Chapter 1305: It's Hard to Be a Good Person

If Zhao Fusheng were a handsome soldier and the person answering the phone were a beautiful female doctor or nurse, this book could be renamed Descendants of the Sun. But unfortunately, Zhao Fusheng is not handsome; he's just an ordinary person, at most a bit like Louis Koo.

Moreover, that nurse wasn't a beauty either, just an average-looking girl.

So naturally, no romantic scene unfolded.

Zhao Fusheng made the call, asked for the specific location, and went upstairs with Hu Donghai and the others.

"Hello, I'm a friend of Zhang Tao," Zhao Fusheng said politely to the nurse. "May I ask how he is now?"

The nurse glanced at Zhao Fusheng and was clearly startled—after all, bringing several bodyguards in at once, this guy didn't seem like someone to mess with.

If he hadn't spoken English, indicating he was Chinese, she might have even thought he was a gangster.

That's right, professional gangs are allowed in South Korea. Although the country only has a few thousand actual gang members, they do exist. Most of these gangsters are involved in loan sharking and such, not widely known to ordinary people.

Of course, some in the entertainment industry are also involved. The most famous is Bai Mou of the Pan West faction, who later became the agent for famous Korean actor Kwon Sang-woo. This guy later apparently became the boyfriend of Song Ji-hyo from the Korean version of Running Man and the boss of the three who left Dongfang Buqi.

Well, there's definitely no transaction involved here. After all, in the eyes of many fans, their oppas are pure—how could they know about such sordid things?

MDZZ.

For brain-dead fans, Zhao Fusheng could only offer this phrase.

"He was found collapsed at our hospital entrance last night," the nurse said cautiously, glancing at Hu Donghai and the others behind Zhao Fusheng. "He was seriously injured at the time. We examined him and found bruises consistent with a beating. Since he was unconscious, we chose not to call the police."

Frowning slightly, Zhao Fusheng asked, "Why didn't you call the police?"

The nurse gave an awkward smile. "Because he's Chinese, we..."

Zhao Fusheng immediately understood. Clearly, because Zhang Tao was Chinese, the hospital wanted to avoid trouble. If he hadn't called, they might have kicked Zhang Tao out once he woke up.

"This is his wallet," the nurse said, handing Zhao Fusheng a black wallet.

Zhao Fusheng took it and glanced inside, finding his own bank card and some cash, clearly belonging to Zhang Tao.

Frowning, Zhao Fusheng's expression turned grim.

The reason was simple: if it were a robbery, Zhang Tao's wallet and phone wouldn't be so intact, and the attackers wouldn't have sent him to the hospital.

So there could only be one possibility: the attackers intended to teach Zhang Tao a lesson.

With this thought flashing through his mind, Zhao Fusheng let out a long breath. It seemed he could only wait for Zhang Tao to wake up to learn the truth.

With that in mind, Zhao Fusheng turned to the nurse: "Miss, please take me to pay the fees. Have the hospital do everything possible to save my friend. Money is no issue."

The nurse was naturally eager to hear this and immediately took him to pay.

After paying the hospitalization fees, Zhao Fusheng followed the nurse to the ward.

Since Zhang Tao's identity was unknown, the hospital had placed him in a general ward with several other patients and their accompanying family members, making it quite noisy.

Zhao Fusheng frowned and turned to the nurse: "Can you help arrange a private room?"

The nurse paused, then without a word went to find the head nurse.

In a place like South Korea, money makes you the boss. As long as you're willing to spend, you can get any kind of service. That's why conglomerates like Samsung are called emperors—they're incredibly wealthy and influential across all industries in South Korea.

Of course, this is in a capitalist country. Such a thing would be absolutely impossible in China.

In our great Celestial Empire, how could such things happen? All capitalists must be overthrown; the people are the masters. Even if the masters sometimes have a hard time, it's a tempering for the successors of socialism.

Yes, that's how it is.

Soon, several nurses came and moved Zhang Tao to a private room.

"Doctor, when will he wake up?" Zhao Fusheng asked the doctor making rounds.

Apparently aware that Zhao Fusheng had paid, the doctor, who also spoke English, smiled politely at Zhao Fusheng: "Your friend fell into a coma due to heavy blows. We examined him and found no other fatal injuries. Barring any complications, he should wake up soon."

