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, but even so, by the time everything was sorted and they were ready to leave for the hospital, it was already mid-morning.

Chen Wengang got into the car. Huo Niansheng had opened the door for him in advance, then walked around to the other side.

He should have been pleasantly surprised; he hadn’t expected Young Master Huo to have the heart to personally accompany him to the hospital.

The driver held the steering wheel and greeted his employer.

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

Yesterday, the driver had gone to the wharf district to terminate the lease on the rental and brought back Chen Wengang’s belongings. In truth, there wasn’t much—he didn’t bother with the washbasin or toothbrush cup—and with just a few pieces of clothing and personal documents, a 26-inch suitcase was enough.

As the scenery drifted backward, Chen Wengang inexplicably thought of a certain winter in his childhood.

He had run a high fever for several days, and his father carried him to the children’s hospital. Most of the children were held by their mothers, and the examining doctor subconsciously looked past the man holding the child: “Where is the mother? Didn’t she come? I need to ask about the child’s detailed history.”

He had been burning up for too long, and the diagnosis was pneumonia. His father was busy with work and couldn’t stay at the hospital every day, so he entrusted him to the care of the nurses.

In his memory, the nurses were all very gentle toward him. Even though his parents weren’t there, he had received attentive care.

There was a round-faced young nurse with her hair coiled in a bun who looked like a big sister from next door; she would give him a lollipop every day.

But his impression of being hospitalized was mostly one of fear. There couldn’t be many children who weren’t afraid of hospitals—the glaring white walls, the smell of disinfectant drifting everywhere, the cold metal trays brought by the nurses, the chilly alcohol, and the way the syringe drew up the liquid only to leave a string of tears in its wake…

Chen Wengang remembered that back then, he had been hospitalized alone for a long time. He had no concept of exactly how long, given his young age; he had simply spent every day hoping to go home, hoping his father would come to pick him up, hoping he wouldn’t need any more injections or IV drips. He had yearned for it so deeply it felt like waiting a lifetime.

The private hospital didn’t have such a heavy smell of disinfectant.

The main decor was primarily in warm tones, arranged simply and comfortably, almost like a hotel, only with more complete accessibility facilities.

He didn’t have to queue for exams either. After spending the afternoon there, by the time he finished, Amanda had already handled the hospitalization procedures.

When Huo Niansheng asked, “Will you be okay by yourself?” the question made Chen Wengang think of his father once again.

Two completely different people, in completely different circumstances, had said the exact same thing.

Huo Niansheng left him there to be hospitalized and returned home himself.

In reality, he wasn’t exactly alone this time. Though the boss had returned, he had left Amanda at the hospital on standby. The two were polite to each other, but there was almost no communication outside of eating and drinking. She only helped handle paperwork; caring for him was the responsibility of the doctors and nurses. This assistant of Huo Niansheng’s was thorough, absolutely professional, and never said an extra word that wasn’t relevant.

Chen Wengang didn’t need to chat with anyone, anyway.

He remained silent most of the time. Whether the doctor was explaining his condition and injuries or outlining a treatment plan, he simply listened and nodded in agreement. At his age, he couldn’t possibly still be afraid of shots or IV drips. As for the physical pain, he was already numb to it.

As the sky dimmed, a nurse brought over a light meal for the patient.

The ward was a high-end suite, with two rooms and a living room. For safety reasons, there were no locks on the doors, and the windows could only be opened a crack.

But there were plenty of things in the room to pass the time; entertainment facilities were fully equipped. There was a large-screen color TV, a game console with cartridges, and a small bookshelf stocked with classic literature and some popular reads, along with various magazines delivered by subscription.

The dimming sky swallowed the outlines of these items. In a little while, it would be pitch black, unable to see a thing.

After placing the tableware back at the door, Chen Wengang curled up in a single armchair, lost in thought.

He experienced the process of his vision slowly being swallowed by darkness.

After all the examinations were finished, the doctor passed a sentence on his lost vision: permanent damage to the right eyeball. Only a tiny, negligible bit of light perception remained; recovery was impossible. The best possible outcome now was simply hoping to preserve the remaining vision in his left eye.

This was a fact Chen Wengang had already accepted. Ironically, after hearing it, Huo Niansheng had chased the doctor down, firing off a long list of questions.

Chen Wengang had leaned against the corridor, touching the handrail along the wall. Throughout the whole process, he had the urge to tell him to stop asking.

In truth, he didn’t want to see or hear any more expressions, tones, or voices that refused to give up.

