Hua Jing was wheeled into Yellow Garden like a sleeping queen.

The gates had long since closed behind them, sealing the outside world away.

Inside, the estate was vast—staggering in its quiet majesty.

Polished marble floors stretched endlessly across a foyer large enough to host an entire gala. The chandeliers, imported crystal, glittered like stars in daylight. Golden-trimmed columns supported archways carved with roses. And from beyond the hallway, the scent of fresh jasmine and honeysuckle drifted in softly.

The garden inside the walls of the estate was... alive.

Petals in every color bloomed like brushstrokes across the earth. Trees swayed gently above, filtered sunlight scattering over stone paths. There was a stillness here—a careful curation of beauty. No dust. No cobwebs. Nothing out of place.

Fu Jing Rong had been in a coma for a year...

Yet this place was still pristine.

Still perfect.

Still his.

It was clear someone had cared for it the way one cared for sacred things. The air itself smelled of citrus and lavender, like time had not dared move forward until he returned.

The door swung open before they reached it.

And there, standing tall in crisp black uniform, was a man—his silver-streaked hair combed back, his gloves spotless.

The head butler.

"Master Fu..." he breathed, stunned.

His name was Jiang Tao.

Loyal. Sharp-eyed. Efficient to the bone.

But right now, he looked like he had seen a ghost.

Fu Jing Rong didn’t waste time. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

"Lead them to the medical wing," he said coolly.

Jiang Tao blinked. Then bowed low.

"Yes, sir. At once."

The nurses, still wheeling Hua Jing gently through the entrance, exchanged startled glances.

A medical wing?

In a private estate?

But there was no time for shock.

They followed Jiang Tao down a hall lit with antique lanterns and lined with quiet, framed oil paintings. The scent of antiseptic gradually replaced the perfume of flowers. Then... a sliding panel opened.

And there it was.

A private hospital.

Compact. Immaculate. Equipped with state-of-the-art machines. Monitors. Oxygen tanks. Automated beds.

Everything gleamed under clean, white light.

"This way," Jiang Tao gestured, pulling back clean linen sheets from the nearest bed.

Hua Jing was gently lifted and transferred. Blankets were adjusted. Her heart monitor beeped softly in the background.

Dr. Liang rolled up his sleeves and checked her vitals again. Blood pressure—steady. Heart rate—normal. But still no signs of waking.

"She’s stable," he murmured. "But unconscious."

Fu Jing Rong didn’t move.

He stood near the edge of the bed, gaze fixed on her like he could will her back just by standing guard.

Someone brought in warm water.

Another nurse adjusted her IV.

The room filled with quiet beeps, hushed words, soft footsteps.

...

The private hospital room inside Yellow Garden was calm—too calm.

Machines hummed gently beside the bed where Hua Jing lay. Her body was cleaned, dressed, and carefully hooked to state-of-the-art monitors. Everything was being tracked—her heartbeat, her oxygen levels, her pulse. She looked like she was simply resting, her beauty untouched by the war her body had been through.

Dr. Liang stood at the foot of the bed, hands folded behind his back as the nurses finished the final checks.

"That’s good. Secure the IV. Lower the dosage of the sedatives—no need to prolong this unconscious state."

The nurses obeyed silently.

Their movements were quick, practiced.

When they were done, they bowed lightly to both men and exited quietly, leaving the large suite-like room in silence.

Now it was just Fu Jing Rong and Dr. Liang.

The moment the door clicked shut, Dr. Liang turned to him.

"We need to talk."

Fu Jing Rong, who hadn’t moved a step from Hua Jing’s bedside, finally looked at him.

Dr. Liang walked over to the far end of the room and gestured for Fu Jing Rong to follow.

Reluctantly, he did.

"She’s stable," the doctor began in a low tone. "But only just. She’s severely underweight, her body is still responding to a prolonged coma. And I believe she was neglected for a period of time."

Fu Jing Rong’s jaw tensed.

"She’s been moved recklessly. Her system is weak. If you hadn’t found her when you did..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Fu Jing Rong closed his eyes for a second.

It took every ounce of control not to scream.

Dr. Liang continued.

"She’ll need daily care. Nutrition. Physical therapy when she wakes. Her immune system is vulnerable—keep this space as clean and quiet as possible."

Fu Jing Rong nodded tightly.

"I’ll have people brought in."

"Not too many," Dr. Liang warned. "One, two max. The fewer people around her, the less chance of exposure or stress. And no noise. No stress. No sudden movements."

"She’ll get everything," Fu Jing Rong said, his voice low and tight.

Dr. Liang nodded, satisfied—for now.

Then his eyes narrowed.

"Now it’s your turn."

Fu Jing Rong arched a brow.

"You’ve been running on fumes since you woke up," Dr. Liang said. "You think I didn’t notice? Sit. Down."

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Dr. Liang grabbed his bag and began pulling out instruments.

"I’m not letting you collapse right after saving her," he muttered. "You’re no good to her unconscious again."

Fu Jing Rong didn’t answer.

His eyes hadn’t left Hua Jing.

Dr. Liang sighed, "You’re sweating. Your pulse is fast. I can see it from here."

Fu Jing Rong still didn’t look away.

"The irregularity might be minor. Anxiety. Adrenaline. But we can’t rule out anything. You were in a coma for a year. That’s not something the body forgets overnight."

Only then did Fu Jing Rong’s lips part.

"I’m fine."

"You’re not," Dr. Liang countered quickly. "Sit down. Just for a moment."

Fu Jing Rong blinked—then reluctantly moved toward the adjacent recliner. He sat down stiffly, never letting his gaze stray too far from Hua Jing’s form.

Dr. Liang pulled out his stethoscope and pressed it gently to Fu Jing Rong’s chest.

He listened carefully.

The steady thump of the heart came through—louder than expected.

Then came a skip.

Another beat, irregular again.

Dr. Liang’s brow furrowed.

"Your heart rhythm is erratic," he said quietly. "Nothing critical yet, but you’re overworking your system. The stress, the movements... after a year in a coma, this isn’t something you recover from in two days!"