Chapter 329: Where is father?
The heavy door of the master bedroom opened with a soft creak as Fu Lianhua slipped inside. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a sliver of the spring dusk that bathed the room in a pale, muted light. The faint scent of medicine lingered in the air.
On the grand bed lay the man who had once commanded both the Fu family and their empire with an iron hand—now reduced to a pale, gaunt figure. His once sharp and authoritative features had grown thin, his lips nearly bloodless against skin that seemed even paler than the sheets covering him.
For a moment, Fu Lianhua’s eyes glinted with something cold, a hint of the ferocity she always hid beneath her gentle facade. If it were entirely up to her, she would have rid herself of this man long ago. But with the suspicious circumstances of his first wife’s death still whispered about by the old servants, she knew she had to tread carefully. She could not afford even a speck of suspicion to fall on her now.
"Lianhua..."
His voice broke the silence. Hoarse and rough, it rasped through the quiet room as though dragged over gravel.
The sound pulled Fu Lianhua’s expression into an instant transformation. Her eyes glistened as if they had been waiting to fill with tears. She stepped quickly to his side, taking his frail hand gently into her own. The hardness that had lingered in her gaze dissolved into an imitation of soft devotion, her lips trembling just so.
"Old Master," she whispered, her voice gentle yet strained with false worry. "You’re awake... you frightened me."
Fu Sheng—Fu Jingrong’s father—shifted his gaze to her. Though dulled by illness, his eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. Even now, in his weakened state, he could still see the grace and beauty in her features. He noticed the sadness that seemed to cloud her eyes, never realizing that it was as fabricated as a painted mask.
"I’ve given you... a lot of trouble," Fu Sheng murmured, his voice thin but sincere.
Fu Lianhua lowered her gaze, her tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Don’t say that. You are my husband. Taking care of you is my duty."
Her tone was gentle, almost tender. Only the faint tension in her fingers betrayed the effort it took to keep up the act.
Fu Sheng sighed, the sound frail as it escaped his chest. "You’ve already borne so much these years... I’ve been nothing but a burden."
"You mustn’t think like that," she said quickly, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand as if to comfort him. "You need only rest and regain your strength. That’s all I ask."
He shifted slightly, his face turned halfway toward her. "I know my body. I won’t last much longer. But you... don’t let worry eat you away. When the time comes... take care of the boys. They’ll need you."
Her lashes fluttered, casting delicate shadows over her cheeks as she bowed her head. "I will," she whispered. "They’re both my sons too."
Fu Sheng gave a faint nod. His breathing grew slower, heavier, as exhaustion crept in again. "You’ve been a good wife... better than I deserved."
Fu Lianhua sat quietly by his side, holding his hand in silence until the last of his words faded into shallow breaths. A few minutes later, his eyes fluttered shut, slipping back into uneasy sleep.
She stayed seated a while longer, her posture slightly hunched as if in grief, her eyes lowered and moist. To anyone watching, she would have appeared a picture of a devoted wife keeping vigil by her husband’s bedside.
But the moment she rose to leave and her face turned away from the bed, her expression shifted. The gentle softness drained from her features, replaced by something colder, distant—something almost alien. The sympathy she had displayed moments earlier vanished completely, as though it had never existed.
She stood by the door for a brief moment, her fingers tightening at her side, a glint of something unspoken flashing in her eyes. Then, with her emotions carefully checked and her mask firmly back in place, she stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her.
The scent of her perfume lingered in the air long after her departure, mingling faintly with the medicinal smell in the room—an invisible reminder of the woman who had just played her role to perfection.
As soon as Fu Lianhua stepped out of the bedroom, she heard the faint sound of measured footsteps approaching from the far end of the hallway. She turned her head slightly, her expression calm, just as the household physician appeared at the corner, followed by two attendants carrying small medicine boxes.
Her gaze met the physician’s for only a fraction of a second, yet it was enough. There was a subtle shift in her eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker. The physician lowered his chin in the faintest nod, as if acknowledging her silent command. No one around them noticed the exchange.
"Madam," the physician greeted with polite deference when he drew near.
"Doctor Chen," Fu Lianhua replied with a gentle smile, her tone soft and welcoming. "You’ve worked hard. Please, go in. He’s waiting."
With a graceful motion, she stepped aside, ushering him and his attendants into the bedroom. She stood there for a moment, watching their backs as they disappeared through the door. The polite curve of her lips lingered... then shifted ever so slightly into something else—something colder, more calculating. Only after the bedroom door closed behind them did she turn away, her steps light as she made her way down the grand staircase.
But as she reached the foot of the stairs, her body suddenly froze. Her heart gave an involuntary jolt as her eyes locked on the tall figure who had just crossed the threshold of the Fu residence.
Fu Jingrong.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if her eyes were deceiving her. It had been over a year since she had last seen him properly—since the night of his accident. The only glimpse she’d caught of him since then was that fleeting encounter at Yellow Garden, when she had accompanied Qin Rulan, who had been eager—almost desperate—to approach him. Yet, that day, they had both been left speechless and humiliated, watching from afar as he’d stood beside another woman, not sparing them so much as a glance.
And now... here he was. The man whose presence had haunted her thoughts, whose resemblance to her husband had always unsettled her, was walking into the house as if he owned it.
He was a little thinner than she remembered, the sharp lines of his face more pronounced. But that expression—cold, distant, untouchable—remained unchanged. Up close, the resemblance to Fu Xiang was even more striking. For a fleeting moment, she felt the urge to claw at that face, to tear away the calm mask that made her stomach churn. But she mastered herself quickly, her lips curling into a small, practiced smile.
"Jingrong... you’re back," she said softly, her voice carrying just the right hint of warmth, as though she were pleasantly surprised.
Fu Jingrong’s gaze swept over her without a ripple of emotion. Detached. Cool. As if she were no more than an unimportant stranger. His nod was perfunctory, a brief dip of the chin before his eyes slid past her.
Behind him stood two men—Wei Ling, his ever-efficient assistant, and Deng Mi, his bodyguard. The pair flanked him with quiet vigilance, their presence alone creating an invisible barrier that made it impossible for anyone to come too close. Their sharp, watchful eyes swept over the hall like blades, leaving no opening.
The smile on Fu Lianhua’s lips tightened ever so slightly, though she masked it with practiced ease. She had not expected Fu Jingrong to return at such a delicate moment. His presence here could tip the balance in ways she hadn’t planned for.
And yet, she tilted her head ever so slightly, her voice soft as silk as she said, "It’s been so long."
Fu Jingrong didn’t answer. His expression remained indifferent as he handed his coat to Deng Mi and began walking further inside.
Fu Lianhua’s nails bit into her palms as her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides, yet the humble smile on her face did not waver. This was, after all, the young master of the Fu family—the heir who would one day control everything once the man upstairs breathed his last. If their plan succeeded, Fu Jingrong would be the first person she dealt with.
Oh, how she loathed that look in his eyes—that detached indifference, as if she were nothing more than air. She longed to wipe that calm, almost smug expression off his face.
Fu Jingrong moved further into the hall, but then, without warning, he stopped in his tracks. His head turned slightly, his sharp profile catching the light, and his deep voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Where is Father?"
