He had already lost his fear of death, but Jiang Xinrou's last words rekindled his resentment.
He was unwilling to accept it!
His most beloved daughter actually said these things to him; what an unfilial son!
He'll haunt them even as a ghost!
We won't let them get away with this!
But he had no chance. When the staff came in with the syringe, Jiang Minghui, who had been mentally prepared, still broke down. He shrank into the corner with fear on his face.
No...
He didn't want to die...
He didn't want to die!
Warm liquid flowed down his trouser leg, and Jiang Minghui's face was filled with fear of death.
When the needle pierced his skin, he felt as if all the nerves in his body were no longer under his control. He felt a warm, wet sensation where his buttocks touched the chair, accompanied by a strange odor.
And so, with his eyes wide open in fear, he watched his life slip away bit by bit until he finally breathed his last.
Three months later.
Jiang Ran, who had finally gotten a weekend off, was nestled on the sofa discussing company matters with Jiang Huaijing, occasionally raising questions and covering her mouth to giggle. Meanwhile, Shen Qingwan was preparing fruit for them with a gentle expression.
The two elderly people, Mr. and Mrs. Shen, with graying temples, watched Jiang Qinghe practicing dance with smiles on their faces, occasionally expressing their admiration.
No matter how you look at it, it's a harmonious and heartwarming scene.
At this moment, Jiang Huaijing's secretary rushed in from outside.
"Chairman... I heard that Jiang Xinrou committed suicide in prison."
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