Chapter 75: Rats Scurrying Across the Street

Qin Guang didn’t linger long at the Fu Corporation before leaving, yet his actions prompted some to watch and wait—though none dared do more than observe. No one wished to antagonize Chaosheng; Qin Guang claimed he wanted to open the domestic market, but Chaosheng’s holdings were substantial within the country. Clearly, his words were mere pretext, yet Fu Yongyi and Fu Yonghui were too distracted to notice.

When the two brothers returned home, they surprisingly didn’t quarrel, sitting together in silence on the living room sofa. Gradually, family members arrived, and seeing the brothers so quiet, everyone was a little astonished.

Once all were gathered, Fu Yonghui explained that Qin Guang intended to purchase the Fu Corporation. “This is a serious matter,” he said. “I think it’s necessary to discuss with everyone. Let’s hear your thoughts—your opinions and suggestions about the current state of the Fu Corporation.”

Fu Yongyi, for once, agreed with his brother. “Exactly. Let’s all speak up and share ideas. We’re a family, and in times of crisis, we need to stand together, use any connections we can, and do our best to save ourselves. We can’t just give up.”

His words were met with silence.

After a long pause, Fu Yanchuan let out a derisive laugh, drawing all eyes to him.

Fu Yongyi raised an eyebrow, “Yanchuan, have you thought of a solution?”

“A solution?” He shook his head. “How could there be one? Even if there were, haven’t you all already decided what to do? Why bother pretending?” His gaze was cold, his face impassive.

Disaster drives family apart—the so-called kinship.

He wondered, at that moment, whether Jiang Shuzhi regretted her past decisions. Yet blaming anyone now was futile; what mattered was resolving the crisis.

Fu Yongyi chuckled, turning to Fu Yonghui, “Big brother, aside from selling the company, do you have any way for the Fu family to weather this storm?” He shifted his gaze to Yuan Yujun. “And you, sister-in-law—your family really won’t step in to help?”

Yuan Yujun smiled slightly. “Do you understand what it means to be ‘beyond reach’? My family is far away in Entertainment City—even if they wanted to help, they couldn’t.”

“If they can’t help otherwise, surely the old man could invest some money?”

Yuan Yujun’s family was wealthy; she herself possessed a substantial private fortune. But to throw her money into this abyss? Impossible. She was clear-minded and saw the situation for what it was—so long as the Fu family remained, any investment would be wasted. The issue wasn’t the company, but its people.

She actually favored selling the company; the situation was beyond saving.

Every possible solution, every potential ally had been considered—and each had refused, some not even granting an audience.

That said it all.

Of the company’s shareholders, only Qin Guang hadn’t withdrawn; the rest had left long ago, unwilling to wade into muddy waters.

Yuan Yujun had long planned her escape: she would take her son and daughter back to Entertainment City, leaving everyone else behind, not even bothering with Fu Yonghui.

She smiled and shook her head, saying nothing more.

Tang Qiong’s family had been ruined by Fu Yanming’s misdeeds; her own position was precarious, awaiting orders from above. She had no voice and didn’t want to speak.

She pressed Fu Yanzheng’s leg, silently warning him to keep quiet.

Silence reigned; no one voiced an opinion. The house felt lifeless.

At some point, Grandma Song appeared behind them. “If you want to sell the company, shouldn’t you inform the old lady?”

Her arrival shattered the silence, snapping everyone back to attention.

But they merely glanced at her, saying little.

Fu Yonghui coughed. “Of course, we’ll tell her, but we need to make a decision first.”

“I don’t mean to notify her, but to consult her.” Grandma Song stood straight, her tone calm. “After all, the company belongs to the old lady. No matter how well you plan, it’s useless without her.”

Fu Yongyi grew impatient. “Is it your place to speak? Who let you talk? The old hag can barely protect herself—how can she care about the company? If she could, let her get herself out of jail first!”

Grandma Song suppressed her anger, maintaining a polite smile as she looked at them. “First Master, Second Master, she is after all your mother, who raised you with hardship. Shouldn’t you remember her maternal love? Perhaps her methods were harsh, but her intentions toward you—”

“Shut up!” Fu Yongyi cut her off. “If the old hag had any humanity, my son wouldn’t have been used as a pawn and ended up in prison!”

