DLRAS Chapter 123 [Past]

Chapter 123: Just assume that I really like doing good deeds.

There wasn’t much to pack for a hospital stay. Even so, by the time they finished sorting things out and headed to the hospital, it was already mid-morning.

Chen Wengang got into the car. Huo Niansheng had opened the door for him beforehand, then walked around to get in on the other side. He ought to have been flattered, never expecting Young Master Huo to have the patience to personally accompany him to the hospital. The driver held the steering wheel and greeted his employer.

Huo Niansheng merely glanced at Chen Wengang. “Let’s go.”

The day before, the driver had gone to the pier district to terminate his lease and collect his belongings. In truth, there wasn’t much to bring. Items like the washbasin and toothbrush cup were left behind, leaving only a few articles of clothing and his personal documents—a single twenty-six-inch suitcase was enough to hold it all.

Watching the scenery recede outside the window, Chen Wengang inexplicably recalled a particular winter from his childhood. He had run a high fever that wouldn’t break for several days, and his father had carried him to the children’s hospital. Most of the other children there were cradled in their mothers’ arms. The attending doctor had instinctively looked behind the man carrying him and asked, “Where is the child’s mother? Is she not here? I need to ask for the details of the child’s condition.”

His fever had lasted too long, resulting in a diagnosis of pneumonia. Because his father was busy with work and couldn’t stay at the hospital every day, he entrusted the nurses to look after him closely. In his memory, the nurses were all very gentle with him; even without his parent present, he received attentive care. There was a round-faced young nurse with her hair pinned up, looking much like a sweet older sister from next door, who would give him a lollipop every day.

But his overall impression of staying in the hospital was still dominated by fear. There probably weren’t many children who weren’t afraid of hospitals—the glaring white walls, the pervasive smell of disinfectant, the cold metal trays carried by the nurses, the icy swab of alcohol, the syringe drawing in liquid medicine before squeezing out a string of dewy droplets…

Chen Wengang remembered how he had stayed alone in that hospital for a very long time. He had no concept of exactly how long it was, being so young; he just spent every day yearning to go home, longing for his father to come pick him up, hoping to be spared from the injections and IV drips. He waited with bated breath, feeling as though he was waiting for an entire lifetime.

This private hospital didn’t have such a heavy smell of disinfectant. The interior design predominantly featured warm tones, simply yet cozily furnished. It almost felt like a hotel, though with much more comprehensive accessibility facilities. There was no need to queue for examinations, either. After spending the whole afternoon getting everything done on his end, Amanda had already completed all the admission procedures on hers.

When Huo Niansheng asked him, “Will you be alright by yourself?”, those words once again reminded Chen Wengang of his father. Two completely different people had said the exact same words under completely different circumstances.

Huo Niansheng left him there to be hospitalized and went back on his own. Technically, he wasn’t completely alone this time; though the boss had left, he kept Amanda at the hospital on standby. She and Chen Wengang were unfailingly polite to one another, but aside from basic matters like eating and drinking, they hardly exchanged a word. She was only there to help with administrative procedures and the like; taking care of him was the duty of the doctors and nurses. Huo Niansheng’s assistant was incredibly thorough but strictly professional, refusing to utter a single extraneous syllable.

Besides, Chen Wengang didn’t need anyone to chat with anyway. He remained silent most of the time. Whether the doctors were discussing the state of his injuries or outlining his treatment plan, he simply listened and nodded in agreement. At his age, it was impossible to still be afraid of needles and IV drips. As for the physical pain, he was already completely numb to it.

As the sky outside darkened, a nurse brought in a light, bland hospital meal. His room was a high-class suite with two bedrooms and a living area. For safety’s sake, there were no locks on the doors, and the windows could only be opened a crack. However, there were plenty of things inside to help pass the time, and the entertainment amenities were fully equipped. There was a large flat-screen TV, a gaming console with cartridges, a small bookshelf lined with classic literature and popular novels, as well as a variety of regularly subscribed magazines.

The dimming twilight swallowed the outlines of these objects. Before long, it would be pitch black, making it impossible to see anything clearly.

Having placed his used tableware by the door, Chen Wengang curled up in the single armchair, lost in thought.

He experienced the sensation of his vision gradually descending into darkness.

After all the examinations were concluded, the doctor once again handed down a sentence upon his lost sight: permanent damage to the right eyeball, leaving only a meager sense of light that was better than nothing. Recovery was impossible; the best remaining outcome was to hope they could preserve the existing vision in his left eye.

This was a fact Chen Wengang had accepted long ago. In contrast, after hearing this, Huo Niansheng chased after the doctor to ask a multitude of questions. Leaning against the corridor and holding onto the handrail along the wall, Chen Wengang felt an urge throughout the entire process to tell him to stop asking.

He truly didn’t want to see or hear any more expressions, tones, or voices filled with unwillingness to give up. Like a building whose foundation had already been destroyed, tottering on the brink of collapse, anyone could see it could never be restored to its original state. With the situation so glaringly obvious, why keep asking? Was knowing there was no hope not enough? What use was asking one more question?

When Huo Niansheng left, Chen Wengang stood behind the curtain, watching him exit the hospital building. That tall silhouette walked further and further away until it gradually became a black dot.

Chen Wengang suddenly felt a sense of sorrow, chiding himself inwardly for not knowing what was good for him.

When the nurse pushed her cart through the door, she nearly tripped, thinking the room was empty. Patting her chest, she turned on the lights. Chen Wengang took his medication from her hand, swallowed it with some water, and let her examine the wounds on his face.

He knew that there were many people in this world who remained strong despite physical disabilities. The world wouldn’t be any different with or without him. But what they call “life” is precisely the fact that no one can substitute for anyone else. Compared to distant, inspiring stories of perseverance, Chen Wengang could only see as far as tomorrow or the day after.

Next week felt like a stretch; next month, next year… right now, he couldn’t even imagine where he would be or what he would be doing by then.

There’s an old saying: save the desperate, not the poor. When he was stuck in the mud, it was unexpectedly Huo Niansheng who had pulled him out.

And then it came back to that same question—and then what?

Two days later, Huo Niansheng came to the hospital again. He pushed the door open, only to find the room completely empty.

Upon hearing he had arrived, Amanda rushed over and informed her boss, “Mr. Chen is out for a walk right now.”

Huo Niansheng didn’t take the elevator; he slowly walked down the stairs. The inpatient building wasn’t tall—only four floors at most.

It was late autumn. The sky outdoors was a cold, metallic white, sliced into irregular shapes by the sprawling tree branches. The leaves were nearly all gone, leaving only the desolate trunks standing by the water’s edge. The lake’s water level was low, and both the water and the trees exuded a bleak, chilling atmosphere.

Huo Niansheng spotted Chen Wengang by the lake. It was cold, so he wore a white knit cardigan over his blue-and-white striped hospital gown. A nurse was keeping him company, chatting with him. Chen Wengang tilted his face up, answering something she said.

As Huo Niansheng walked over, his leather shoes clicked against the wooden boardwalk. Both of them looked over at the same time. The nurse smiled at Mr. Huo, exchanged a few pleasantries, and then took her leave. Chen Wengang remained seated on the bench, turning his head to observe him.

Huo Niansheng sat down to his left, leaving the space of one person between them. “Zheng Baoqiu has been asking around everywhere for news of you recently.”

Chen Wengang paused for a long time, seemingly weighing his words, before slowly asking, “Did you tell her I’m here?”

Huo Niansheng countered with a question, “Do you want me to tell her, or not tell her?”

“If you haven’t told her yet, then don’t.” Chen Wengang turned his head back. “And don’t give her my current number either.”

Huo Niansheng crossed his legs, resting his arm on the back of the bench. “Why keep it from her too? I remember your relationship with her was decent.”

Staring fixedly at the ground in front of his feet, Chen Wengang offered a strained excuse. “It’s because we have a good relationship that I don’t want her worrying over nothing.”

Seeing his stubbornness, Huo Niansheng couldn’t help but shoot a sideways glance at him. Chen Wengang crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his cardigan tighter around himself. His thin shoulders were hunched, the pale back of one hand showing clear blue veins, while the back of the other was heavily scarred. Just like the dead trees before them, his whole person presented a gaunt, lifeless quality, silently melting into the desolate background.

