Chapter 313 Intervention
Her identity was already sensitive. How could a new bride who had only been married into the Fu family for less than two months know so much about such confidential information?
While packing up her last few clothes, she secretly stuffed all the cash and food coupons in the house into the storage space.
It was a secret storage place known only to her, used to store valuables on a daily basis.
At this moment, she carefully put away every crumpled banknote and every thin, cicada-wing-like grain coupon in case of any accidents on the way.
She moved quietly, trying not to make a sound, for fear of attracting the attention of others.
"Qingqing".
Fu Lian pushed open the door and came in, carrying a military water bottle and several packs of biscuits. He looked tired but still tried to keep his spirits up. "Just something to eat on the way."
His voice was gentle, as if afraid of disturbing the silence inside the room.
The kettle was warm, still warm from her hand; the cookies were her favorite jam-filled cookies, wrapped in blue paper with a familiar brand logo.
She took it, and as her fingers touched the warm metal casing, her heart skipped a beat.
The kettle was warm, and the cookies were her favorite brand.
In this time of widespread anxiety, everyone is preoccupied with their own problems, but he alone remembers her preferences.
This thoughtfulness was almost extravagant, which brought tears to her eyes and made her almost unable to hold back her tears.
“Li An,” she paused, her voice extremely low, as if afraid of being overheard by those eavesdropping outside the wall, “guess… where is Uncle right now?”
This question may seem random, but it was actually carefully designed.
She had to guide them in the right direction by asking questions, rather than directly pointing out clues.
Fu Lian paused for a moment, his hand holding the kettle froze for half a second, his brows furrowed slightly, and he did not answer immediately.
He pondered for a moment before slowly speaking, "According to the rules, it should still be under the municipal party committee. But if Zheng Mingyuan gets involved..."
He didn't finish speaking; his lips were pressed into a thin line, and a wary glint flashed in his eyes.
But Qiao Wanyin understood.
Zheng Mingyuan is Song Heting's arch-rival. They have clashed on multiple projects and have a long-standing grudge.
This sudden attack, ostensibly under the pretext of "reviewing historical issues," is in reality nothing more than a pretext for making trouble.
And all of this was probably the result of his behind-the-scenes manipulation.
“I… heard from someone,” she said casually, deliberately relaxing her tone as if chatting about trivial matters, “that some people who are investigated are temporarily taken to a farm outside the city, supposedly for quarantine and testing.”
She spoke these words slowly, as if trying to recall a conversation she had overheard.
Fu Lian suddenly looked up, his eyes sharply fixed on her: "Who told you that?"
Qiao Wanyin's heart pounded in her chest, her eardrums vibrated, but she forced herself to remain calm. "At my last prenatal checkup, I ran into some family members chatting at the hospital, and they mentioned it to me."
She even tilted her head slightly, as if reminiscing.
This was obviously made up; she didn't encounter any family members at the hospital, and no one discussed these taboo topics.
But Fu Li'an actually believed it.
Perhaps his nervousness made him lose his usual alertness, or perhaps this sentence just happened to match one of his guesses.
He nodded slowly, his breathing becoming deep. "That makes sense. Zheng Mingyuan has always liked to keep things in reserve. He would definitely move people far away to avoid being targeted."
Qiao Wanyin secretly breathed a sigh of relief; the heavy weight on her chest had finally been lifted a little.
At least, the excuse wasn't too bad, and it at least gave them a direction to take.
If they are willing to search the outskirts of the city, they will have a chance to rescue Song Heting.
At 2 p.m., a military jeep took the Fu family of four to the train station.
The car body was painted black, the tires kicked up dust, and a canvas canopy was mounted on the roof, which gleamed with a grayish sheen in the sunlight.
No one spoke much along the way; the atmosphere was as oppressive as the calm before a storm.
The platform was packed with people, some carrying bags, some holding children, and some carrying suitcases. Cries, shouts, and announcements mingled together.
However, amidst the commotion, Qiao Wanyin always felt that a pair of eyes were coldly watching them.
She didn't dare look around, but kept her eyes lowered and her fingers tightly gripped the strap of her handbag.
Don't look back.
Fu Lian lowered his voice, holding his bag in his left hand and gently placing his right hand on his wife's waist, feeling a warm comfort in his palm, "Just go, pretend you didn't see anything."
His tone was gentle yet authoritative, like an invisible barrier protecting her.
The carriage was hot and crowded, the air was stale, and the smell of sweat, smoke, and spoiled food mingled together, making it suffocating.
Children were making noise in the corner, an old man was dozing off leaning back in his chair, and luggage was piled up so high that it was difficult to pass through the aisle.
Such an environment is unsettling.
Fu Xianxiu showed his factory ID and moved to a small private room for four people.
Although the space is small, with only a narrow bed and two folding stools facing each other, at least you can close the door and talk.
The wooden door clicked shut, briefly isolating the outside noise.
"I'll go get a kettle of hot water."
After settling his luggage, Fu Lian stood up, carrying a water bottle.
He knew that long journeys could easily lead to dehydration, especially for pregnant women who needed to replenish fluids, so he volunteered to take on this task.
Just as Qiao Wanyin was about to follow, her mother-in-law grabbed her hand with such force that she was startled.
The old lady's hands were cold and damp, her palms were sweaty, and she was trembling slightly, as if she were grasping at the last straw. "Wanyin, sit down and rest for a while, don't tire yourself out."
The mother-in-law's words sounded normal, and her tone was gentle and considerate, but the trembling of her hand betrayed her inner panic.
It wasn't that she wasn't afraid, but rather that she was stubbornly holding back her emotions.
"Mom, don't panic."
Qiao Wanyin said softly, gently patting her mother-in-law's hand in return, trying to convey a sense of reassurance, "Uncle is an upright person and won't suffer any losses."
She knew that Song Heting was of steadfast character and firm in his stance, which had never wavered even in the book.
Even when subjected to torture, he always held firm to his principles.
Actually, it was written in the book that Song Heting was honest and upright, with a strong sense of integrity.
He never embezzled or accepted bribes, nor did he ever betray the principles of the organization.
Those so-called "problems" are nothing more than accusations fabricated by political enemies.
The real danger lies not in the investigation itself, but in the power struggles and covert persecution behind it.
But because he refused to collude with Zheng Mingyuan, he was trampled into the ground like mud, with no chance of ever rising again.
These days, how many people are wronged and framed?
Everywhere you look, in the streets and alleys, in the news reports, isn't every story about someone who has been wronged and has no way to speak out?
If we don't hurry back and find out the solid evidence that can clear my uncle's name, his situation will be completely ruined, and there will be no way to salvage the situation.
Song Yazhi gave a soft, bitter smile, a hint of helplessness in her eyes: "Silly child, this world... has never been about surviving on honesty and kindness. The more upright and honest a person is, the more likely they are to be targeted, used as a target, and shot through the heart."
Fu Xianxiu stood at the doorway connecting the carriages, his back ramrod straight, his gaze sharp as he scanned the long, dark corridor inch by inch, as if he were wary of some unseen enemy.
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