Chapter 128: Even if we keep it like this, we can still support it.
This marks the very first time Chen Wengang met a member of the Huo family.
Given the kind of speech Huo Zhenfei delivered, it was only natural that Chen Wengang harbored a poor impression of him.
However, once he calmed down after the fact, he realized that the root cause of his true agitation wasn’t that the other man was wrong. Rather, it was because Huo Zhenfei was right—he had covertly poked right at his sore spot. He and Huo Niansheng would part ways sooner or later anyway, so what was the rush?
Huo Niansheng still told him not to take other people’s words to heart, though it was hard to say how much of it Chen Wengang actually absorbed.
Yet, as if Huo Zhenfei’s harbinger-of-doom mouth had spoken a prophecy into existence, other complications cropped up just half a month later.
A paparazzi suddenly leaked a scoop, claiming that Huo Niansheng had a “golden cage” concealing a hidden lover—and that the hidden lover was a man.
He posted photographs on his social media account showing Huo Niansheng entering and leaving theaters and restaurants alongside this mysterious male companion.
As one of the involved parties, Chen Wengang only found out about this a whole week later. Nowadays, he rarely paid attention to entertainment gossip, and his perception of changes in the outside world had grown incredibly sluggish. Besides, even if he did see it, there was nothing he could do about it.
He was a living, breathing person, and so was Huo Niansheng. When they frequented public spaces, they couldn’t exactly bar others from looking.
The photographs didn’t capture any particularly overt displays of public affection between the two; they were outdoors, after all. Reviewing the photos, Chen Wengang noticed one where Huo Niansheng had tilted his head, smiling as he spoke to him; a flight of steps lay ahead of them, and the man had extended an arm to lightly brush the small of Chen Wengang’s back.
In another photo, Huo Niansheng was holding a car door open while Chen Wengang stepped out with his head lowered; Chen Wengang hadn’t even noticed at the time that Huo Niansheng’s hand was still shielding the top frame of the door.
The local tabloids took immense delight in the hidden secrets of wealthy clans. Unsurprisingly, rumors that Young Master Huo had replaced his flame with a new lover began to spread like wildfire.
Speaking of replacing his lover, quite a few netizens cracked jokes in the comments section, remarking that this playboy changed partners far too quickly, to the point where they could no longer tell who was who.
The sensation didn’t escalate to a city-wide uproar, but with all the clamor outside, Chen Wengang stopped going out as frequently.
This time, he was forced to once again resume a state of deep seclusion.
If it had been limited to just that, it might have been manageable. However, the most egregious incident occurred when he and the housekeeper ventured a bit further out to a distant market to pick up groceries. Auntie Meng mentioned wanting to buy fish maw. Midway through their journey, a middle-aged, chubby man suddenly lunged out from nowhere and asked, “Is your surname Chen? Chen Wengang?”
At that moment, Chen Wengang and the housekeeper were just navigating the corner of an alley. Auntie Meng had never experienced such a confrontation before, and Chen Wengang failed to react in time either. Hearing his own name, he subconsciously looked over, only to find that the man had brought a photographer along. Without allowing any room for argument, he thrust a voice recorder right at him—
“I haven’t mistaken the person, have I? You know Huo Niansheng, don’t you?”
“Was that you dining with him at Fengcui Pavilion?”
“The two of you—what exactly is your relationship with him right now? Dating? Being kept as a sugar baby?”
An onslaught of rapid-fire questions caught him entirely off guard; the man had come fully prepared, drawing his weapon at the final moment. This paparazzi actually knew exactly who Chen Wengang was, who his adoptive father was, his past history within the Zheng family, and the fact that he had been imprisoned until early last year.
Finally, the reporter brought up his eviction from the Zheng family, asking how a dead fish like him had managed to flip over, scaling the high branch of Young Master Huo.
The reporter’s plump, round chin bunched into three layers of fat folds, and an uncomfortable, predatory gaze pinned itself onto him.
Chen Wengang finally snapped back to his senses. Replying with a firm “no comment,” he yanked the housekeeper’s arm in an attempt to leave.
But the reporter’s behavior bordered on harassment, actively cornering them and blocking their path of retreat.
The situation rapidly escalated into a physical altercation. Amidst the shoving and jostling, Chen Wengang’s hat was knocked askew, and his mask was torn halfway off his face.
The photographer raised his lens, immediately clicking the shutter rapidly to capture his face.
The scene was incredibly chaotic—a total farce.
In short, the consequence of this upheaval was that Chen Wengang suffered a sudden medical episode. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he curled into a tight ball on the pavement. As for who called the ambulance, when the ambulance arrived, or whether the reporters continued to obstruct them, his consciousness was far too hazy to register.
Blurry and disoriented, he looked down to see short arms and short legs, his wrists a pair of thin, delicate splinters.