Like a building whose foundation had already been destroyed, shaky and crumbling, anyone could see it couldn’t be restored. With such an obvious situation, why keep asking? Knowing there was no hope wasn’t enough; what was the point of asking one more question?

When Huo Niansheng left, Chen Wengang stood behind the curtains, watching him depart from the hospital building.

That tall, broad back grew further and further away, gradually becoming a black dot.

Chen Wengang suddenly felt sorrowful, telling himself he was ungrateful.

When the nurse pushed her cart into the room, she almost tripped, thinking there was no one inside.

She patted her chest and turned on the lights. Chen Wengang took the medicine from her and swallowed it with water, and she helped him examine the wounds on his face.

He knew that there were many people in the world who remained strong despite physical disabilities. He wasn’t the only one, nor was he an exception. But what is called “life” is exactly the fact that no one can replace another. Compared to distant inspirational stories, Chen Wengang could only see as far as tomorrow and the day after.

Even next week felt slightly too distant—next month, next year… there was no way to imagine where he would be or what he would be doing then.

There is an old saying: “Help the emergency, not the poor.” When he was trapped in the mire, it was an accident that Huo Niansheng had pulled him out.

And then—the same question—what then?

Two days later, Huo Niansheng came to the hospital again. He pushed open the door, but the ward was empty.

Amanda arrived upon hearing the news. She told her boss: “Mr. Chen went out for a walk at this hour.”

Huo Niansheng didn’t take the elevator; he walked slowly downstairs. The ward floor wasn’t high, only the fourth floor, after all.

It was mid-autumn. The sky outdoors was a cold, metallic white, divided by the spreading branches of trees into irregular shapes. The leaves were nearly gone, with only the trunks standing desolate by the water. The water level of the lake was low, and both the water and the trees revealed a stark, somber atmosphere.

Huo Niansheng spotted Chen Wengang by the lakeside. It was cold, and over his blue-and-white striped hospital gown, he had draped a white knitted cardigan.

A nurse was keeping him company. Chen Wengang had his face tilted up, answering something.

When 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 this Mr. Huo, exchanged a few pleasantries, and then left. Chen Wengang remained sitting on the long bench, turning his head to study him.

Huo Niansheng sat down on his left, leaving the distance of one person between them: “Zheng Baoqiu has been asking everywhere for news of you lately.”

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

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

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

Huo Niansheng crossed his legs, his arm resting on the back of the bench: “Why even hide it from her? I remember you two had a decent relationship.”

Chen Wengang stared fixedly at the ground before his feet and pulled out a far-fetched reason: “It’s precisely because we’re close that I don’t want her to worry for nothing.”

Seeing him act so stubbornly, Huo Niansheng couldn’t help but glance at him sideways. Chen Wengang hugged his arms to his chest and pulled the cardigan tighter around himself.

His thin shoulders were hunched. On the back of his pale hands, clear blue veins showed through, while the back of his other hand was heavy with scars. He and the withered trees before him were one and the same, presenting a kind of gauntness lacking in vitality, silently blending into the lonely background.

Huo Niansheng looked at those rows of trees. By next spring, most would sprout new buds, welcoming a lush, green summer.

But there were a few that might wither. Those that died would be culled, dug out, and replaced with new ones to fill the gaps.

He slid his gaze to the right. Half of Chen Wengang’s face, facing him, was bathed in the watery daylight.

Huo Niansheng quietly recalled that it seemed he had never seen an expression of resentment on this face.

Even when he saw him at his most wretched—Huo Niansheng remembered under the bridge, Chen Wengang hiding in the shadows, his eyes looking up at him. That gaze had made Huo Niansheng dream constantly lately. He still remembered every bit of helplessness, fragility, and loneliness flowing within it.

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

Chen Wengang waited a long time without hearing him speak, so he looked at Huo Niansheng again.

Huo Niansheng uncrossed his legs and suddenly turned his body to the side.

In Chen Wengang’s impression, this young master always wore an air of world-weariness and sarcasm, as if he looked down on everyone and no one was worthy of his attention. Thinking this, Huo Niansheng suddenly leaned in a little closer to him, as if he were about to speak a biting remark.

Yet he only sighed: “Does it still hurt?”

Chen Wengang was stunned, not knowing how to answer for a moment.

The cold wind curled, sweeping two or three yellow leaves to the foot of the bench. The wind in mid-autumn already had a chilling bite, making the hand that covered his face feel exceptionally warm—and within Huo Niansheng’s gaze, there hid a temperature that made it impossible to look him in the eye.

