“A bunch of useless men!”
The doctors and professors stood in the office like scolded children, heads bowed, not daring to answer. Not a single one raised his eyes.
“Your awards were all for nothing, then? You can’t even fix a little problem like this and you still call yourselves leaders?” Bo Yanhai barked, cheeks flushed, nostrils flaring.
“Old Master, Young Master Bo’s headaches aren’t something you cure in a day,” one of the physicians protested in a thin voice. “It’s not the sort of thing ordinary medicine can touch.”
“It’s a problem of the heart.”
“And the heart needs the right medicine.”
Their evasive phrases only made Bo Yanhai hotter. “So that’s your excuse? No other reason—you just pin everything on that?” He knew, in part, what plagued Bo Jingyu: occasional pills, infrequent treatments. He had never paid much attention to the specifics. He had never imagined the condition could be this bad.
“Prepare his discharge papers. There’s no reason he has to stay in the hospital.”
“But, Old Master—Young Master Bo is very unstable right now. If he spikes a fever on the way home and we miss the best window for treatment—” a doctor urged.
“Our equipment here is the most advanced. It might be safer for him to stay until he stabilizes,” another added, clearly trying to save face.
Bo Yanhai snorted. “You can find excuses in two seconds, but can’t be bothered to give me a proper treatment plan. Give me something decent to read and I’ll decide if he stays.”
They whispered among themselves and, after a few minutes, arrived at a plan they could all agree on.
“Old Master, we think surgery is the most appropriate treatment for Young Master Bo.”
“No.” The word cut through the room.
A young man burst into the office without ceremony. He’d been searching everywhere, only stopping when he received a message from Ruochi. Hearing the conversation through the door, he couldn’t hold back. He strode in, breathless.
“Old Master—please, you mustn’t agree to this!” he cried.
Bo Yanhai looked him over with thin contempt. “I remember you. You’re one of that rogue grandson’s lackeys. What right do you have to speak to me?”
“This isn’t the kind of thing that needs surgery! I’ve been at Second Master’s side for years—I know how serious it is.” Qian Li’s voice was steady, defiant.
Bo Yanhai sneered. “A dog who thinks he can understand his master.” He leaned in, mocking. “Was he the one who sent you to find that ugly girl? Did you find her?”
“…No, Old Master,” Qian Li answered. The air left him, just a little.
“Can’t even find someone to do a simple job—what a pathetic specimen,” Bo Yanhai said, turning the humiliation into scorn. “If that rebellious grandson of mine hasn’t trained you properly, that’s on him.”
“But not knowing your place is your fault,” Bo Yanhai added as he flicked the small knife at his belt to the floor. His eyes went cold. “You know what happens to those who talk too much.”
The doctors swallowed hard. Under the light, the blade flashed silver.
Qian Li felt the danger, but he didn’t flinch. The Second Master had taught him to trust his gut when things were uncertain, and his gut told him to stand firm.
“If you promise not to operate on the Second Master, I’ll do whatever you ask,” he said simply.
Bo Yanhai straightened, hands clasped behind his back, his presence filling the room like a dark cloud. “Fine. I’ll agree.”
To him, taming Bo Jingyu—the family’s runaway stallion—meant first cutting off his reins and then putting him securely under control. Removing a few troublesome branches was nothing. When Bo Jingyu woke, he would understand the careful logic of it.
A crash from the hallway interrupted him.
Ruochi pushed into the room, supporting Bo Jingyu under one arm. The young man’s eyes fluttered open, still drowsy.
“My man,” Ruochi said quietly, placing him down, “you don’t get to lay a hand on him.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Bo Yanhai’s face before he replaced it with disdain. “If he’s awake, take him back to the mansion. Don’t make a scene here.” He brushed past them and strode out, face set.
Ruochi turned to Qian Li in a whisper. “What are you waiting for? This is his out. Go start the car—I’ll help him down in a moment.”
In the back seat, Bo Jingyu’s head swam. The world felt soft-edged and distant.
“Any news of Shen Ximan?” he asked.
“No,” Qian Li answered. His tone had nothing to cling to. It was as if she had simply vanished—apart from the hastily circulated footage of her running out of the hospital, there was no trace.
Bo Jingyu let the silence sit between them. “Not finding her may be better.” He spoke without much expression. In the video, the woman who followed Shen Ximan out was probably the same assistant who had helped recover Anruo last time. If Shen Ximan had such capable protection, he could take some comfort from that. It meant not only freeing herself from his grandfather’s control and from Bo Siming’s interference, but also limiting her contact with him. All upside, no downside.
Back at the mansion, the house physician brought a few doses of decoction and watched Bo Jingyu swallow them before he allowed himself to leave. The formula, it turned out, was the same one Shen Ximan had prescribed in Huazhi Village. The family doctor had simply followed the instructions; nothing magical happened—just the right herbs in the right order.
Somewhere along the way, that woman had taken up far more space in Bo Jingyu’s life than he would have expected. She kept returning in his thoughts, persistent as a tide.
Bo Siming knocked and came in, rubbing at his neck, the marks of a kiss still visible.
“Grandfather.” He tried on a casual grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Where have you been running off to?” Bo Yanhai’s face was already sour.
“To see Shen Ximan.” Bo Siming tugged at his collar and bared the bruised skin on his neck. “You see? That girl must’ve—”
“You let her mark you? Ridiculous. I’ve raised two grandsons and neither of you are any good,” Bo Yanhai snapped.
Bo Siming’s composure slipped; he tried to bluff his pride. “Grandfather, you praised my work on the Huazhi Village project, didn’t you? I did well there.”
“And you think a little success makes you exceptional?” Bo Yanhai’s tone suggested he had already forgiven that particular offense—this one, he would not.
Across the room, Bo Jingyu lay pale on the bed. No one bothered to ask after him.
Bo Siming sneered at his brother. “Looks like my brother’s condition isn’t great. Let him rest a few more days.”
“Mm. That’s what I had in mind,” Bo Yanhai said.
“But the company can’t be left without a helmsman for long—” Bo Siming began, eager to steer the conversation back to himself.
A smile touched Bo Jingyu’s mouth, faint but deliberate. “Grandfather, I have something amusing to tell you.”
Bo Siming’s face tightened. He could guess the direction of the remark and, a little sheepishly, tried to usher people out. “We’ll leave you to rest. You’ve been up all night—go have a proper sleep.”
“You and the Zhangs—Zhang Ronglian and Zhang Shengze—you know them well,” Bo Jingyu said, his voice even. “They’ve been mining recklessly in Huazhi Village, acting on someone’s orders, and they never bothered to report it to me.”
“Silence—don’t make baseless accusations!” Bo Siming barked.
Bo Jingyu watched him as if the small fury mattered no more than ripples on a pond. “I only made an offhand comment,” he said. “Why are you getting so worked up?”