MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

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.

His fingers curled slightly at the memory, a sharp pain flashing across his eyes.

But here—here his father still lived. And that alone brought a sudden rush of relief, so strong that for a moment, Fu Jingrong felt his tightly controlled emotions tremble.

He quietly stepped closer and sank down to sit at the bedside.

For the first time in years, his stern gaze softened as he looked at the older man resting before him.

Most of his looks—his sharp jawline, his striking features—he had inherited from this man. Fu Sheng had been a formidable businessman, known for his intellect and decisive nature, but he had also been a great father.

In the other world, even though Fu Sheng probably knew that Zhao Lingxu was not his biological son, he had still treated him as one of his own, providing for him and protecting him.

And here, in this world as well, Fu Jingrong knew—he knew that Fu Sheng had long realized Fu Ling was not his blood, yet he had never shown it. Instead, he had cared for him meticulously, never treating him as less than his own.

This man had a big heart, one that welcomed people in and made them feel at ease. It was this very trait that had made him a success in both business and relationships.

But that same big heart had also made him too trusting, too relaxed in the face of danger. He hadn’t seen—or hadn’t wanted to see—the venom in the smiles around him.

Fu Jingrong reached out with one hand and gently fixed the covers, tucking them in as he murmured under his breath, his voice so soft it was almost like a sigh.

"Luckily... I came back a little earlier."

The thought that he might have been late—that his father could have died in this world as he had in the other—sent a chill down his spine.

If that had happened, if his father had died here too... he would truly have had no one left.

His mother had passed away under mysterious circumstances back then. At the time, he’d had no power, no means to seek justice for her.

He had Hua Jing now. She was his anchor, his reason to keep moving forward. But still, he couldn’t let go of the thought that he wanted his father alive—he needed his father to live in this world.

With a steadying breath, Fu Jingrong pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

The line barely rang once before it connected.

The moment he heard the voice on the other end, his own tone turned sharp and commanding.

"I need your team here," he said curtly. "Right now."

Downstairs, after Fu Jingrong had ordered Fu Lianhua to be taken aside, her shrill voice pierced through the heavy silence of the hall.

"I am the one who has been taking care of him all this while!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her face twisting in anger and disbelief. "Why would he suddenly show up now... and do all of this?!"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she glared toward the staircase. She still couldn’t understand Fu Jingrong’s intentions. But one thing she knew for certain—if this matter was leaked, if Dr. Chen dared to open his mouth and say something that went against her, then she would be finished. Completely finished.

She paced back and forth restlessly, her heels clacking sharply against the polished floor. Fu Jingrong was clever—too clever—and impossibly hard to deceive. There was no way he would have barged in so decisively without evidence in his hands. That realization made her stomach twist with dread.

At the entrance to the hall, Deng Li and Wei Ling stood like immovable sentinels. Their cold expressions made it clear that no one would be leaving the house. Fu Lianhua’s protests fell on deaf ears; they didn’t even glance in her direction.

Dr. Chen, meanwhile, stood off to the side, his face ashen and his hands trembling like a leaf in the wind. The weight of his choices pressed down on him. He had supported Fu Lianhua all along, lured by her promises that once things were settled, he would become the director of the city hospital.

But now, with Fu Jingrong himself here, clearly aware that something was wrong, that dream had shattered. The man who had always prided himself on staying composed now stood in silent terror, his lips pressed tightly shut.

The tense silence was suddenly broken by the sound of the main door opening.

A tall man in his early thirties stepped inside. His presence was calm but commanding—fresh-faced yet carrying a sharp, professional aura. Behind the frameless glasses perched on his nose, his dark eyes were keen and precise. He wore a pristine white lab coat over his tailored suit, and as he entered, several nurses and two other doctors followed him in, their steps brisk and orderly.

He barely glanced at Fu Lianhua as his gaze swept across the room. The atmosphere around him was enough to draw everyone’s attention.

"Wei Ling," he said curtly.

Wei Ling immediately stepped forward, a rare note of respect in his usually even tone. "Dr. Liang. This way, please."

The man—Dr. Liang Wenhao—gave a small nod and adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable as he moved toward the stairs. Behind him, the nurses quietly prepared their equipment, already in sync with their leader’s silent authority.

As the team began to ascend, Deng Mi stepped forward and handed over the syringe that Fu Jingrong had confiscated earlier. The transparent glass tube still held a measure of the strange, faintly tinted medicine.

The moment Fu Lianhua saw that syringe being passed into the hands of a nurse, panic surged in her chest. That single piece of evidence could destroy everything.

In a split-second decision, she clutched her chest as if dizzy and staggered toward Deng Mi’s side, feigning a faint.

If she could just knock the syringe from his hand...

But Deng Mi had the instincts of a soldier. His eyes flicked toward her in the briefest of glances, and with a sharp sidestep, he shifted smoothly out of her path—passing the syringe to the nurse in the same motion.

Fu Lianhua’s heart sank as she stumbled forward, unable to regain her balance. With an undignified thud, she fell hard to the polished floor.

For a moment, the hall went silent.

The glass syringe was now securely in the nurse’s possession. Her desperate ploy had failed.

Fu Lianhua’s face turned as pale as paper. Propping herself up awkwardly on one arm, she tried to gather her composure, but the embarrassment burned on her cheeks. Her eyes darted toward the people around her, searching for even a flicker of sympathy.

None came. Not one of the nurses or guards so much as moved to help her up.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to sit upright, her nails biting into her palms as she tried to hold on to what remained of her pride.

By then, Dr. Liang Wenhao had already reached the stairs. With a subtle gesture of his hand, he signaled the rest of his team to follow. The group moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing against the polished wood as they made their way up.

One by one, the figures disappeared from the hall, leaving Fu Lianhua and Dr. Chen behind.

She sat there on the floor for a long moment, her mind racing with dread and fury, as the sound of footsteps faded upstairs.

Fu Lianhua could not afford to waste even a single moment. Her heart pounded, yet her face betrayed nothing as she shot a sharp, meaningful glare toward Dr. Chen.

The man caught her look immediately and stiffened where he stood. He knew that look far too well—he had seen it before. That warning in her eyes promised the sort of ruthless consequences only Fu Lianhua was capable of delivering.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

Years ago, it had been this very woman who had coaxed him—no, forced him—to tamper with the first Madame’s medicine. The result had been the slow, silent death of Fu Sheng’s first wife. Back then he had thought he could live with the guilt for the sake of ambition.

But Fu Lianhua’s methods had been terrifying—cold, decisive, and merciless.