That hand instinctively twitched toward Chen Wengang’s earlobe. He suddenly snapped out of it, shook his head, and blocked Huo Niansheng’s hand away.

“Does that mean it hurts or it doesn’t?” Huo Niansheng asked. “It seemed to be festering a bit earlier; it looks a little better now.”

“It’s fine now.” Chen Wengang became constrained and stiff because of his concern. “It doesn’t hurt unless you touch it.”

He had already retreated to the end of the bench; if he went back any further, he would fall off. Huo Niansheng reached out to steady him, but the moment he made contact, Chen Wengang jumped to his feet. He realized his reaction had been a bit intense, and Huo Niansheng stood up as well, though he didn’t say anything.

The two fell silent simultaneously, walking forward one after the other along the lakeside boardwalk.

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

Huo Niansheng laughed upon hearing this: “You’re asking me? Shouldn’t you be listening to the doctor? What did the doctor say?”

Chen Wengang lowered his gaze to look down: “Nothing else, just to observe for a few more days.”

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

Chen Wengang pulled a wry smile at the corner of his lips: “It’s not my place to say that, is it?”

When he was a child, he remembered being squeezed into a ward with three or four other children in the children’s hospital, overcrowded and beds were hard to find. It was only in private hospitals, where money did the knocking, that the doors could stay open like this; as long as the bill could be paid, the doctors and nurses wouldn’t have any objections.

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

Chen Wengang bowed his head.

But Huo Niansheng seemed unconcerned about burning money: “To be safe, stay a while longer. At least everything is convenient here.”

Chen Wengang suddenly stopped walking and looked up, staring at him: “How much does this ward cost per day?”

Huo Niansheng smiled and said: “So you’re worried I can’t afford it? It hasn’t reached that point yet.”

Chen Wengang said in a low voice: “No, I just want to calculate how much I’ll have to pay you back in the future.”

Huo Niansheng patted his back: “Who said you had to pay me back?”

On such a cold day, Chen Wengang was actually sweating on his back. The spot where he was touched felt as if it were burning through his clothes.

However, Huo Niansheng had nothing more to say after that. He seemed to do it on purpose, deliberately dragging things out without mentioning the conditions to follow, leaving Chen Wengang in limbo.

Rather than testing him, Chen Wengang had the urge to ask him directly: then what? What did he plan to do with him?

In the days since, every time he opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was a sense of confusion about his situation.

All alone, like being on a sandbar in the middle of the water, with no way out in any direction, and no one to discuss things with or pour his heart out to. His future was in Huo Niansheng’s hands, but the other man’s indifferent attitude and ambiguous answers seemed unable to give him any answers at all.

The hospital lake was beautiful, and although the sun wasn’t bright, the scenery had a unique charm. Huo Niansheng accompanied him for another hour of walking.

He appeared very gentlemanly, and only said goodbye after escorting Chen Wengang back to his ward.

Chen Wengang lay on the bed, back to the door, pillowing his head with his arm. This time, he didn’t go back to the window to watch Huo Niansheng, but that retreating back kept appearing in his mind. It was hard to guess Huo Niansheng’s purpose in coming all the way to the hospital, just to take a look at him.

Suddenly, Chen Wengang got out of bed and walked to the window.

In the empty space in front of the building, there was only a worker squatting there, clearing weeds.

Huo Niansheng’s frequency of visits maintained at about two or three times a week. As for what he was doing at other times, Chen Wengang had no idea. Asking him directly would undoubtedly lack boundaries, and there was even less possibility of fishing for information from that assistant lady.

During his hospitalization, Amanda stayed with Chen Wengang at all times.

Of course, Chen Wengang had never righteously ordered her around, and he rarely even bothered her with things. After all, he had no authority to command her, so her job here was actually very easy. Most of the time, she only needed to report the situation to Huo Niansheng.

Once, Chen Wengang heard her on the phone, holding the phone and repeating the doctor’s original words, speaking about the condition of his eyes.

He pretended not to hear, took the initiative to turn and walk away, and went back to the lake for another walk.

To be honest, before this, Chen Wengang had always thought that Huo Niansheng wouldn’t have any interest in a small fry like him.

He might not even have a very deep impression of him.

If you had to say they had interacted, they actually had. Chen Wengang still remembered that he had known Huo Niansheng since he was in primary school. Their first meeting was at a Zheng family banquet, but over the years, the other man had changed a lot; it was meaningless to mention things so far in the past. After reaching adulthood, his impression of Huo Niansheng was reduced to the man being the city’s famous playboy, living a life of debauchery, frivolity, and laziness.