Grandma Song replied, “Second Master, the Fu family’s downfall began with the Third Young Master, didn’t it? It’s heartless to say such things. Who indulged the Third Young Master’s misbehavior? The old lady warned you more than once to discipline your son.”

“That makes me even angrier. Must I expose the old hag’s favoritism? If she’d been fair, I wouldn’t have such complaints. She brought this upon herself! You, her closest confidante, know why she clings to power—even now—to control us, to make us obey!”

He snorted. “She won’t relinquish power until her dying breath! She thinks she’s Empress Wu Zetian, but she’s really Dowager Cixi. Well, now the Fu family’s ruined at her hands. You want us to save her—who’s supposed to take the blame for her? She’s old, doesn’t have much time left, but instead of helping us escape, she drags us down. Is this what a mother or grandmother should do?”

“She’s selfish!”

No one stopped him, but neither did they agree. His words were extreme, but not entirely wrong.

Grandma Song closed her eyes, sighing inwardly. Expecting them to rescue the old lady was impossible. Yet the old lady was so aged—should she spend her last years, even die, in prison?

They had no fear of retribution.

She said nothing more, but didn’t leave. With her present, no one spoke further; after a while, everyone retreated to their rooms without even dining.

The two families shut their doors to discuss their own strategies.

Yuan Yujun had no other thoughts; her mind was only on Fu Miao. “Let’s not talk about anything else—right now, the most important thing is Miao-miao. Why is there still no news of her?”

Fu Yonghui had been arguing with Fu Yanchuan, but at her words, both stopped and turned. With the company’s troubles, they’d forgotten about Fu Miao.

Yuan Yujun looked at father and son, clicking her tongue. “As her father and brother, neither of you cares? She disappeared after the video went public—it’s been days!”

Fu Yanchuan said, “I asked Lin Zhouye—she’s not at the Lin family. Maybe she was too upset and went abroad for some respite?”

“Do you really think so? With the family in crisis, she wouldn’t just leave for leisure. If we still can’t find her, I’ll call the police! Tell Lin Zhouye that.”

“Mom, what do you mean?”

“Isn’t it clear? You know how your sister managed to marry into the Lin family, don’t you? Now, Lin Zhouye isn’t as good as he seemed—he’s vindictive. With the Fu family fallen and your sister losing her bargaining power, what do you think he’ll do?”

Fu Yanchuan shook his head. “I don’t think—”

“Oh, please, haven’t you seen how he’s used public opinion to paint you as a sleazy villain online? If he were decent, would he treat you this way?”

Yuan Yujun waved a hand. “I don’t care about anything else, but when it comes to my daughter, I won’t tolerate it. Just relay the message, nothing more.”

Fu Yonghui nodded. “Exactly.”

Yuan Yujun glanced at him coldly, said nothing, and returned to her room.

As for Fu Yongyi, no one consulted him. Tang Qiong merely claimed she was powerless and thus had no opinion; Fu Yanzheng remained silent.

Fu Yongyi was furious at their attitudes, storming out to drink.

…

The next day, Grandma Song told the old lady about their plan to sell the company.

The old lady seemed unsurprised, though she couldn’t help but be saddened. Her complexion paled; she closed her eyes and smiled. “I expected this outcome, but I didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”

She knew the Fu Corporation’s predicament despite being in detention.

Her lawyer had resigned; she now had no defense counsel.

Grandma Song said, “Don’t worry, old lady. I’ll find the best lawyer to defend you—I’ll get you out.”

She grasped the old lady’s hand, her eyes reddening.

The old lady looked at her, feeling only a chill in her heart. Who could have guessed that after all her glory, only little Song remained willing to save her?

She smiled, patting Song’s hand. “Thank you. Now, I suppose the whole world blames me—only you still believe in me.”

“They’ll understand in the end—and then they’ll regret it!”

“But that’s not what I want.” Jiang Shuzhi bit her lip, then seemed to recall something. She gripped Song’s hand tightly. “The shrine—the Buddha statues—you must take care of them.”

“I will.”

