Chapter 322 Ate Bad Food
She sighed and leaned back on the sofa. "So, my greatest pleasure now is waiting for you guys to come and chat with me."
Fu Maihe's heart skipped a beat.
So that's how it is—Zheng Mingyuan's recent frequent outings are not accidental, but rather a deliberate attempt to avoid his family.
The busier he is, the more it shows that he is hiding something.
She quickly recalled the details her father had mentioned: the mysterious flow of funds, the missing key meeting minutes, and her uncle's meaningful words during their last phone call: "Don't trust the Zheng family."
All the clues are now gradually piecing together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, pointing in a chilling direction.
The busier Zheng Mingyuan was, the more suspicious things seemed about his uncle.
This thought was like ice water poured over her head, instantly sobering her up.
She can't delay any longer; she must find evidence as soon as possible.
Otherwise, not only will the truth not be found out, but you may even put yourself in danger.
She clenched her fists tightly, the slight pain from her nails digging into her palms helping her to concentrate.
"Oh, right," she quickly changed the subject, "didn't you say you had a new book for me?"
She looked up at Zheng Xiaowen with feigned anticipation, her face regaining some of its innocent and carefree appearance.
"Do you remember? Last week you said you found a really interesting book, about ancient secret agents? I've been thinking about it ever since."
Zheng Xiaowen slapped her forehead: "Oh dear, how could I forget! It's upstairs in my room, come on, I'll take you there."
She suddenly stood up, grabbed Fu Maihe, and headed towards the stairs.
"The book is on my bedside table. Wait a moment, I'll take you upstairs!"
She walked briskly, completely unaware of the fleeting serious expression on her friend's face behind her.
As Fu Maihe went upstairs, her gaze was fixed on the dark wooden door on the third floor—that was Zheng Mingyuan's study.
Her gaze was fixed on the tightly closed ebony door, the doorknob gleaming, and the thick wool carpet covering the entrance completely absorbing the sound of footsteps.
A printed notice was posted on the side of the door: "No entry without permission. Unauthorized personnel are not permitted."
Those six simple words only fueled her curiosity and determination.
She knew the answer lay behind that door, just one step away.
"Xiaowen," she suddenly clutched her stomach, "I have a bit of an upset stomach, can I use the restroom?"
She frowned slightly, gripping the stair railing as if she were uncomfortable.
Her voice was slightly weak, with a hint of pleading: "I ate something cold on the way here, and I'm a little bloated now... Could I go to the restroom first?"
"Huh? Did you eat something bad?"
Upon hearing this, Zheng Xiaowen immediately became anxious, her brows furrowing sharply and her voice rising, "Are you alright? Do you want some hot water? There's a restroom at the end of the corridor, hurry up! Don't push yourself!"
"Hmm, maybe... something I ate just now didn't taste right."
She frowned slightly, her face a little pale, and nodded. Then, forcing herself to stay alert, she walked quickly toward the end of the corridor, her steps light and hurried.
The moment the door closed, all sounds inside were instantly cut off.
She immediately took out the small, silver-rimmed makeup mirror from her pocket, gripped it tightly in her hand, then squatted down, tilted the mirror at an angle to the crack in the door, and carefully peered out using the reflected light.
Sure enough, Zheng Xiaowen hesitated for a moment, then turned around and went straight back to her room, closing the door gently behind her.
She held her breath, her heart pounding like a drum, as if each beat was hitting her throat.
She gently turned the doorknob and slipped out like a cat, skimming along the wall, her toes barely touching the ground, making almost no sound.
Her eyes were fixed on the blue and white porcelain vase on the carved wooden shelf at the end of the corridor—an "old object" that her sister-in-law had mentioned casually before.
My chest heaved violently, my heart pounded as if it would burst out of my chest; my palms were already soaked with cold sweat, sticking wetly to my hands.
She moved over step by step, very slowly, as if afraid that the floor would make even the slightest sound.
Finally reaching the vase, she took a deep breath, her trembling hand slowly reaching out, her fingertips touching the cool porcelain surface, and then, little by little, carefully, she moved the vase away—
Beneath it lay a bronze key, old and mottled, resting quietly on an ebony base, gleaming with a dark luster.
"Found it!"
She screamed with ecstasy in her heart, almost wanting to jump up, but reason forced her to suppress her emotions. She just gripped the key tightly until her knuckles turned white.
Clutching the key, she rushed to the door of the study at the far end of the third floor. She stopped, but her fingers trembled uncontrollably, as if struck by an electric current.
She gritted her teeth, steadied her wrist, and slowly inserted the brass key into the lock.
When that crisp "click" rang out, it felt as if her eardrums had been struck by lightning, exploding with a deafening roar that made her scalp tingle.
The door opened slightly in front of her.
The curtains inside were drawn tightly shut, preventing even a sliver of light from getting in.
The air was stuffy and dark, filled with the sluggish scent of aged paper and sandalwood. The entire space felt as if it were weighed down by an unyielding cloud, making it suffocating.
Fu Maihe darted into the study and leaned against the door, quickly catching his breath.
She reached for the door lock with her hand and decisively locked it with a click, as if building a barrier for herself.
Without even glancing around, she rushed straight to the heavy mahogany table—her grandfather's favorite desk, with its layers upon layers of drawers, hiding countless secrets.
She reached out to pull the top drawer, but as soon as she applied force, she realized something was wrong: the drawer wouldn't budge.
"Hold!"
She muttered a curse under her breath, the sound stuck in her throat, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.
She suddenly remembered what her sister-in-law had said in a low voice last night: "The important things the old man left behind were never left in the open. He didn't trust the tin box; he preferred to hide them in old objects, the older the better."
She forced herself to calm down and turned to look at the tall glass cabinet in the corner of the room.
The cabinet is filled with all kinds of porcelain—blue and white plates, famille rose vases, and Song dynasty-style cups, all of which are antiques passed down through generations in the family.
She went over and checked them one by one.
Some picked up the bottle and twisted the cap, some gently rotated the base, some tapped it with their knuckles to listen to the sound, and some patted it to see if there was a hidden compartment.
His fingers brushed over each object, his eyes not daring to miss any subtle abnormalities.
Time seemed to stretch out countless times, each second feeling as heavy as a lead weight pressing on my heart.
The back of my clothes was already soaked with cold sweat, clinging to my skin. A drop of sweat slowly slid down my spine, bringing a tingling sensation.
Suddenly, a clear shout came from downstairs: "Maihe? Are you still inside?"
It's Zheng Xiaowen!
Her body stiffened, her heart almost stopped, and she hurriedly and gently placed the last unchecked vase back in its place, her movements as gentle as if afraid of waking a sleeping soul.
"Coming soon!"
She immediately responded loudly, her voice trembling slightly but feigning composure, while quickly scanning the entire room, her gaze sweeping over the bookshelves, carpet, and clock—finally settling on the huge landscape painting on the wall.
It was a traditional Chinese ink painting of Jiangnan, with distant mountains shrouded in mist and rain.
Strangely, the edges of the frame were noticeably thicker than usual, and the four corners were engraved with fine cloud patterns.
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