Nothing more.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wondered why the other man had become like that. Over the years of growing up, these unremarkable thoughts were like snowflakes in winter—light and airy; they might have melted before they even hit the ground.

Only one thing was certain: Huo Niansheng was the kind of person completely different from him and Zheng Yucheng.

Even within large families, there are differences in upbringing and family style. This young master of the Huo family was clearly under-disciplined, indulged by his family to run wild outside. This would be unimaginable in the Zheng family; therefore, Zheng Yucheng had always warned Chen Wengang to keep his distance from him to avoid picking up bad habits.

Of course, there was a great deal of selfishness in Zheng Yucheng’s persistence—after all, that was Huo Meijie’s nephew and Zheng Maoxun’s cousin. It was only natural that he didn’t like the cheap relative surnamed Huo. Chen Wengang didn’t have that sense of identity opposition; he only had the obligation to stand unconditionally on Zheng Yucheng’s side, to love what he loved and hate what he hated. In the past, it was because they were childhood sweethearts, and later it developed into being lovers—needless to say more.

Funny to think about it, what does that count as now?

Zheng Yucheng was the one who betrayed him first.

Huo Niansheng, on the other hand, let bygones be bygones. Things are unpredictable; who could have imagined such a day would come?

Chen Wengang finally realized that his perception of Huo Niansheng was actually as thin as paper. To call them old acquaintances was not to say they understood each other at all.

But to say he didn’t understand him—he had always heard all sorts of gossip about the man, using his scandals as side dishes for conversation after meals.

Speaking of which, compared to Chen Wengang’s bland social circle, Huo Niansheng’s private life was truly colorful—indulging in sensual pleasures, appearing in pairs from time to time with all sorts of handsome men and beautiful women. Because of this, there were those who envied him and those who despised him.

But all of this seemed to have nothing to do with Huo Niansheng. No matter how the outside world chattered, he just did whatever he wanted.

As long as he didn’t break the law, who could manage him? Could the law judge him for loving whoever he met and changing partners like changing clothes?

Chen Wengang couldn’t help but wonder if, when Huo Niansheng came to visit the hospital, he had just climbed out of some lover’s bed.

This kind of speculation itself had a sense of irresponsibility and malicious guessing. After thinking it, he would usually reflect on it, but when he was sitting alone and bored, he couldn’t control his wild thoughts; otherwise, he really had nothing to kill time with.

Although the ward had complete entertainment facilities, Chen Wengang could use very few of them. Because of his eye injury and surgery, he needed to control the time he spent using electronic screens as much as possible. He rarely used his phone unless necessary, and at most, watched the TV for a limited amount of time.

His main way of obtaining outside information became traditional newspapers and magazines, along with the idle chatter of the medical staff.

Chen Wengang had recently developed the habit of listening to the radio.

The local station seemed to have some kind of entertainment channel. Once, when Chen Wengang was switching frequencies on the music station and had just turned to this channel, a familiar name popped up in the exaggerated conversation between the male and female hosts. Although they didn’t name him directly, it still made his heart jump.

Listening to a few more sentences, he understood: they were exposing which celebrities the new-in-crowd film queen had as her benefactors.

The hosts’ tones were playful, joking and teasing. Although they dared to say anything, they were also smart; to avoid receiving lawyer’s letters, they emphasized that the content was not verified, upholding the principle of “believe it if you want, don’t if you don’t,” with words like “heard,” “understood,” and “informed sources.”

Speaking of the certain “Young Master Huo” who had recently been seen entering and exiting hotels with the film queen—a lone man and a lone woman, leaving traces at the hotel entrance late at night.

The film queen was propped up by capital; now that she was riding high and getting endless resources, the audience could guess the process in between for themselves.

The radio was unlike a newspaper; it didn’t even have physical photos published. The entire image was described by two mouths, making it even more prone to speculation.

Chen Wengang frowned and listened to the entire program before switching to the next channel.

When the nurse came in, he had already turned off the radio and was leaning against the window, not knowing what he was looking at outside.

This kind of gossipy program actually wasn’t worth worrying about; once heard, it was finished. When Huo Niansheng came the next time, everything was as usual. It was just that, watching him talk to the attending physician, Chen Wengang still felt a thread of strange unfamiliarity and dissociation in his heart.

You can know a man’s face but not his heart. How much can you really know about a person, and which side of him do you understand?