He who pays is the boss. Since this patient was in a VIP room, the doctor naturally answered every question.

Zhao Fusheng nodded. Since there was no major issue, that was fine. He left Hu Donghai and another bodyguard to stay, then went downstairs, took a taxi, and returned to the hotel.

He had come today out of consideration for their shared Chinese identity. Staying to watch over him was something Zhao Fusheng would never do. They were casual acquaintances; he could only do so much. He wouldn't fight or die for someone else.

It wasn't a lack of compassion, but Zhao Fusheng knew well that nothing in the world is more important than his own life.

Back at the hotel, Zhao Fusheng sat in his room, chin in hand, lost in thought.

Zhang Tao's situation reeked of strangeness. If it weren't for the fact that coming to Gwangju was a spur-of-the-moment decision, Zhao Fusheng would have suspected someone was trying to cause him trouble.

But the more that was the case, the more curious Zhao Fusheng became. What kind of person would go out of their way to teach an ordinary, poor international student with no background a lesson, beating him unconscious?

What secret lay hidden in all this?

…

…

After sleeping for a while at the hotel, Hu Donghai called in the afternoon.

"Boss, he's awake," Hu Donghai said.

"How is he?"

Zhao Fusheng asked, then chuckled. "Tell that guy to pay me back my medical expenses later."

"Boss, I'm afraid I can't pay you back," came Zhang Tao's weak voice from the other end. He coughed a few times, then continued, "There's something I'd like to ask for your help."

Zhao Fusheng frowned. His intuition told him that what Zhang Tao was about to say might be very troublesome.

"I know this puts you in a difficult position. I'll come to the hotel to see you. If after hearing my story you feel you shouldn't get involved, I won't blame you," Zhang Tao said, sensing Zhao Fusheng's hesitation.

Zhao Fusheng nodded. "Alright, come over."

Half an hour later, Zhang Tao appeared before Zhao Fusheng, supported by Hu Donghai.

His face was pale, and his body bore the marks of the beating. Clearly, he was very weak.

"In your condition, you'd be better off staying in the hospital," Zhao Fusheng said, looking at Zhang Tao. "How did you end up like this? Did you hit on someone else's girlfriend and get beaten?"

Zhang Tao gave a bitter smile, unfazed by Zhao Fusheng's teasing. He sat on the sofa across from Zhao Fusheng and said, "Boss, I'd like you to hear a story."

Zhao Fusheng's expression turned serious. Despite his teasing, Zhang Tao remained focused on telling his story. It seemed he really had a tale to tell.

With that in mind, Zhao Fusheng nodded. "Go ahead, I'm listening."

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy born in a city in northeastern China. His family wasn't well-off, but his parents loved him dearly and tried to meet his needs. Every year during Qingming Festival, he would see his parents crying over a photo of a woman with delicate features..."

Zhang Tao's voice was soft, and his expression was strange—a complex mix of emotions so intense that Zhao Fusheng could sense his deep sadness.

"As the boy grew up, at fifteen, he finally learned that he was adopted. The woman in the photo was his biological mother, a deaf-mute, and also his adoptive father's younger sister. His birth was a tragedy."

A bitter expression crossed Zhang Tao's face. "A poor deaf-mute girl married a soldier. The soldier died, and the girl, pregnant, died in childbirth. Isn't that tragic?"

Zhao Fusheng remained silent, knowing that the protagonist of this story was Zhang Tao himself.

"Since childhood, I've been tolerant of deaf-mutes, because I know my own biological mother was one," Zhang Tao continued without hiding this. "After coming to Korea, I worked part-time while studying, and occasionally volunteered at a welfare center in Gwangju, teaching children to draw. Boss, you know what? Many disabled children, despite their physical limitations, have amazing talents. Some kids, after just a few days of learning, can draw things vividly—even better than me."

Zhao Fusheng frowned. He felt that Zhang Tao's emotions were unstable. Glancing at him casually, Zhao Fusheng said, "So, your beating is related to this?"

Intuition told Zhao Fusheng that he was approaching a truth that seemed to exist only in newspapers and online.