…

That day, a maid went to clean the shrine, and ‘accidentally’ moved the left Buddha statue. Something behind the pedestal was triggered.

Hearing the noise, the maid jumped in fright and went to investigate, discovering a secret passage behind the shrine.

She glanced outside—no one was around. She took a candle from the drawer, lit it, and descended.

Below was a cramped space, about the size of a household bathroom. By candlelight, everything was clear. In the corner, crouched a person, ragged and thin, hair sparse—neither human nor ghost.

The maid quickly covered her mouth, moving closer.

She poked the figure; it didn’t move, didn’t turn, not a sound.

Gathering her courage, she gently tugged—and the body fell lifelessly. It was already stiff, eyes open, but dead.

Terrified, the maid screamed and fled.

She didn’t tell Grandma Song, but went straight to the police.

The constables soon arrived, carrying the corpse out from the secret room.

The entire Fu family gathered, shocked at the sight, unable to identify the body.

It was a female, skeletal, features destroyed—impossible to tell who she was. The coroner’s preliminary assessment: she’d recently died, poisoned.

Since the body came from the old lady’s shrine, she was inevitably implicated.

The corpse was sent to the police station for further examination.

News of the incident spread that very day.

The following day, Fu Juxing and Fu Changjun went to the police station. They asked to see the corpse, but the face was so ruined it was unrecognizable.

Fu Changjun nearly fainted at the sight. He asked the coroner if there was a crescent-shaped birthmark on the woman’s waist.

The coroner said no, but pointed out a scar where the skin had been cut away.

Fu Changjun effectively confirmed her identity.

He covered his face, weeping bitterly, and after a long time regained composure, then took a photo from his pocket, handing it to the police. “This body may be my daughter, Fu Xian.”

The police used various techniques to confirm the corpse was indeed Fu Xian.

After the coroner’s examination, all were appalled. She had been brutally tortured—over thirty years—the body showed no healthy part. Whoever tormented her was truly monstrous, beyond belief.

Fu Changjun fainted before hearing the coroner’s words.

Fu Juxing asked Lei Sen to take him to the hospital, while he remained to hear the coroner’s account.

Afterwards, he requested to be alone with Fu Xian.

The coroner and police left, granting him privacy.

Fu Juxing stood to her left, quietly, expressionless, staring at the ruined face—more frightening than any ghost.

It was unimaginable how she had survived thirty years in that cramped space. Perhaps she had longed for death, but the old woman had denied her even that.

But now, at least, she had her wish—she was finally dead.

In such a state, survival was meaningless; even rescue would have been pointless.

He reached out, gently tracing her face with his fingertips—so cold, colder than ice. His fingers slowly mapped her features: brow, nose, lips.

She was so thin, skin stretched over protruding bones.

Was this still a human?

It had been too long—so long that Fu Juxing’s memories of Fu Xian had faded; he felt nothing for his mother. His recollection was limited to a photograph: youthful, radiant, smiling brightly. As for who she really was, he didn’t know; most of what he knew came from Fu Changjun.

She had been sunny, smart, outstanding—a little sun, meant for happiness.

Fu Changjun said she could have been happy.

Fu Juxing sneered inwardly—happiness? Born into the wrong family, what happiness was possible? Sun? What nonsense. Those who lived in darkness from birth—what sun?

Just like him.

They were rats, hated by all, fit only to hide in dark corners and rot.

Sun? They’d never see it in their lives.

His fingers paused on her chin, lingered for half a minute, then withdrew.

“I never wanted to be your son.”

His voice was cold, devoid of feeling.

From the moment Fu Xian’s body was found, Fu Juxing shed not a single tear, showed hardly any grief.

Leaving the morgue, he signed as required by the coroner, handled the paperwork with the police, and walked out—where he saw Lin Wanbai stepping from a car, her belly rounded.

It was a rainy day; Aunt Rong held an umbrella for her. She looked anxious, and when she spotted him, she stopped, not moving forward, meeting his gaze through the rain.

He saw the pain in her eyes—for him. He could see tears brimming.

She was always like this—his suffering seemed to hurt her more.

Fu Juxing moved first, stepping directly into the rain.

Lin Wanbai, startled, grabbed the umbrella from Aunt Rong and hurried over; soon, they were together, and she shielded him from the rain.

