Chapter 334: Begin at once
After a long while, Fu Jingrong still did not speak. He was gazing at his father silently, his eyes unmoving, fixed upon the still figure on the bed as if trying to memorize every faint breath that rose and fell from his chest. The rhythmic sound of the monitor filled the room—steady, soft, yet heavy with meaning.
Hua Jing sat beside him quietly, her own eyes following the same direction. She sighed softly, the sound barely audible, more like a whisper carried away by the air conditioning in the quiet ward.
Her mind drifted back—to that other world.
Back then, Fu Jingrong’s father had been the Emperor. Dignified, noble, yet kind. He had treated her well despite her humble position in the palace. She could still remember the serene way he used to smile, the calm wisdom in his eyes when he looked at his son, and the quiet authority that made even the most arrogant officials bow their heads.
And when he died...
Her chest tightened at the memory.
She could still recall how the bells had rung throughout the capital, how black banners had hung from the palace gates, and how the cries of the people filled the streets. Even the peasants—those who had never once stepped into the palace—had wept. That was the kind of man he had been.
A ruler who commanded respect not out of fear, but out of genuine love from his people.
Now, seeing him lying here, alive in this world, Hua Jing’s heart felt strangely at peace. It was almost as though fate had granted them a second chance. She turned her head slightly and looked at Fu Jingrong. The way he sat there, his posture rigid yet his eyes tender, made her heart ache.
He was fiercely protective—just like before.
If they had come even a day later, perhaps this man would have already been gone.
"Thank heaven we made it in time," she murmured softly to herself.
Fu Jingrong didn’t answer, but she noticed the way his fingers curled slightly, as if acknowledging her words in silent agreement.
For a long while, neither of them moved. The silence was not uncomfortable—it was the kind of silence filled with emotion, heavy yet sacred.
Outside the ward, Wei Ling stood waiting.
In his hands were a stack of documents neatly clipped together. His appearance was, as always, precise—glasses perched on his nose, hair combed immaculately back, and a clean-cut dark suit that fit him perfectly. But his expression wasn’t good. His brows were furrowed, and the slight tension in his jaw betrayed that he had been waiting for quite some time.
He checked his watch once, then turned his eyes back toward the closed door of the private ward. Inside, he could hear faint voices, the soft shuffle of movement—but he didn’t dare interrupt.
When the door finally opened, the scent of antiseptic drifted into the hallway.
Fu Jingrong emerged first, one hand gently holding Hua Jing’s as he stepped out. His face was calm but serious, the kind of calm that came when one had already made up their mind about something.
Wei Ling immediately straightened up and took a small step forward, his posture respectful.
"Sir," he greeted quietly.
Fu Jingrong looked at him, his gaze sharp as ever, before lowering it briefly to the documents in Wei Ling’s hands. Without another word, Wei Ling stepped forward and handed them over.
"These are all the files we could retrieve," he said in a low tone. "The reports, medical records, and financial movements you requested. Everything points to..." He paused, hesitating slightly, then finished, "...to something that won’t be easy to untangle."
Fu Jingrong’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier.
He accepted the documents without a word, his fingers tightening just slightly around the edge of the folder. Hua Jing stood silently by his side, sensing the shift in his mood but choosing not to speak yet.
He flipped open the first page, his sharp eyes scanning through the lines quickly, and the more he read, the colder his expression became.
Wei Ling stood silently, his hands clasped behind his back, awaiting instructions.
After a long pause, Fu Jingrong finally looked up. His voice was low, steady, and full of suppressed anger.
"Start the investigation," he said. "And make sure every single person connected to this is accounted for. No one is to be left out."
"Yes, sir." Wei Ling’s voice was equally steady, though he could feel the chill in the air.
Fu Jingrong closed the file and handed it back. "Handle this quietly," he added, "but efficiently."
Then, as though remembering Hua Jing’s presence, his tone softened slightly when he turned to her. "Let’s go," he said simply.
