Jingrong watched her, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. He didn’t step out himself — not yet. Instead, his dark gaze lingered on the red silhouette of his wife as she raised her hand gracefully, waving to the masses.
The crowd’s response was deafening.
"She waved at me! She waved at ME! I can die happy now!"
"No, idiot! She was waving at me, not you!"
"Hua Jing, I love you! Don’t disappear again, please don’t disappear again!"
"Look at her, she’s even more beautiful than before. How is this possible?!"
"Fu Jingrong, you lucky bastard! How dare you hide her from us for a whole year!"
"I can’t breathe, someone hold me, I think I’m fainting—ahhhh!"
Some were crying uncontrollably, their faces red and swollen. Others laughed hysterically, jumping and waving their banners until their arms shook from exhaustion. A few even began praying loudly, thanking the heavens for returning their goddess to them.
And through it all, Hua Jing smiled.
A soft, light smile