The attending physician’s instructions to Huo Niansheng were nothing more than the progress of the condition that Amanda had already relayed. He didn’t know what was worth listening to—he already knew the general idea—yet he had come to the hospital in person, only to listen to it all over again in detail. If they were only talking about the scars on his face, naturally, they were already in the process of healing. But the remaining scars would not fade on their own; they still looked heart-rending, which was something that couldn’t be helped.

The doctor suggested that in a few months, they could consider beginning plastic and reconstructive work.

It was predictable: it would be a long, major project. They couldn’t be sure how many surgeries it would take, only that it would be incredibly expensive.

In his heart, Chen Wengang had actually excluded this option from the start.

For some reason, he just felt listless; he couldn’t stir up 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 dean’s office to talk for a long time before returning to the ward.

Chen Wengang sat curled up on the sofa, pretending to read a magazine, but in truth, he was reading the same paragraph over and over without ever understanding the literal meaning.

His mind was fixed on the sound of the door opening—the door closing, footsteps gradually approaching. Chen Wengang raised his gaze slightly, just two centimeters above the book, but not to the point of staring directly at the person, until a pair of gleaming leather shoes intruded, pausing in front of him.

Then, the space beside him sank, and Huo Niansheng also sat on the sofa: “So diligent; didn’t you say you needed to rest your eyes more?”

Chen Wengang smiled: “It’s fine to read for a bit, otherwise it’s boring. I can’t just never use my eyes again in the future.”

Huo Niansheng changed to a more comfortable posture, leaning back, and then he asked: “Do you want to have the reconstructive surgery?”

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

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

Chen Wengang looked at him, mentally drafting his response. But before he could speak, Huo Niansheng made an “Oh” sound: “I get it, it’s the same old ‘don’t want to spend your money’ and ‘don’t want to be a burden’ routine, isn’t it? If I ask it that way, you’re bound to say no.”

He leaned forward, his expression becoming a little more serious: “Think about it, okay?”

Chen Wengang was speechless for a moment.

During the days they had spent together, whether the other man was laughing, cursing, or speaking coldly, he had become accustomed to it. Yet, Huo Niansheng suddenly wore such a rarely seen, solemn expression—it held a pressure that made it impossible to say no. Chen Wengang felt his head swell and could only follow his lead.

“…Okay.”

Huo Niansheng let out a sudden laugh and pulled a lighter from his pocket: “You say, you—are you one to eat soft or eat hard?”

There was no point in arguing. Chen Wengang mocked himself indifferently: “I’m one who sees clearly whose rice I’m eating right now.”

Smoking was prohibited in the ward; Huo Niansheng only took out the lighter to fiddle with it. The metal lid opened and closed, releasing a jumping cluster of flames.

He laughed suddenly, glanced at Chen Wengang, and put the lighter back into his pocket: “Good, you’ve made progress. Compared to being blindly prideful, I like this attitude of knowing the times.”

Chen Wengang’s mood remained calm, without any feeling of being offended. It was as if he had permanently lost a portion of his warmth and passion—just like the sunset hanging at the edge of the sky, no longer possessing any dazzling power. But there was still a sea of clouds in the sky, burning with great momentum, and the slanted rays shone into the room, coating every piece of furniture in a layer of tranquil red, peaceful and silent.

Speaking of which, for some reason, Huo Niansheng hadn’t left even at this hour today. In the past, every time he visited, the duration varied—sometimes staying for as short as half an hour, and at the longest, sitting for just two hours.

It wasn’t that Chen Wengang wanted to drive him away; on the contrary, he had hoped the other man would make an exception and stay a little longer.

It would be good to have someone to talk to for a few more sentences.

Actually, it was also very strange; before he truly understood this person, he had unknowingly developed a psychological dependency on him. Or, as Chen Wengang himself admitted, he really could only rely on Huo Niansheng in every aspect right now; eating someone’s food leaves your mouth short, taking someone’s things leaves your hands short.

But toward Huo Niansheng, even though he was infamous, there was something different.

At least Chen Wengang couldn’t imagine himself revealing such a weak side to anyone else.

Yes, weak.

The word was like a bubble suddenly rising from the bottom of the water; plop, it floated to the surface, and gradually became clear in his heart.

Chen Wengang hugged his knees. In the blood-red sunset, he faced his own heart directly, and it was also the first time since being injured that he examined the past. Even assuming he were facing the Zheng Yucheng who hadn’t betrayed him, he would never have wanted to let him see the miserable state and the harm he had suffered.