Fu Jingrong and Hua Jing walked side by side as they approached Dr. Chen’s office. The quiet corridor seemed almost oppressive, the tension from the hospital still lingering in the air.
Dr. Chen was seated behind his desk, a large stack of files open before him. His glasses reflected the bright light from the computer screen, his expression sharp and focused. He did not need to look up to know who had arrived; his grim demeanor alone gave the answer.
Fu Jingrong’s grip on Hua Jing’s hand tightened slightly, a silent signal that he expected complete honesty.
Dr. Chen finally looked up. His face was pale, his lips thin and taut. He gestured to the chairs in front of him.
"You need to sit," he said flatly, though his tone carried an edge of urgency.
Both sat, their eyes fixed on him, waiting.
Dr. Chen cleared his throat and began. "We’ve identified the poisons used on Fu Sheng. There are three distinct types."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"The first is called Hei Yin, or Black Shadow. It attacks the liver and nervous system. Its effects are slow, but it accumulates over time. Without intervention, it can cause severe organ failure within months."
Fu Jingrong’s eyes darkened. He did not speak, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger.
"The second is Cang Lian, the Blue Thorn. It disrupts blood circulation and slowly weakens the heart. Alone, it might not kill immediately, but combined with other toxins, it becomes lethal in a matter of weeks."
Hua Jing swallowed, her fingers tightening around his hand.
"The third is Bai Feng, White Phantom. It is a rare, refined poison. It specifically targets the immune system. Its effects can be hidden for months, masking the symptoms of the other two poisons. Detecting it was difficult."
Dr. Chen leaned forward, his voice dropping. "The mixture of these three was carefully balanced. Whoever administered this knew exactly what they were doing. The poisons counteracted and amplified each other in perfect proportion. That is why the effects appeared subtle, almost natural at first, but the long-term damage is extensive."
Fu Jingrong did not flinch. He only stared at the table, his knuckles whitening as he clenched Hua Jing’s hand.
"The previous estimate of six months for rehabilitation was optimistic," Dr. Chen continued. "Given the complex combination and the strain on multiple organs, Fu Sheng will require at least a year to recover fully. Each poison must be rehabilitated differently. The liver, the heart, and the immune system will all need targeted treatment."
Hua Jing’s chest tightened. A year... it felt impossibly long. She looked at Fu Jingrong, expecting frustration, maybe anger, but his face remained unreadable. Only the dark intensity in his eyes revealed the storm inside.
Dr. Chen pulled up charts, scans, and lab results. "Here, you can see the concentration levels in the blood over time. Hei Yin has already done moderate damage to the liver, but the heart damage from Cang Lian is worse than we initially expected. White Phantom, though subtle, has weakened the immune response significantly. Any misstep during recovery could trigger a relapse or additional complications."
Fu Jingrong leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting to the window. The city outside was quiet, oblivious to the danger they had just uncovered.
Dr. Chen continued, "Recovery will be a long, delicate process. Every injection, every treatment, must be calibrated. If Fu Sheng is exposed to even minor stress or medication errors, the poisons could reactivate. The next year will be critical. We cannot afford any mistakes."
Fu Jingrong nodded once, sharply. "Do whatever is necessary. I don’t care about time. I don’t care about cost. Just keep him alive."
Dr. Chen swallowed, nodding. "Understood. I’ll coordinate the medical team and oversee the process personally."
Hua Jing exhaled slowly, her eyes on Fu Jingrong. She could see the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, yet the resolve in his posture told her everything.
Fu Jingrong finally turned his gaze toward her, his voice low, almost a whisper. "This year... this year, I will make sure nothing else happens to him. And anyone who tried to hurt him... they will pay."
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the computer and the ticking of the wall clock. Time itself seemed to slow as the weight of the poisons, the recovery, and the vengeance settled over them.
Dr. Chen finally closed the file, his hands shaking slightly, and said, "We’ll start preparations immediately. This will be a controlled environment—no mistakes."
Fu Jingrong’s jaw tightened. "Good. Begin at once."
