Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

After listening, Zhao Shanhe lowered his head and flicked off his cigarette ash, but did not take credit for it.

"Old Jin has helped me a lot, so I can't just stand by and watch when something like this happens."

Zhou Changhe looked at him and slowly nodded.

I will remember your kindness.

"Then I'll remember that. You can treat me to drinks another day."

Zhao Shanhe chuckled, raised the hand holding his cigarette, and pointed towards the stairwell:

"But we definitely won't be able to have a drink today. I don't know how Old Jin is doing; I have to go check on him."

Zhou Changhe didn't stop him, and nodded in agreement: "It's good to go and take a look. If you encounter any problems at the hospital or need a car, just mention my name."

At this point, Zhou Changhe paused, his tone softening, and he lowered his voice to instruct:

"If Old Jin wakes up and can speak, could you also help me find out what he's up to? Ask him what he plans to do with his damned son."

Zhou Changhe exhaled a thick cloud of smoke: "Although that bastard tried to kill his own father with a scraper today, he is still Jin Wanfu's biological son. We at the Municipal Bureau need to know how to classify this case. If he is determined to handle it according to the rules, I will just make sure the case is closed and sentence him to death; if he is soft-hearted and wants to protect his only son, we need to think of a way in advance, so that we don't embarrass ourselves at the Municipal Party Committee."

"Okay, I understand."

Zhao Shanhe nodded, threw the half-smoked cigarette on the ground, and crushed it out heavily with the sole of his shoe.

"Then I'll go first."

After saying that, he put his car keys away, turned around, and strode downstairs.

The sun was blazing in the courtyard of the guesthouse, and large patches of bright sunlight slanted down, making the old sycamore leaves on the ground wilt.

Before long, the roar of the Volga's engine filled the courtyard, the front of the car kicking up a cloud of hot dust, and it sped off toward the First Municipal Hospital.

……

Emergency Surgery Ward, First Municipal Hospital.

A chilly draft swept through the hospital corridor, and the strong smell of Lysol filled the nostrils.

When Zhao Shanhe pushed open the ward door, a police officer from the municipal bureau who was guarding the bed was leaning back in a chair, lost in thought.

Hearing the noise, the young police officer was startled awake. He was about to press the baton at his waist when he saw Zhao Shanhe covered in blood, and his tense shoulders relaxed.

"Comrade Zhao, did Director Zhou send you here?"

"Hmm, what did the doctor say?" Zhao Shanhe asked in a low voice.

"He has a big gash on the back of his head, requiring eleven stitches, and he has a slight concussion. But the doctor said it's not a life-threatening injury." The officer pointed to the hospital bed. "He just had a tetanus shot, and the anesthesia hasn't completely worn off yet; he's still groggy."

Zhao Shanhe nodded and patted the officer on the shoulder: "Go outside and have a smoke to get some fresh air. I'll keep an eye on things here."

After the police officers left, the ward became completely quiet.

Zhao Shanhe pulled up a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed.

On his sickbed, Jin Wanfu was no longer the impeccably dressed, powerful Hong Kong businessman he once was.

Most of his head was wrapped in thick gauze, with faint red blood vessels seeping from the outer layer. His face was ashen, making him look as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

The single eye was tightly closed, and although his breathing was heavy, it was at least steady.

The ward was quiet. After an unknown amount of time, Jin Wanfu's brows suddenly furrowed in pain. He struggled to open his one eye a crack, his cloudy gaze flickering across the ceiling before slowly settling on the figure beside the bed.

"Mountains and rivers..."

"woke up?"

Zhao Shanhe moved his chair forward a little.

Jin Wanfu seemed to want to lift his head, but as soon as the back of his head left the pillow, he gasped in pain.

Zhao Shanhe reached out and pressed down on his shoulder, gently pushing him back onto the pillow: "The doctor just finished stitching you up and wants you to lie still. The back of your head is badly injured, so don't move around too much."

Jin Wanfu closed his eyes, a series of labored breaths coming from his throat, like a broken bellows. After a long while, he managed to squeeze out a few words through his clenched back teeth:

"Then...what about that beast?"

"His left arm is broken, and his right shinbone is also badly injured. He won't die; he's being treated by the police over there."

Zhao Shanhe spoke steadily, his gaze fixed on the man's deathly pale face. "Director Zhou personally led the team to seal off the scene. He asked me to ask you something: how do you plan to handle this matter?"

Jin Wanfu's body jolted violently, and a complex light flashed in his single eye, containing resentment and despair, which finally turned into a stagnant, ashen gray.

The ward was so quiet that the only sound was the soft dripping of the IV drip.

After a long while, Jin Wanfu finally let out a long sigh:

"Let's just do what we have to do."

Seeing Jin Wanfu's appearance, Zhao Shanhe didn't know what to say for a moment.

This is ultimately a matter between father and son. No matter how close he is to Lao Jin, he can't make this decision for him. He can only offer some words of comfort.

"Old Jin, don't think about anything else for now."

Zhao Shanhe leaned forward and tucked the corner of the blanket that had been pulled open for him. "As long as you're alive, the sky won't fall. Get well first."

Jin Wanfu didn't say anything more, but just nodded slowly.

He lay on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the pale ceiling with one eye, a few muffled breaths occasionally rumbling from his throat.

The ward was quiet for a while.

Just when Zhao Shanhe thought he was about to fall asleep, Jin Wanfu suddenly swallowed hard and spoke in a hoarse voice:

"Mountains and rivers..."

"Um?"

"You didn't just happen to wander into the guesthouse today, did you?" Jin Wanfu turned his head slightly. "Did you need something?"

Zhao Shanhe glanced at the blood-soaked gauze on his head, then changed the subject:

"There is something I need to ask you for help with. But there's no rush. Take a breather first, and we'll talk about it when you're feeling better."

"Just say what you need to say."

Jin Wanfu tugged at the corners of his mouth, his voice weak but his tone more steady than before.

"I can't sleep right now either. Talk to me for a bit, so I don't lie here thinking about things I don't understand."

After hearing him put it this way, Zhao Shanhe hesitated for a moment, then stopped being coy and dragged his chair half a foot closer to the hospital bed.

"Okay, then I'll just say it directly."

Zhao Shanhe leaned forward and lowered his voice:

Do you have any connections to exchange foreign currency?