From childhood to adulthood, he had always been the excellent one.

He paid ten or a hundred times the effort just to get a single word of praise from others, and he had done it, doing it very well; therefore, he had become exceptionally unable to tolerate an imperfect self. This might be a form of vanity, but destroying this 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 that pair of mocking, half-smiling peach blossom eyes—Chen Wengang suddenly felt it was funny; perhaps it was because of this, no matter what, he would be seen through by the other person, so subconsciously, it made one feel that there was no need to put on a disguise anymore.

Moreover, in front of this person, he had exposed his most wretched, most disheveled self. The other man had seen everything, knew everything clearly; having already seen him struggling in the mud, how much uglier could it possibly get?

Perhaps because the atmosphere was right, Chen Wengang asked Huo Niansheng directly for the first time: “Why on earth do you want to help me?”

Huo Niansheng, however, still didn’t give a direct answer: “What do you think? Don’t I look like a person who loves to do good deeds?”

Chen Wengang gave him a faint smile: “I can’t tell. Do you feel pity for me?”

Huo Niansheng smiled and said: “I don’t. Just consider me as someone who really likes doing good deeds.”

Chen Wengang didn’t quibble with him: “It’s been several times already; you always say I’m prideful. In the past, I actually wasn’t convinced; I felt that as someone who had been living under someone else’s roof since childhood, many people had their eyes on me, just waiting to count how much I had taken advantage of. Many times, it wasn’t that I wanted it to be this way, but what else could I do? It’s just that now I realize that you were probably more correct.”

Huo Niansheng signaled for him to continue.

Chen Wengang stared at the coaster on the coffee table: “I remember a few years ago, you said some things, similar to telling me to figure out what I wanted as early as possible—that’s probably what it meant. I didn’t take it to heart at the time; I always thought you were mocking me. As it turns out, look, I really did end up in such a miserable state; it’s as if it was destined to be fulfilled sooner or later.”

When he mentioned this, Huo Niansheng seemed not to have expected it; he was briefly silent for a moment and didn’t speak.

After half a moment, he spoke: “You misunderstood; I didn’t mean anything bad. I won’t say it again in the future.”

Chen Wengang tilted his head to look at him. The sunset had fallen, the twilight was thickening, and the darkness intensified bit by bit, drowning their bodies little by little.

In the misty veil of the night, Huo Niansheng gradually leaned in; he got closer and closer to Chen Wengang.

The distance between the two was already somewhat dangerous—their chests were only a fist’s width apart.

He could almost feel the other man’s breathing.

Suddenly, the door was knocked twice. Chen Wengang reflexively avoided him. Huo Niansheng said “come in.” Pushing the door open and entering was Amanda.

She turned on the lights in the room, reminding her boss that there was a phone call for him: “It’s Lawyer Zhu, wanting to discuss the matter of those few people with you.”

Author’s Note:

Actually, I don’t think an author needs to explain the characters separately; otherwise, it’s equivalent to a failed character creation. It’s just that I wrote about this “indulging in sensual pleasures” lifestyle. Although the main text has hinted that this is a smoke-screen behavior, considering that some people might jump through chapters and read selectively, to avoid misreading, I’ll say a few more words to set the record straight for him.

Regarding Huo Niansheng’s character setting, it isn’t that the author is forcing him to be a “fake prodigal son,” but that this is the only—and necessary—way for it to be reasonable. Lao Huo suffered a loss in his early years in relationships due to being framed by his cousins; after choosing to go abroad, how could he turn around and become promiscuous? If that were the case, first, this character would be too stupid, not fitting his shrewd personality; stumbling once wasn’t enough, he’d want to fall even harder. Second, it would be too low; so easily giving up on himself, just encountering a few setbacks and being unable to control his lower half because of basic instincts—any such person is only looking for excuses for their own moral decline. If it were such a low-level character setting, how could he perform the deeply devoted acts toward Chen Wengang that followed? The character would be entirely disjointed.

Of course, as for Lao Huo’s intentional laissez-faire attitude and disregard for his reputation, it is his passive resistance to the “family reputation” that other Huo family members try to maintain. He won’t do useless self-justification when things happen, because self-justification is very difficult and very passive. He is precocious; he saw through this point when he was very young, so when he was framed, if he didn’t receive the trust he deserved and didn’t receive respect, he would rather choose extreme measures to drag the other party down with him. No one has a perfect personality; on one hand, he is gratified by this, on the other hand, the side effect is that he is not only misunderstood by outsiders but also by those who want to be close to him.

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