Huo Niansheng gazed at the trees lining the path. By next spring, most of them would sprout new buds again, welcoming a lush, green summer. But there would also be a few that might wither; the dead ones would be weeded out, uprooted, and new trees would be planted to replace them.

He slid his gaze to the right. The half of Chen Wengang’s face turned toward him was bathed in the watery daylight. Huo Niansheng quietly recalled that he had never seemed to see a look of resentment on this face. Even when he had seen him at his most wretched—Huo Niansheng remembered the bridge underpass, where Chen Wengang had hidden in the shadows, a pair of eyes looking out at him. That look had been causing Huo Niansheng to have dreams lately; he still remembered every ounce of the bewildered fragility and loneliness pouring from them.

But there was no hatred, no unwillingness, no bitterness. These darkest emotions of human nature seemed to have never had anything to do with the person in front of him.

After a long time without hearing him speak, Chen Wengang shot Huo Niansheng another glance.

Huo Niansheng uncrossed his legs and suddenly leaned closer. In Chen Wengang’s impression, this young master always wore a look of world-weary nonchalance and mockery, as if he looked down on everyone and no one was worthy of his notice. As he thought this, Huo Niansheng suddenly moved a bit closer to him, looking as if he were about to open his mouth to mock him the very next second.

Yet, he actually just sighed. “Does it still hurt?”

Chen Wengang blanked, temporarily unsure of how to answer.

A cold gust of wind swirled, blowing two or three yellow leaves to the foot of the bench. The late autumn wind already carried a biting chill, making the hand resting on his face feel exceptionally warm—and within Huo Niansheng’s gaze, there was also a hidden warmth that made it impossible to look him in the eye.

That hand naturally trailed down to pinch Chen Wengang’s earlobe. Startled awake, he shook his head and blocked Huo Niansheng’s hand.

“Does that mean it hurts or it doesn’t?” Huo Niansheng asked. “It looked like it was still a bit infected before, but it seems better now.”

“It’s fine now,” Chen Wengang said, made stiff and awkward by his concern. “It doesn’t hurt as long as I don’t touch it.”

He had already retreated to one end of the bench; any further and he would fall off. Huo Niansheng reached out to catch him, but the moment he extended his hand, Chen Wengang shot up from the seat. Realizing his reaction was a bit extreme, Chen Wengang watched as Huo Niansheng stood up alongside him, though he didn’t say anything.

Both fell silent, walking one after the other along the lakeside boardwalk.

When they reached the end, Chen Wengang hesitated for a moment before speaking up. “When can I be discharged?”

Hearing this, Huo Niansheng laughed. “You’re asking me? Shouldn’t you listen to the doctor for that? What did the doctor say?”

Chen Wengang lowered his gaze, looking downwards. “He didn’t say anything else, only that I need to be observed for a few more days.”

Huo Niansheng raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s the rush? What, have you had enough of staying here?”

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Chen Wengang’s lips. “It’s not really my place to say that.”

When he stayed in the children’s hospital when he was little, he remembered three or four kids crammed into a single ward, yet it was still overcrowded, a bed hard to come by. Only in a private hospital, where money opened the doors, could they remain so accommodating; as long as the bill was paid, the doctors and nurses had no objections whatsoever.

The prerequisite was that someone was willing to pay the bill for him.

Chen Wengang kept his head bowed.

But Huo Niansheng looked entirely unconcerned about burning money. “Just to be safe, it’s better to stay a bit longer. At least everything is convenient here.”

Chen Wengang suddenly stopped in his tracks, looking up to stare at him. “How much does it cost to stay in this room for a day?”

Huo Niansheng smiled slightly. “So you were worried I couldn’t afford it? It’s not that bad.”

Chen Wengang said softly, “No, I just wanted to calculate how much I’ll owe you in the future.”

Huo Niansheng patted his back. “Who said anything about you paying me back?”

It was a freezing day, yet Chen Wengang’s back felt a little sweaty. The place where the man touched him seemed to burn, even through his clothes.

However, Huo Niansheng said nothing more after that. It was as if he was doing it on purpose—deliberately dragging it out and withholding his conditions, leaving him hanging in suspense. Instead of probing, Chen Wengang almost had the urge to just ask him outright: And then what? What do you plan to do with me?

Over the past few days, the first thing he felt upon opening his eyes each morning was bewilderment at his own predicament. Utterly alone, like being stranded on a sandbar in the middle of the water, with no path forward in any direction, and no one to discuss things with or confide in. His future was in Huo Niansheng’s hands, yet the other party’s nonchalant attitude and ambiguous answers seemed unable to give him any clarity.

The hospital’s lake scenery was beautiful. Though the sun wasn’t bright, the landscape possessed a unique charm. Huo Niansheng accompanied him on his walk for another hour. He acted like a perfect gentleman, only taking his leave after escorting Chen Wengang back to his ward.

Chen Wengang lay on the bed with his back to the door, resting his head on his arms. This time he didn’t go to the window to watch Huo Niansheng leave, yet that fading silhouette lingered in his mind. He found it hard to guess Huo Niansheng’s motive for coming all the way to the hospital just to glance at him.

Suddenly, Chen Wengang got up from the bed and walked to the window. In the clearing in front of the building, there was only a single staff member squatting down to pull weeds.

Huo Niansheng visited about two or three times a week. As for what he did the rest of the time, Chen Wengang had no idea. Asking the man directly would undoubtedly overstep his boundaries, and trying to subtly extract information from Miss Amanda was even more impossible.

During his hospital stay, Amanda remained with Chen Wengang. Of course, Chen Wengang never bossed her around with a sense of entitlement, and rarely even troubled her when he needed something. After all, he had no right to order her about, so her job here was actually very relaxing; most of the time, she simply had to report the situation to Huo Niansheng.

Once, Chen Wengang overheard her on the phone, relaying the doctor’s exact words regarding the condition of his eyes. He pretended not to hear, proactively turning away and going back to the lake for another walk.

Truth be told, prior to this, Chen Wengang had always thought that Huo Niansheng would have no interest in small fry like him. Or perhaps, wouldn’t even have left a deep impression.

They had crossed paths before, of course. Chen Wengang remembered that he had technically known Huo Niansheng since elementary school; their first meeting was at a banquet hosted by the Zheng family. But over the years, the other man had changed drastically, making it pointless to bring up such distant matters. By the time he reached adulthood, his only impression of Huo Niansheng was that he was a famous playboy in the city, living a life of drunken revelry and frivolous indulgence.

Nothing more than that.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wondered why the other man had turned out this way during his formative years; it was just that these fleeting thoughts were like winter snowflakes—light and weightless, likely dissipating before even touching the ground.

There was only one certainty: Huo Niansheng was a completely different kind of person from him and Zheng Yucheng. Even though they all belonged to prominent families, upbringing and family traditions naturally varied. This young master of the Huo family was clearly lacking in discipline, indulged by his family to mess around outside. This was unimaginable within the Zheng family; therefore, Zheng Yucheng had always warned Chen Wengang to keep his distance, lest he be led astray.

Of course, Zheng Yucheng’s insistence carried a great deal of selfish bias; after all, this was Huo Meijie’s nephew, Zheng Maoxun’s cousin. It was only natural for him to dislike a relative with the surname Huo who had ridden on their coattails. Chen Wengang didn’t share this antagonistic identity, but he felt obligated to stand unconditionally by Zheng Yucheng’s side, loving what he loved and hating what he hated. In the past, it was because they were childhood friends, and later, when they developed into lovers, it went without saying.

Ironically, what did that count for now? Zheng Yucheng was the first to betray him. Meanwhile, Huo Niansheng actually overlooked their past grievances. The world was truly unpredictable; who could have foreseen a day like this?

Chen Wengang finally realized that his understanding of Huo Niansheng was actually as thin as paper. Calling him an old acquaintance meant he didn’t know him at all.

But to say he didn’t know him… he was constantly hearing about the man’s every scandal, treated as casual gossip everywhere he went. Compared to Chen Wengang’s exceedingly dull social circle, Huo Niansheng’s private life was exceptionally colorful—indulging in the red-light districts, constantly seen with an array of handsome men and beautiful women. Because of this, he was both envied by some and despised by others.

Yet, none of this seemed to affect Huo Niansheng; he simply went his own way, ignoring the wagging tongues of outsiders. As long as he didn’t break the law, who could control him? Could the law judge him for loving a new person every day, changing partners like changing clothes?

Chen Wengang even couldn’t help but wonder if Huo Niansheng had just rolled out of some lover’s bed right before coming to the hospital to visit him. This kind of speculation inherently carried a sense of irresponsibility and malicious presumption; after thinking it, he would mostly reflect on it and feel guilty. It was just that when one sits idly in boredom, it’s hard to control wandering thoughts, especially when there’s truly nothing else to pass the time.

Although the hospital room was fully equipped with entertainment devices, there were actually very few that Chen Wengang could use. Because his eye was injured and he had undergone surgery, he needed to strictly limit his screen time. He rarely used his phone unless absolutely necessary, and only watched a limited amount of TV at most. His main ways of gathering outside information became traditional newspapers and magazines, along with the idle chatter of the medical staff.

Recently, Chen Wengang had developed a habit of listening to the radio.

The local station seemed to have some sort of entertainment channel. Once, when Chen Wengang was tuning away from the music station, he had just switched to this frequency when he heard a familiar name pop up in the exaggerated banter between the male and female hosts. Although they didn’t name him directly, it still made his heart skip a beat.

Listening for a few more seconds, he realized they were spilling the tea on the newly crowned Best Actress’s high-profile ‘guests behind the curtain’. The male and female hosts spoke in a teasing, joking tone. While they dared to say anything, they were also smart enough to avoid lawsuits, specifically emphasizing that the content wasn’t guaranteed to be true, operating on a ‘believe it or not’ basis. Their speech was littered with phrases like “rumor has it,” “it is reported,” and “according to insiders.”

They mentioned that the person recently seen accompanying the Best Actress in and out of hotels was a certain Young Master Huo—a lone man and a lone woman, leaving traces of themselves at the hotel entrance late at night. The Best Actress was propped up by capital; now riding high on success, her resources were overflowing. The listeners were left to fill in the blanks regarding the process in between.

Radio wasn’t like a newspaper where paparazzi photos were physically printed; the scenes were entirely painted by two mouths, making it all the more evocative. Chen Wengang frowned as he listened to the entire segment before finally switching to the next channel.

When the nurse came in, he had already turned off the radio and was leaning against the window, gazing out at an unknown sight. This kind of trashy gossip program wasn’t worth taking to heart; hearing it once was enough. When Huo Niansheng visited next, everything was as normal. Only, looking at how he conversed with the attending physician, Chen Wengang still felt a strange sense of unfamiliarity and disconnect.

Knowing a person’s face doesn’t mean knowing their heart. How much can you ever really know a person, or which side of them you’re truly seeing?

The attending doctor was merely reiterating to Huo Niansheng the medical progress that Amanda had already relayed once. Chen Wengang didn’t know what was so interesting about it; Huo Niansheng clearly already knew the gist, yet he came to the hospital in person just to hear it all over again in detail. If they were just talking about the injuries on his face, they were naturally in the process of healing. But the remaining scars wouldn’t fade on their own, and they still looked shocking—that was just how it was.

The doctor suggested that after a few more months, they could consider starting reconstructive plastic surgery. One could imagine that it would be a long, massive undertaking; it was uncertain how many surgeries would be required, only that it would be incredibly expensive.

Chen Wengang immediately eliminated this option in his mind. For some reason, he just felt utterly unenthused, unable to muster any interest in how much his appearance could be restored. Even Huo Niansheng showed more enthusiasm for it than he did himself, going to the hospital director’s office for a long talk before returning to the ward.

Chen Wengang curled up on the sofa, pretending to read a magazine, when in reality he was repeatedly reading the same paragraph without ever grasping its meaning. His attention was tethered to the sound of the door opening, then closing, and footsteps gradually approaching. Chen Wengang lifted his gaze slightly, just two centimeters above the book, but not enough to look directly at the person, until a pair of brightly polished leather shoes encroached on his space and stopped in front of him.

Then the cushion beside him sank as Huo Niansheng also took a seat on the sofa. “Working so hard? Didn’t they say you should rest your eyes more?”

Chen Wengang smiled. “Looking for a little while is fine, otherwise it’s too boring. I can’t just never use my eyes again.”

Huo Niansheng shifted into a comfortable position and leaned back. Then he asked, “Do you want to get the reconstructive surgery?”

Chen Wengang sighed inwardly, having anticipated this question. He shook his head.

Huo Niansheng asked, “Why not? Afraid of the pain?”

Chen Wengang looked at him, drafting a response in his head. But before he could speak, Huo Niansheng let out an “Oh,” and said, “I know, it’s that whole ‘I don’t want to spend your money’ and ‘I don’t want to be a burden’ routine again, isn’t it? If I ask it like that, of course you’ll say you don’t want to.”

He leaned his body forward, his expression turning a degree more serious. “Think about it, okay?”

Chen Wengang was momentarily rendered speechless. Over the days they had spent together, he had grown accustomed to the other man’s banter, scolding, and cold remarks alike. However, Huo Niansheng suddenly revealed this rare, solemn expression, exerting a pressure that made it impossible to say no. Chen Wengang’s mind swam, and he could only follow his lead.

“…Okay.”

Huo Niansheng burst into laughter, pulling a lighter from his pocket. “Tell me, do you respond better to the carrot or the stick?”

There was no need to argue. Chen Wengang replied with mild self-deprecation, “I just have a clear understanding of whose rice I’m eating right now.”

Smoking was forbidden in the hospital ward, so Huo Niansheng only took out the lighter to toy with it. The metal lid flipped open and shut, producing a cluster of dancing flames. He suddenly laughed, shooting a glance at Chen Wengang before pocketing the lighter. “Good, you’re making progress. Compared to blind arrogance, I much prefer this attitude of understanding the situation.”

Chen Wengang’s mood remained calm; he didn’t feel offended. It was as if a portion of his fervor and passion had been permanently excised from his body, like the setting sun hanging on the horizon, stripped of its blinding power. Yet, there was still a sea of clouds in the sky, burning fiercely, casting the slant rays of twilight into the room and painting every piece of furniture with a serene, silent layer of red.

Speaking of which, for some unknown reason, Huo Niansheng still hadn’t left even at this hour today. Usually, the length of his visits varied; the shortest was barely half an hour, and the longest was no more than two hours. Chen Wengang didn’t want to drive him away; on the contrary, he somewhat hoped the man would make an exception and stay a bit longer. Having someone to chat with for a few more sentences was a good thing.

It was actually quite strange. Before truly understanding this person, he had unknowingly begun to develop a psychological reliance on him. Or perhaps, as Chen Wengang himself admitted, he really could only rely on Huo Niansheng in every aspect right now—it was just a matter of ‘eating someone’s food makes your mouth short, taking someone’s things makes your hand soft.’

But when it came to Huo Niansheng, even with his notorious reputation, something still felt different. At the very least, Chen Wengang couldn’t imagine himself showing this weak side to anyone else.

Yes, weak. This word felt like a bubble suddenly rising from the bottom of a pond, popping at the surface, and slowly becoming clear in his mind.

Hugging his knees, Chen Wengang faced his inner heart directly in the blood-red twilight. It was also the first time he had examined his past since getting hurt. Even hypothetically, if he were facing a Zheng Yucheng who hadn’t betrayed him, he would never be willing to let the other man see the indignity and injury he had suffered.

From childhood to adulthood, he had always been the exceptional one. He put in ten, a hundred times the effort, just in exchange for a word of praise from others. And he had achieved it, done it perfectly, so he became exceptionally intolerant of an imperfect version of himself. This was perhaps a kind of vanity, but destroying these things was equivalent to destroying everything he had in the past.

And the good thing about Huo Niansheng was that he looked down on everyone—he looked down on everyone equally. Therefore, every time he was watched by those mocking, half-smiling peach blossom eyes—Chen Wengang suddenly found it amusing. Perhaps precisely because of this, knowing that he would be seen through no matter what, his subconscious instead felt that there was no need to put up a front anymore.

Besides, in front of this person, he had already exposed his most wretched, pathetic state. The other man had seen everything, knew everything crystal clear; he already knew how he had fallen into the mud and struggled until he was covered in filth. How much uglier could it possibly get?

Perhaps because the atmosphere felt right, Chen Wengang directly asked Huo Niansheng for the first time: “Why exactly are you helping me?”

Yet Huo Niansheng still avoided a direct answer. “What do you think? Do I not look like a person who loves doing good deeds?”

Chen Wengang offered him a faint smile. “I don’t see it. Do you think I’m pitiful?”

Huo Niansheng smiled and said, “No, I don’t. Just pretend I really do like doing good deeds.”

Chen Wengang didn’t press him on it. “You’ve said several times now that I’m too proud and aloof. In the past, I actually wasn’t very convinced by that. I felt that with my background, growing up depending on others under their roof, so many people had their eyes fixed on me, just waiting to tally up how much advantage I had taken. A lot of times, it wasn’t that I wanted to be like that, it was that I didn’t know how else I could be. It’s just that now I’ve realized, maybe you were right after all.”

Huo Niansheng gestured for him to continue.

Chen Wengang stared at the coaster on the coffee table. “I remember a few years ago, you said something to the effect of telling me to figure out what I want as early as possible. That was the gist of it. At the time, I didn’t listen; I always thought you were mocking me. But look how it turned out—I really ended up in such a miserable state, as if it was bound to come true sooner or later.”

When he brought this up, it seemed to catch Huo Niansheng off guard. He was briefly silent, not saying a word.

Only after a long while did he finally speak. “You misunderstood. I didn’t mean to say you were bad. I won’t say it again in the future.”

Chen Wengang turned his head to look at him. The sun had set, the twilight deepened, and the darkness intensified bit by bit, slowly submerging their bodies. In the hazy veil of the night, Huo Niansheng gradually leaned in, getting closer and closer to Chen Wengang. The distance between them had become somewhat dangerous, their chests separated by only the width of a fist.

He could almost feel the other man’s breath.

Suddenly, two knocks sounded on the door. Chen Wengang dodged away on reflex as Huo Niansheng called for them to enter. It was Amanda who pushed the door open. She turned on the lights in the room, reminding her boss that he had a phone call: “It’s Lawyer Zhu. He wants to discuss the matter regarding those people with you.”

__

Author’s Note:

Actually, I feel that an author shouldn’t have to separately explain a character; otherwise, it means the characterization failed. It’s just that I wrote about him ‘indulging in the red-light districts,’ and although the main text hinted that this was a smokescreen, considering that some people might skip around while reading, I decided to say a few extra words to clear his name to avoid misinterpretation.

Regarding Huo Niansheng’s character setting, it’s not that the author forced him to be a “fake playboy,” but rather that it only makes sense this way. Old Huo suffered a loss in his early years regarding romantic relationships, having been framed by his cousin. Having taken the opportunity to go abroad, why would he then become promiscuous? If that were the case, firstly, the character would be too stupid, inconsistent with his scheming nature—tripping over a small hurdle wasn’t enough, he wanted to take a massive fall too? Secondly, it would be too ‘low.’ Giving up on oneself so easily, letting base desires rule the lower half of the body just because of a minor setback—anyone like that is just looking for an excuse for their own downward spiral. If he was such a low-tier character, how could he possibly perform those profoundly devoted actions toward Chen Wengang later on? The character would be entirely disjointed.

Of course, as for Old Huo’s deliberate self-abandonment and disregard for his reputation, it is his passive resistance against the “family honor” that the other Huos try to maintain. When things happen, he won’t make useless attempts to prove his innocence, because doing so is difficult and very passive. He matured early and saw through this at a very young age. Therefore, when framed, if he couldn’t receive the trust and respect he deserved, he’d rather choose extreme methods to drag the other party down with him. No one has a perfect personality. On one hand, he gets the satisfaction of settling scores; on the other hand, the side effect is that he’s not only misunderstood by outsiders but also by those he wants to be close to.