“Why did you go out? Didn’t you see it was raining?”

“It’s just a drizzle.” He took her hand—her skin was cold, she wore little. He frowned. “Why come out dressed like this? Aunt Rong didn’t stop you?”

“If I want to go out, no one can stop me. Why didn’t you tell me you found your mother?”

His smile was bleak. “It’s not exactly good news—I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“Frighten me? I’m not so fragile. I can face anything with you.”

“I understand.”

But Fu Xian’s body was too horrifying—she, pregnant, shouldn’t see it.

Lin Wanbai withdrew her hand, wrapping his in hers, eyes bright. “Let me stay with you.”

In such matters, words could not comfort. Life and death are fate—just a step apart; mother and son were nearly reunited, yet fate intervened, and reunion became separation.

Fu Juxing gently drew her into his arms, mindful of her belly, holding her lightly.

The rain intensified, pattering on the umbrella.

Aunt Rong stood nearby for a while before urging them to get in the car.

They obeyed; Lin Wanbai’s coat was inside. Fu Juxing helped her put it on; she took a handkerchief to wipe the rain from his face and clothes, then handed him a hand warmer from her pocket.

Fu Juxing returned it to her hand. “I’m not cold.”

She looked at him, didn’t insist, but held his hand tightly, never letting go.

“I need to go to the hospital—Grandpa collapsed, couldn’t handle it. I have to check on him.”

“Mm, I’ll go with you.”

“There are too many germs at the hospital. You stay with Aunt Rong after I get out; go home.”

She was about to protest, but Fu Juxing didn’t give her a chance. “Be good—don’t make me worry.”

She wanted to insist, but he was firm.

In the end, she yielded.

Fu Juxing got out at the hospital, instructing the driver to return to Pujiang.

But after he left, Lin Wanbai didn’t let the driver return; she had him park nearby and waited.

Fu Juxing entered the ward; Fu Changjun had awakened and was on an IV. Lei Sen met him outside, saying the old man had truly cried.

He went in, closing the door behind him; Lei Sen waited outside.

Fu Changjun wiped his eyes, looked up, and seeing Fu Juxing, grew emotional, eyes red and glistening with tears. “Your mother suffered—so much, right under our noses.”

“It’s my fault—I was useless, let the old woman torment her. She must have hated me.”

Fu Juxing stood beside him, silent, expressionless, eyes calm, watching as his grandfather’s emotions gradually settled.

He took a tissue, wiped his tears and snot. His limbs had never fully recovered, likely wouldn’t until death.

Fu Changjun finally calmed down. “What did the police say?”

“They’ll investigate further.”

“Investigate? What for? The body was found in the old woman’s shrine—what more evidence is needed?”

“They still need to go through the motions.”

Fu Changjun gritted his teeth. “How could her heart be so black! She could have targeted me—but why you? What did you do wrong?!”

Fu Juxing never responded to his anger. He poured a glass of water and handed it over as the old man raged. “Have some water.”

Fu Changjun looked at him, not drinking immediately.

Fu Juxing calmly held out the cup, watching him without urgency.

Whenever Fu Changjun’s emotions surged, Fu Juxing remained impassive, never joining in; he rarely got excited, as if nothing could move him—not even Fu Xian’s death.

Such calmness was unsettling, even frightening. Fu Changjun felt a chill—he seemed heartless, emotionless.

He was like a robot, pursuing only his goals, indifferent to all else.

Fu Changjun softened. “A Xing, do you hate me?”

“No,” he replied instantly.

It wasn’t the first time Fu Changjun asked; when Fu Juxing was a teenager, bullied and nearly suicidal, he’d asked—not ‘do you,’ but ‘will you.’ Then, Fu Juxing had been silent for a long time before finally saying no.

He remembered his grandfather’s expression—relieved, then briefly caring and comforting. That concern lasted ten minutes before he rushed off, afraid Jiang Shuzhi would notice.

Afterwards, he lay in his shabby room, enduring pain and darkness.

From age eight, he’d given up hope that Fu Changjun would help, protect, or rescue him. When he’d run to his grandfather’s door, begging for help, only to be coldly rejected, he knew he had no support in this family.

