Chapter 445: The Three Met

Chapter 445: The Three Meet

"If you don’t want the DNA test, forget it. I need to get to work."

Seeing how Aunt Lan kept changing her mind about the test, Fu Tinghua grew impatient.

He had already made up his mind to offer her the test, but if she was going to be this indecisive, there was no point in proceeding.

"Tinghua, don’t—don’t be angry. It’s my fault, all my fault." Aunt Lan quickly grabbed his arm, stammering in fear that he might resent her.

Fu Tinghua shook off her hand and frowned. "Without scientific proof, our relationship won’t be recognized."

With that, he turned to leave for the hospital.

But after only a few steps, he paused, clenched his fists, and eventually turned back.

"Su He is at home. Go see her. It’s cold—don’t linger outside," he added, returning to her.

"Oh, okay!" Aunt Lan looked at him in pleasant surprise, touched by his sudden kindness.

Seeing her agreement, Fu Tinghua made to leave but couldn’t.

Too much had happened recently, and Wen City wasn’t safe these days. He couldn’t bear to leave Aunt Lan alone.

"Come on, I’ll walk you there." He still had time before work anyway.

"Tinghua, don’t you have to go to work? I can find Su He myself. Are the kids okay? Were they frightened?" Aunt Lan asked hurriedly.

"They’re fine. Let’s go. This neighborhood’s been rough lately—I’ll walk you over."

Fu Tinghua walked ahead, and Aunt Lan had no choice but to follow.

As she trailed behind his tall, slender figure, her eyes welled up.

She really ought to thank the family that had raised Fu Tinghua—they had raised him right.

Even if her child hadn’t been snatched back then, she might not have been able to protect him if he’d stayed with her.

They walked without speaking and soon arrived at the house.

But to their surprise, Fu Dajun was already pacing on the doorstep, hesitating as if unsure whether to knock.

"Dad."

Fu Tinghua’s puzzled call made Fu Dajun jump.

For a moment, Fu Dajun thought he’d imagined it, but when he saw Fu Tinghua—and that woman—approaching together, his face fell.

"Dad, why aren’t you going in?" Fu Tinghua frowned as he reached him.

"I—I was just about to knock." Fu Dajun wouldn’t meet their eyes, refusing to look at either Fu Tinghua or Aunt Lan.

"Come inside, Dad. It’s cold out." Fu Tinghua pretended not to notice his father’s discomfort and ushered him inside.

Seeing this, Aunt Lan also stepped forward to follow.

But just as she was about to step over the threshold, Fu Dajun stopped short, unwilling to enter.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Fu Tinghua asked.

Fu Dajun sighed, then turned his gaze to Auntie Lan.

"Why are you with her?" he asked bluntly.

Auntie Lan paled at his slightly aggressive tone; her eyes darted to Fu Tinghua, pleading.

She was terrified that Fu Tinghua might ignore her because of his adoptive family.

She knew she owed this child too much and had no right to claim him, yet she still longed to be close to her own flesh and blood.

Yes, even without a DNA test, Auntie Lan was convinced that Fu Tinghua was the son she had lost many years ago.

Fu Tinghua glanced at Fu Dajun, lowered his eyes briefly, then replied, "Wencheng’s been unstable lately. Auntie Lan shouldn’t be out alone—it’s not safe for a woman."

Staring at the son he had painstakingly raised for over twenty years, now grown into a man, Fu Dajun’s weathered face could no longer suppress the surging emotions in his heart.

Blood ties were strange like that.

And at this moment, Fu Dajun deeply felt the power of this strange pull of blood.

It was like an invisible thread, tightly connecting parents and children, passing down family traits and genetic information.

Especially when Fu Tinghua had displayed extraordinary intelligence from a young age—his talents night-and-day different from those of his siblings—Wu Yanhua had been flabbergasted.

After all, their two older boys were hopeless in school, their grades mediocre at best, even downright slow.

Yet this youngest boy? Sharp as a tack, his mind astonishingly flexible.

Faced with such a stark contrast, Wu Yanhua had repeatedly asked Fu Dajun, "Why are our eldest and second sons so slow? They can’t even focus on a book. But this little one—how is he so different? Not only bright and quick, but also so handsome. Tell me..."

Whenever Wu Yanhua voiced such doubts, Fu Dajun would quickly cut her off, reassuring her, "Don’t go borrowing trouble! Course he’s ours—what else would he be?"

Yet, as time passed, folks whispered, and rumors began circulating in the village.

Some murmured that the Fu family’s youngest son was just too damn good—his intellect and looks far surpassing those of his relatives.

Others joked that perhaps the child had been found on the roadside by Fu Dajun and his wife.

When these rumors reached Wu Yanhua’s ears, she’d see red.

The moment she discovered who was spreading such talk, she would storm over and give ’em hell. Over time, people learned not to provoke her, and the talk quieted down.

Besides, as Fu Tinghua grew older and more accomplished—even attending university—who dared spread such nonsense anymore?

The whole village was green with envy of the Fu family for having such an exceptional son. For generations, the Fus had been salt-of-the-earth types—how had Fu Tinghua turned out so brilliant?

Fu Dajun knew the score. He let the idle chatter go in one ear and out the other, never let it bother him.

After all, people could say whatever they wanted.

But Wu Yanhua wasn’t as composed as her husband.

She spoiled that boy rotten—held onto him like he was made of glass, terrified he might melt in her mouth. She was excessively partial and doting.

How dare anyone say he wasn’t hers? It cut her to the bone.

After all, Fu Tinghua was the child she had carried for nine long months and brought into this world after all that pain.