Free Web NovelChapter 369: This is my husband
Hua Jing turned slightly, her gaze flickering toward Fu Jingrong. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them—steady, assured.
The crowd waited.
She faced the reporters again, lips curving into a small, composed smile.
"Oh," she said lightly, as though remembering something trivial. "I forgot to introduce him."
She turned fully this time, looking up at the man beside her, then back at the sea of stunned faces.
"This is my husband."
Silence.
Utter, complete silence.
The word seemed to echo in the air.
Husband.
For a heartbeat, even the cameras stopped clicking.
Then the explosion came.
Voices overlapped. Gasps. Shouts. Questions shouted so loudly they blurred together.
Online, the reaction detonated:
@WorldStopTurning:
"HUSBAND????????"
@GoldenPetals:
"SOMEONE CHECK ON ME."
@DramaWatcher:
"THEY WERE MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME???"
@JingEmpire:
"WE WERE ARGUING ABOUT RIVALRY FOR YEARS AND THEY WERE GOING HOME TOGETHER?!"
On the carpet, Fu Jingrong merely tightened his hold on her hand, his expression unreadable but unmistakably proud.
Confusion did not simply ripple across the red carpet—it settled onto every face like an expression carved in stone. Reporters who had covered Hua Jing and Fu Jing Rong for years looked as though the laws of physics had just been rewritten in front of them. The "beef" between the two had once been legendary. It was the kind of industry feud that trended annually without effort. If one was rumored to attend an awards ceremony, the other’s team would quietly withdraw. If one accepted a drama, the other would "happen" to schedule overseas work. Their cold distance had been dissected in panel discussions and gossip columns alike. freёwebnoѵel.com
And yet here they stood.
Hand in hand.
As though the past decade of so-called rivalry had simply been a private joke between them.
Online, chaos erupted into full-blown hysteria.
Within minutes, a fan account had already uploaded a rapid montage titled:
"Enemies to Lovers? The Jing Conspiracy We Missed."
The video stitched together years of interviews—Hua Jing rolling her eyes at a question about Fu Jing Rong, Fu Jing Rong smirking and saying, "We don’t see eye to eye." Clips of them "arguing" on variety shows, pointed glances during award presentations, that infamous red carpet moment where he had stepped in front of her as if to block a photographer.
The more one watched, the less it looked like hostility.
It looked like tension.
Domestic tension.
The kind that came from two people who knew each other too well.
Comments flooded in at breakneck speed:
@BickeringIsLove:
"THIS IS NOT HATE. THIS IS A MARRIED COUPLE WHO FOUGHT OVER BREAKFAST."
@PlotTwistOfTheCentury:
"I have been rewatching old clips for 30 minutes and I cannot believe we thought this was rivalry. This man was in LOVE. Look at his eyes every time she talks."
@JingSupremacy:
"THE WAY FU JING RONG LOOKS AT HUA JING??? That is not hatred. That is devotion. That is ’I would destroy the world for you’ energy."
Screenshots began circulating—zoomed-in captures of Fu Jing Rong’s gaze lingering a second too long, of his body unconsciously angling toward her even when they were supposedly at odds. Someone compiled still images under the caption:
"Proof that we were blind."
And truly, once seen, it could not be unseen.
Fu Jing Rong did not look at Hua Jing like a rival.
He looked at her like she was the axis of his world.
Back on the red carpet, the chaos had not lessened. If anything, it had intensified. Reporters fumbled over their own questions.
"Miss Hua Jing, when did this relationship begin?"
"President Fu Jing Rong, was the feud staged?"
"Are you announcing a marriage tonight?"
But Hua Jing merely smiled, poised and radiant under the flashing lights, her hand resting comfortably in Fu Jing Rong’s grasp. He stood slightly ahead of her, not to overshadow—but to shield. When the noise grew overwhelming, he subtly tightened his hold, grounding her without even looking down.
The gesture did not go unnoticed.
@ISeeEverything:
"THE HAND SQUEEZE. Did you all see that? That’s muscle memory. That’s not new dating behavior."
Fu Jing Rong’s expression carried unmistakable pride. It was not arrogance. It was possession softened by devotion. When a bold reporter shouted, "President Fu, are the rumors true? Is she really your wife?" he did not hesitate.
He glanced at Hua Jing first.
Always at her first.
Then he lifted their joined hands slightly and said calmly, firmly, "Yes. This is my wife."
The internet detonated.
Inside the gala hall, things only grew more surreal. Hua Jing became the center of attention effortlessly, her custom Indigo Beauty gown flowing like liquid sunlight as she moved from table to table. The golden floral embroidery shimmered under the chandelier lights, petals stitched in delicate gradients of amber and soft cream, as though echoing the Yellow Garden itself. The fabric hugged her waist before cascading elegantly to the floor, each step releasing a subtle wave of light.
Fu Jing Rong matched her in a tailored black suit with gold detailing along the cuff and lapel, understated yet intentional. Together, they looked less like celebrities and more like royalty attending their own coronation.
When Indigo Beauty played the full campaign video, the hall quieted.
The screen filled with endless yellow blossoms swaying under warm light. Hua Jing walked through them slowly, fingertips brushing petals, her expression serene. In the final seconds, she turned back, eyes luminous, soft with something unmistakably intimate.
Her voiceover flowed gently:
"Where love blooms without end... there, we call it Eternal Bloom."
The hall applauded.
Online, the theories began again.
@GardenDetective:
"That’s Yellow Garden. That is 100% Fu Jing Rong’s residence. HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN HIDING THIS?"
@SlowBurnRealized:
"Watch the last frame carefully. She’s not looking at the camera. She’s looking at someone behind it. I bet it’s him."
And it was.
During filming, Fu Jing Rong had stood just beyond the lens, silent, watching her as if memorizing the way sunlight crowned her hair. That final look she gave was not for branding.
It was for him.
Later, as the noise dimmed and champagne glasses clinked in softer circles, Hua Jing excused herself to the restroom. The corridor was quieter, the music muffled behind thick walls. Her heels clicked gently against polished marble as she adjusted her shawl.
Then she stopped.
A figure stood ahead, partially shadowed but unmistakable.
Mao Li.
Time had carved sharper lines into his face, but his posture remained as precise as ever. His eyes, calculating and unreadable, settled on her with measured calm.
Hua Jing’s warmth vanished in an instant. The softness she had carried all evening folded neatly away, replaced by cool composure. Her chin lifted slightly, gaze steady.
Through gritted teeth, she said, "Long time no see."
