Fu Jingrong stood by the bed for a long while, his tall figure casting a faint shadow across the pale man lying motionless beneath the covers.
His father's breathing was slow and shallow, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. He seemed completely oblivious to the world around him—oblivious to the dangers that had crept into his own home.
Fu Jingrong's dark eyes lowered, and a wave of emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel stirred in his chest.
How could someone as smart as you not see the snakes that have wrapped themselves around you? he thought bitterly.
How could you not have dealt with them long ago?
The sight of his father lying there like this brought back the memories of that other world—the world he had been thrown into after his death.
In that world, his father hadn't been given the chance to live this long.
In that world, Fu Lianhua herself had been the one to take his father's life.
