Chapter 3 — Protecting Mom, Once Again

Late that evening, the two pseudo-medical personnel were hauled away for official questioning. Deep within the encrypted memory of their personal communication devices, investigators unearthed a chilling digital trail, including a thread with a contact simply designated as Chief Executive Tan.

The messages read like a quiet death sentence. The patient has not yet been properly sedated, but the relatives are already causing a commotion. Tonight, she must be transferred to Ward B by any means necessary; otherwise, Operating Room Number Four cannot be held any longer. Chief Executive Lu assured me that he would personally handle the troublesome daughter.

Chief Executive Tan was well-known as one of the most ruthless underground organ brokers operating in the shadows of the Third Municipal Hospital. Prompted by these revelations, the municipal health commission immediately expanded the scope of their investigation long into the night. Digital forensics experts managed to recover data that had been systematically purged from the hospital mainframe. Operating Room Number Four had already been prepared with sterile surgical instruments for an emergency heart transplant since five o'clock that afternoon. Even the pre-anesthesia evaluation for the recipient, Ye Man Ning, had been fully signed and authorized. Only the specific designation in the donor organ source field remained agonizingly blank. It required no imagination to know whose name was intended to fill that space.

My mother sat upright on the hospital bed, her complexion drained to a deathly pallor. She watched the retreating silhouette of Lu Huai Qian as he was escorted away by investigators, and suddenly turned to me, her voice trembling.

Van Ninh, did he truly wish for my death?

I reached out and enveloped her ice-cold hand within my own palms. In that agonizing fraction of a second, an overwhelming urge washed over me to shield her with a comforting falsehood. But I could not bring myself to do it.

Mother, he has already made his move.

The following day, the Third Municipal Hospital was placed under temporary state receivership pending a full-scale judicial inquiry. The VIP pavilion was entirely cordoned off from the outside world. Department Chief Chu Song Nian was suspended from his duties to assist with the ongoing interrogation. Meanwhile, Lu Huai Qian stubbornly maintained his posture of absolute innocence, claiming total ignorance of the conspiracy. Yet, objective evidence is devoid of theatrical performance.

By morning, Xu Zhi Xing arrived armed with an emergency judicial support order, formally notifying the hospital administration that Xu Zhi was now fully lucid and officially revoking all proxy medical decision-making authority previously granted to Lu Huai Qian. My mother personally signed the legal document. Her handwriting remained remarkably steady. Upon completion, she lifted her gaze to meet mine.

Van Ninh, from this day forward, my body belongs solely to me.

A sharp, burning sensation pierced the bridge of my nose, threatening to unleash tears. In our previous existence, she had never even been granted the bittersweet opportunity to speak those words.

By afternoon, the investigative task force unearthed a labyrinth of further incriminating discoveries. Three weeks prior, Lu Huai Qian had escorted my mother to undergo a comprehensive, high-tier medical examination, sweetly framing it as an anniversary gesture. Beneath the guise of routine preventative care—which included standard echocardiograms, coronary artery assessments, blood typing, and infection screenings—the package insidiously incorporated complex compatibility markers matching potential organ donors with recipients. As my mother’s eyes scanned the recovered medical reports, her fingertips curled inward, slowly tightening into rigid claws until her knuckles turned translucent.

He told me I had been overworking myself lately, she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, and that he wanted me to have a complete evaluation for my own peace of mind.

I remained silent. A dense, frozen weight settled heavily in the pit of my stomach.

Han Jing subsequently presented us with a detailed ledger of financial transactions. A shell company registered under Lu Huai Qian had transferred a staggering sum of two million to an overseas consulting firm. On that exact same date, the personal bank account of Chu Song Nian’s wife received an influx of eight hundred thousand, neatly categorized under academic exchange fees. Simultaneously, the younger brother of a hospital vice president received a similarly unexplainable windfall.

This was no impulsive transgression born of a momentary lapse in judgment. It was a calculated murder, meticulously itemized and publicly traded on a hidden market. More terrifying still was the realization that my mother was far from an isolated victim. Over the preceding two years, six ordinary patients had suffered unexplained, accidental deaths at the Third Municipal Hospital following routine procedures carrying minimal inherent risk. On the precise days of their demises, various VIP patients within the facility miraculously completed complex organ transplantations or underwent urgent pre-implantation staging procedures. Among them, the grieving relatives of three deceased individuals had signed organ donation consent forms bearing identical handwriting anomalies and questionable signatures.

As I stared at the grim summaries of those past deaths, an icy shiver crawled down my spine. The conspirators had never targeted my mother as a singular anomaly. They treated ordinary, unsuspecting patients as a harvested reserve, plundering human lives at their convenience.

That evening, Ye Man Ning published a lengthy, emotionally charged public statement across her social media channels. If my continuation of life inflicts such profound suffering upon others, then I would rather forfeit it altogether. I beg of you, do not harm anyone else on my account.

Attached to the post were photographs displaying her porcelain-white wrists connected to the steady, rhythmic blips of a cardiac bedside monitor. The comment section rapidly flooded with an overwhelming tide of public sympathy and righteous indignation.

She is a patient fighting for her life as well. Are certain family members simply being overly paranoid and dramatic? Organ transplantation is an inherently intricate medical procedure; stop twisting everything into some grand conspiracy theory. If this daughter continues to make such a chaotic scene, what happens if her own mother's appendicitis actually ruptures while they waste time?

I stared down at the glowing screen of my phone, utterly incapable of mustering even a bitter smile. The previous life had unfolded in the exact same manner. The entire world wept profusely for Ye Man Ning, the fortunate survivor, while not a single soul bothered to inquire whether my mother had ever consented to being sacrificed.

I offered no public rebuttal. Instead, I systematically screenshotted every comment, share, and malicious account actively manipulating public sentiment, forwarding the compilation directly to Xu Zhi Xing.

His reply arrived swiftly, concise and resolute.

Keep every single record. We will use them to prosecute defamation and deliberate obstruction of justice.

Half an hour later, Fang Nian furtively messaged me a captured screenshot of a private exchange between Ye Man Ning and Lu Huai Qian.

Ye Man Ning’s message read: How did her daughter suddenly become so guarded and suspicious?

Lu Huai Qian’s chilling response followed: