Big Shot's Sweetheart Shocked the World Again!-Chapter 954: The Heavy Pressure Mr. Bo Exerts on Others

Died in the deep mountains of Qingcheng?

The old president, lying on the sickbed, was stunned by the words: "Gucheng... Although I can’t exactly match their names to their faces, I remember your subordinates were all strong and brave men. How could this misfortune happen? Are there any clues?"

Bao Gucheng stared intently into the pair of eyes that had slightly lost their shine due to illness: "Before you fell into a coma, they were sent abroad on a mission. That mission’s paperwork was signed by you personally."

As he spoke, his long fingers pulled out an old approval slip.

This was an authentic piece that Chen Long had managed to obtain from the archives after much effort.

It was now the moment of witness and evidence confrontation!

The old president took the approval slip and frowned at the signature.

Bao Gucheng sat by the bedside, his arm resting on the wooden chair armrest, a big hand supporting one side of his forehead, a pair of cold eyes fixed on the old man: "Is the handwriting real?"

The old president pinched the bridge of his nose: "It is indeed my handwriting..."

The air froze for a moment.

Although the handwriting analysis had long been done, asking about it now was only a formality, yet hearing the old president admit it made Bao Gucheng’s heart skip a beat.

Like a sharp knife slicing through.

"Why?"

The three short words carried a tone of desolation and heaviness.

The old president lifted his head, his dim eyes slowly turning as he tried to recall something: "Gucheng, although this is my handwriting, I have no recollection of the document’s contents. For matters of this scale and rank, I would definitely seek your opinion first, not act alone..."

"But you still signed it."

"I..." The old president opened his mouth but then closed it again, a trace of pain crossing his brow.

Bao Gucheng took out a photograph and placed it on the sickbed: "Do you want to know what they looked like in the end?"

Six coffins, six sets of eerily white bones!

The old president’s pupils shrank: "How could this happen... Why did I sign such a document... They were the backbone of the nation, how could, how could they end up like this?"

Bao Gucheng’s gaze was cold and devoid of warmth, his sharp hand moving slowly across his forehead as if ready to kill at any moment: "This is exactly what I want to ask you. Remember, this surgery, I’m not here to save your life."

He was here to seek justice for his brothers!

Even someone as seasoned in politics as the old president now felt the crushing pressure in Bao Gucheng’s presence.

He believed this man could be unimaginably ruthless towards his enemies.

And was he, at this moment, already counted among those enemies?

A splitting headache, a splitting headache!

Just when the old president was almost about to buckle under Bao Gucheng’s questioning, suddenly, as his gaze swept over the document again, his breath caught: "Wait, Gucheng, the handwriting is real, but the ink is wrong!"

"The ink?"

"Yes, the ink. The ink I usually use to sign documents is a custom-made one from when I was assigned a leisurely post abroad, practicing calligraphy with your father. That ink is special; it starts black but, over time, turns deep blue with a hint of dark green, not pure black. You can ask your father if you don’t believe me, I’m not lying."

Now, although the paper is slightly yellowed, the signature on it is stark black.

Completely different from the usual ink color the old president used for signing.

"This isn’t my signature! I know how they forged it," the old man’s voice trembled slightly, filled with uncontrollable fury—