It was as if Fu Changjun had deliberately brought him back as a tool for Jiang Shuzhi’s venting. Otherwise, her anger would have been unleashed on him alone.

Fu Changjun was full of grievance and pain, eyes downcast. “It’s understandable if you hate me—it’s all my fault. I started it, but couldn’t protect you, let you endure such inhuman suffering, such torment…”

Before he could finish, Fu Juxing pushed the cup to his mouth—roughly, without tenderness, the rim hitting his gums, making him wince.

The water was hot; it burned his skin, and he turned aside, but Fu Juxing didn’t pull back, spilling water onto his clothes; Fu Changjun had no choice but to endure.

He gritted his teeth, saying nothing, giving Fu Juxing a fearful look.

Fu Juxing set the cup on the bedside table, wiped him down. “Don’t move.”

Fu Changjun murmured assent, not daring to say more.

Fu Juxing cleaned him up, then pulled up a chair and sat.

…

Lin Wanbai waited in the car, hungry; Aunt Rong went to find her something clean and tasty outside the hospital.

Bored, she watched the street. A car pulled up nearby; three people got out—two men, one woman. From a distance, Lin Wanbai couldn’t see clearly. They took umbrellas and hurried toward the hospital, walking fast, umbrellas held low.

As they passed, one man lifted his umbrella and glanced her way.

Just one look, then he hid his face.

But Lin Wanbai recognized him—it was Fu Rong.

Fu Juxing’s cousin—when he looked at her car, he seemed to recognize it, his expression briefly terrified; though he reacted quickly, she caught that look.

The three hurried on.

Lin Wanbai immediately got out, calling, “Fu Rong!”

She was about to chase them, but the driver quickly blocked her with the car door, anxiously holding out an umbrella. “Madam, what are you doing? Please get back in the car—it’s raining, and if anything happens, how can I answer for it?”

Just then, Aunt Rong approached, crossing paths with the trio. She didn’t pause, but urged, “Xiao Bai, why are you out? The rain’s heavy—get back in.”

“Aunt Rong, were those three Fu Rong?” Lin Wanbai asked.

“Huh? The young master? No.” Aunt Rong looked puzzled. “You must have mistaken—rain’s heavy, hard to see clearly.”

“Not him?” She pointed at the departing trio. “Those ones.”

“No, if it were him, I’d know.”

Lin Wanbai hesitated. Aunt Rong ushered her into the car. “Look at you—pants are wet. Let’s go home. With all that’s happened, the young master won’t come out soon; he’ll be busy with the old master.”

Aunt Rong was right, but Lin Wanbai wanted to wait.

After eating, she suddenly had an idea. “Aunt Rong, let’s go inside. I haven’t seen Grandpa in ages—I want to see him.”

“Xiao Bai, if you do, the young master will be angry. It’s cold and rainy—you’re damp. Hospitals are full of germs; pregnant women have low immunity. If you catch cold, he’ll blame me.”

Aunt Rong looked troubled, sighing. “I know you’re worried about him—what happened is shocking, but after all these years, I believe he can handle it.”

“I know he can.” Lin Wanbai was silent, forced a smile. “Fine, let’s go home—don’t make him worry.”

Fu Juxing could endure anything; he’d swallowed good and bad, or he wouldn’t have survived.

Precisely because of this, she wanted to stay by his side, to warm him. He wasn’t alone—he had her. From now on, whatever storms came, she would walk with him.

The car started, slowly leaving the hospital.

Lin Wanbai glanced back; she still wanted to go.

“Stop the car!”

The driver slammed the brakes.

Both lurched forward; Lin Wanbai, without a seatbelt, almost flew out. The abrupt stop caused the car behind to rear-end them.

Aunt Rong paled in shock. “What are you doing?”

Lin Wanbai patted her hand. “Don’t scold him yet—check the situation first.”

The driver hurried out; Aunt Rong watched anxiously.

Lin Wanbai seized the moment, quickly opening the door and getting out.

She strode rapidly toward the hospital.

There were many cars at the entrance; she wove through pedestrians and vehicles.

Aunt Rong was terrified by her actions, grabbing an umbrella and rushing after her.