Mr. Fu woke up at 2 a.m.
Fu Yan had just gone to bed and was woken up by the old butler.
Entering the hospital room inside, the elderly man still had an oxygen mask on his face, his complexion ashen.
Clearly, the recent surgery had greatly weakened his vitality.
Just a few hours earlier, he had still been looking healthy and robust as he argued incessantly over whether his grandchildren should carry the Sheng surname or the Fu surname.
But now, he looked like a dying man, each breath he took was a struggle.
"Ah... Yan..."
He raised a hand.
Fu Yan walked over, took his hand, and sat down beside the bed, "Dad, does the wound hurt? Do you want me to call the doctor?"
Mr. Fu shook his head, his voice urgent, "Jing... Jingzhe..."
Fu Yan said, "You already know."
Indeed, Mr. Fu nodded.
