Chapter 63 The Driver

Chapter 63: The Driver

The office door was suddenly pushed open, and several bodyguards in black suits, expressionless, strode in quickly.

Ignoring the director's shocked shouts, they began methodically, almost violently, ransacking every possible hiding spot for documents.

"What are you doing?! Stop! This is illegal! Breaking into a medical facility, destroying property, violating patient privacy! I'm calling the police! I'll have every one of you arrested!"

Frantic and furious, the director tried to stop them but was easily subdued by a bodyguard, pinned against the wall, unable to move.

All he could do was shout helplessly, his face red with anger and fear.

Shen Qingci slowly raised his eyes, his gaze finally settling on the director's disheveled face.

His expression was calm, as if the angry, twisted man before him were no different from a stone on the roadside or a stain on the wall.

"Call the police?"

Shen Qingci's cold, clear eyes locked onto the director's suddenly constricted pupils as he spoke slowly and deliberately:

"Need me to help you with that?"

The angry flush on the director's face drained away like the tide, leaving a deathly pallor.

He looked into Shen Qingci's eyes—those eerily calm eyes of his—and a crushing fear gripped him.

This man... knows!

He must know something!

Knows about his shady deals, the dirty deeds he'd done using his position, the filth and sin buried under his title of director.

Cold sweat instantly soaked the back of the director's white lab coat.

His lips trembled, his earlier toughness and anger gone without a trace, replaced by terror and panic.

"What... what do you want from me?" he stammered, trying to struggle. "I... I can give you Lu Lin's files! All of them! I'll give you everything! Just let me go, okay? I swear I'll keep my mouth shut!"

Shen Qingci's brow furrowed, almost imperceptibly, as if annoyed by the director's blathering and bargaining.

Without another word, he turned around, leaning on his walking stick, and walked slowly out of the decay-reeking office.

At the door, he paused to give a brief order to the bodyguard inside:

"Ten minutes."

"Make him spill everything he's got."

The lead bodyguard nodded respectfully, "Yes, Mr. Shen."

Shen Qingci got back in the car and closed his eyes to rest.

The second hand on his watch ticked away steadily.

Ten minutes, exactly to the second.

In the distance, sirens wailed, drawing closer.

Five police cars pulled up quickly and stopped at the entrance of the mental hospital.

The lead officer strode quickly to Shen Qingci's car, his expression serious, and saluted as the window lowered.

"Thank you, Mr. Shen, for the key leads and evidence. The police will handle this by the book and strictly protect the whistleblower's privacy. We won't disclose any of your information to outsiders."

Shen Qingci just nodded slightly, replying with a faint "Mm," without any further pleasantries.

Soon, several police officers dragged the director out, his face ashen, legs weak, barely able to stand.

He babbled incoherently, "It wasn't me... I was wrong... I don't know anything... Please let me go..."

A bodyguard handed a sealed file through the car window with both hands.

Shen Qingci took it, weighed it in his hands, and said, "Good work."

The car slowly pulled away, driving off from that unpleasant place.

Silence returned to the car.

Shen Qingci opened the file and began flipping through the documents inside.

The paper was old, carrying a mix of mustiness and disinfectant.

He read carefully, word by word, from the admission assessment to the daily behavior observation records, medication lists, and the so-called treatment process.

His expression grew heavier with each page, his eyes growing colder.

What Lu Lin had endured here was far more brutal and cruel than he'd imagined.

The so-called treatments often skirted the edges of legality and humanity, clearly carrying the intent of punishment and subjugation.

Shen Qingci continued flipping until he reached a page that had been torn out.

He raised his hand, pinched the remaining stub of the torn page, and examined the texture and direction of the tear against the light from the window.

After a moment, he lowered his hand.

He didn't continue flipping but slowly raised his head, his gaze calm as he looked at the driver in the front seat.

Then, his clear, cold voice broke the silence of the cabin, without a trace of emotion, yet making the temperature inside seem to drop to freezing:

"Stop the car."

The car came to a steady halt on the quiet street. After the engine noise faded, the cabin fell into a near-stagnant silence.

Shen Qingci didn't get out. He sat in the back seat, slightly lifting his eyes, his indifferent gaze fixed on the driver in front.

That look carried no emotion, yet it felt like a tangible weight, pressing heavily on the driver's heart.

His long fingers rested on the top of the black agarwood cane, tapping lightly from time to time, producing a faint "tap, tap" sound.

This sound was amplified in the overly quiet cabin, each tap striking the driver's taut nerves.

Time ticked by.

The driver's palms on the steering wheel were sweaty, and fine beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead, slowly trickling down his temples.

He didn't even dare to wipe them away, his back stiff and straight, his breathing unconsciously shallow.

The air in the cabin seemed to have been sucked dry, suffocatingly oppressive.

Shen Qingci acted like he didn’t notice the suffocating atmosphere. After a long silence, he lowered his eyelids.

He turned his attention back to the medical records on his lap and continued flipping through them, as if the silent confrontation moments ago had been nothing but the driver’s imagination.

The driver quietly let out a sigh of relief, his tense back relaxing slightly.

But just as his breath was halfway out—

Shen Qingci’s cold, emotionless voice rang out without warning, shattering the false calm. "Lu Lin, how much is he paying you?"

The driver’s entire body stiffened, his muscles instantly tensing again.

His fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently, and his voice came out dry and strained from nerves.

"Mr. Shen... what... what do you mean? I don’t quite understand..."

Shen Qingci turned a page, his eyes still fixed on the paper, as if merely making casual conversation. His tone was flat, without a trace of emotion. "Mm."

He paused, then helpfully added,

"Then let me put it more plainly."

He slowly lifted his head, his gaze cutting through the dim light inside the car, landing precisely on the back of the driver’s trembling neck. His voice came out, each word deliberate.

"From now on, keep driving for me. Report to Lu Lin whatever he asked you to report."

"But," his tone shifted, still calm but carrying an unyielding finality, "if there’s something I don’t want Lu Lin to know, you don’t have to—and you can’t—report it to him."

The driver’s heart sank, cold and heavy in his chest.

Almost by reflex, without a second thought, he blurted out a denial, his voice tinged with panic and feigned composure: "Mr. Shen! I really don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m just a driver. Mr. Lu told me to take good care of you, I... I..."

"It doesn’t matter whether you understand or not." Shen Qingci cut off his incoherent excuses, his voice even taking on a faint, almost pitying tone. "Because you have no choice."

Without giving the driver any time to prevaricate or think, he dropped the final, crushing blow. His gaze was sharp as a blade, as if it could pierce through the seat and all pretense.

"Now, hand over the page you tore out."