Luoyang, the Grand General's Residence.
Sima Fu sat beside his nephew, quietly studying him.
There was scarcely a trace of color in Sima Shi's face.
His skin was extraordinarily pale, so white it was frightening.
His breathing was unsteady too. Every breath seemed to take tremendous effort.
He seemed to be nothing but bones. Even the hands resting on the desk looked like withered branches, as though they would crumble under the slightest pressure.
At that moment, Sima Fu's feelings were particularly complicated.
Although Sima Fu did not dislike this nephew, whenever he heard that Sima Shi was gravely ill, he still felt a weight lift from his entire body.
Perhaps even Sima Zhao felt the same.
Yet at the same time, Sima Fu could not help worrying about what lay ahead.
When Sima Shi had still been healthy, Sima Fu had never worried about the future, whether it was the fate of their clan or his own safety.
But he did not feel nearly so reassured about Sima Zhao.
Sima Fu knew Sima Zhao's character all too well. He appeared more docile than Sima Shi, but that was merely the exterior he presented. A disguise was ultimately a disguise, not the truth.
He was far more irascible than his elder brother, and far more cautious too.
Sima Fu knew that once Sima Shi was gone, he himself would probably be among the first to arouse Sima Zhao's suspicion.
They might belong to the same clan, but before the imperial throne, even the bond between father and son was not so secure, let alone that of a Second Father.
"Second Father..."
Sima Fu hurriedly looked at Sima Shi.
Sima Shi asked, "Has Zheng Mao truly made no unusual moves?"
"Truly none... There was nothing wrong with the banquet either. Zheng