All Chapters of The Phoenix Bride Rises: Trust Was Her First Mistake : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Contrary to what everyone believed, the superpower… agreed. In less than twenty-four hours after Duke Fleming’s worldwide broadcast, a second official statement was released, this time directly from the superpower’s Ministry of Health and Welfare.“We accept the Duke of Country D’s proposal in the spirit of global collaboration and human compassion. The Honorable President thanks Duke Fleming for his clarity and offers his trust in Dr. Arla-Rosa Hernandez. Arrangements are now underway for Amelia Grace’s transfer to the House of Hope in Country D. The President’s only condition is, transparency. The public must witness every step. Not for entertainment, but for faith, in science, in diplomacy, and in shared healing.”The internet collapsed again, this time not from fury or scandal, but disbelief. They agreed? They are really sending her? She is actually going to do it. Wait… does this mean Arla-Rosa is real? Not a myth? Not a monster? And so began the countdown to what would become th

The sun was setting slow and gold over the sprawling hills of the Fleming estate, bathing the marble arches in the soft hush of dusk. For once, there were no reporters at the gates. No bodyguards hovering close. No public broadcasts or emergency bulletins to dissect. Just a quiet evening. And one long-awaited reunion.Master Ye stood at the threshold of the estate’s main entrance, his white beard curling slightly from the breeze, and his travel cloak folded over one arm. He had declined every official escort, walked the final stretch from the helipad himself, and carried only a single wooden medicine box as luggage. The guards tried to bow but he waved them off like dust.Duke Fleming stepped forward first, bowing slightly in deference. “Master Ye. It’s an honor...” “Mm,” Master Ye grunted. “Where is the little rascal?” Before Duke could respond, a shout rang from the far hallway. “Old man!”Arla-Rosa came barrelling down the grand staircase in a flowing linen dress, barefoot, braid f

There is no thunder before the rain. Only tension. And the knowledge that the world is about to change. The sun had not yet crested over the eastern hills of Country D when the first set of needles were removed.Arla-Rosa's hands moved in silence. She plucked each silver needle from Amelia Grace's body like a musician lifting strings from a harp. Her every motion, gentle, reverent, yet deliberate.Behind the observation glass, the Fleming twins sat wide-eyed in their custom-made chairs, swinging their legs and holding silent, pinky-locked fists. They did not know much about vegetative states or diplomatic scrutiny. But they knew their mama was magic. Inside the Command Center Feed at exactly 6:03 am, a neurologist monitoring Amelia’s vitals blinked twice. “Uh... does anyone see that?” “Spike in occipital and frontal lobe?”“Not just a spike. It’s sustained.” A beat of silence ensued, followed by a whisper of disbelief. “She’s dreaming.

The treatment room smelled faintly of snow lotus and phoenix leaf. Amelia Grace lay still, the pulse lines steady on the translucent vitals screen. Outside, the moon had spread its ethereal glow; it was the quietest hour of the night.Arla-Rosa had just finished checking the tonic’s simmer when the estate’s emergency comms crackled to life. “Doctor Hernandez, we have a Code Crimson in Surgical Wing B, penetrating abdominal trauma. No other lead surgeon available.” She did not hesitate. “Prep Theater One. Sterile field in five minutes.”The drones, ever obedient to the IMSAEB’s streaming protocols, glided after her. Viewers around the globe, who had tuned in expecting another night cycle of Amelia Grace’s vitals, suddenly found themselves watching Arla-Rosa stride down a corridor in surgical scrubs.The comments exploded. “Wait, she does Western surgery too?”“I thought she was some acupuncture herbalist…”“This is not staged. Look at her pace, she’s in the zone.” Slowly, the world's

The glass between the viewing room and the treatment chamber held a hundred reflections and one impossible hope. On the other side, Arla-Rosa knelt as if at an altar, palms hovering over Amelia’s temples, not to touch but to listen. The cameras rolled without mercy; every twitch of a finger, every measured inhale, every bead of sweat was being transmitted across oceans.She had said, earlier, that she would replicate hippocampal theta waves by day three. What she had not said aloud, what no protocol demanded she explain, was how she would do it without a machine, without a team, under the watching eyes of an entire planet. She began slowly, methodically, the way someone who had learned to make storms by whispering would.Arla-Rosa adjusted the blinds until the light falling across Amelia’s face was soft and even. She tilted the monitors so no glare would disturb the patient’s pupils. Small things mattered; tiny perturbations could steal fragile returns. She placed two ceramic bowls on