Chen Wengang lifted his head; everything around him had grown incomparably colossal. Pushing a door open, he spotted a young woman standing beside the stove. Though her features were indistinct, she possessed a gentle, radiant beauty. She addressed him as “baby,” asking if he wanted to eat osmanthus cake tonight.
Just then, his father returned home from work, tossing a plush toy into his arms, mentioning that a roadside peddler had been selling them at a discount.
When Chen Wengang next awoke, he was already lying in a hospital bed.
His forehead had sustained a minor bump against a railing, but the symptoms resembling a heart attack received a diagnosis of cardiac neurosis.
In other words, there was no organic pathology involved; it was a psychological ailment of the heart.
Even so, this particular episode had taken an immense toll on his body, prompting the housekeeper to continuously chant prayers to the Buddha.
The person Chen Wengang and the housekeeper had run into that day was an independent paparazzi notorious for his lack of ethics, rumored to do absolutely anything for money. Given his operational style, the sequence of events that followed would have served as exhilarating material to write home about—yet, none of it ever met the public eye.
When Huo Niansheng arrived at the hospital to visit Chen Wengang, he didn’t bring up the incident at all.
He merely stated that he had taken care of the photographs captured by the photographer.
However, Chen Wengang later received an email containing an attachment: a photograph of a handwritten letter of self-reflection.
The letter poured out an effusive confession of the writer’s misdeeds, begging for Chen Wengang’s forgiveness. The handwriting was a chicken-scratch scrawl; Chen Wengang spent a long time squinting up and down before checking the signature, finally discerning who had written it. By the concluding lines, the font grew larger and more erratic, declaring in a tone that blended exaggerated sycophancy with a touch of sarcasm that if he still harbored resentment, the writer was fully prepared to drop to his knees in person.
It practically made one suspect that the paparazzi had been threatened by Huo Niansheng with being encased in concrete and dumped into the ocean.
—When Chen Wengang was a child, street rumors frequently detailed how certain tabloid journalists had grown overconfident, offending the bosses of underground syndicates and facing death threats of that exact nature, only spared after kowtowing and admitting their faults. Of course, such urban legends were mostly baseless fabrications.
Furthermore, unrepentant tabloids and gossip magazines continued to speculate on Huo Niansheng’s romantic escapades afterward, surviving perfectly well.
However, both sides took a step back; the media exercised proper restraint, no longer relentlessly hounding Chen Wengang’s identity.
One tabloid exposed an “inside scoop,” claiming that Huo Niansheng’s latest flame was a male escort hailing from the nightlife industry.
This assertion was cross-referenced by the frequency of his appearances at a certain nightclub. Another independent media outlet provided a more detailed supplement in a blog post, stating that the escort was actually a university student who had entered the industry due to poverty, capturing the wealthy heir’s eye with his pure aura—only for extreme joy to turn to sorrow when he became the target of envy, resulting in his face being disfigured. Young Master Huo, perhaps moved by pity instead, had taken the man under his wing.
The comments section was a chaotic mix of opinions.
Of course, this wasn’t the sole interpretation; with a bit of searching, one could unearth a myriad of different speculations.
Sensational scandals on the market were generally fleeting affairs; though bizarre, their novelty arrived swiftly and vanished just as quickly.
Much like the story of a man being encased in concrete and dumped into the ocean—it offered a thrilling curiosity upon first hearing, but after being passed around from person to person, the boundary between truth and fiction became entirely blurred.
Chen Wengang remained completely indoors, not stepping a single foot outside. After a period of living in this manner, he received a phone call from the hospital.
According to the established timeline, he could finally undergo his first skin graft surgery.
Auntie Meng began packing his hospital essentials once more: dental kits, a comb, pajamas, disinfectant wipes, underpads, a turning pillow…
She organized these items one by one. The hospital had sent a treatment handbook in advance, detailing various precautionary notes regarding the surgical procedure.
Auntie Meng read through the small, colorful booklet, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she turned the pages one by one. The photographs illustrating instances of skin graft failure and localized wound non-healing left her with a lingering sense of dread. She asked, “Is this something that absolutely has to be done?”
Chen Wengang sat cross-legged on the sofa, turning his medical card over in his fingers.
He felt that he possessed no choice in the matter: “Let’s do it.”
Auntie Meng gave the booklet a slight shake. “Look what it says right here: ‘Patients are advised to consider carefully.'”
Chen Wengang said, “It’s a surgery; the hospital and doctors have already made the arrangements. We’ve prepared all the way up to this point, it wouldn’t be right to back out now.”
She offered a few words of lament, and the packing was complete.
When Huo Niansheng returned to the apartment, the housekeeper had already prepared dinner.
The treatment handbook sent by the hospital found its way into Huo Niansheng’s hands. He read it with far greater scrutiny; having finished it once, he reviewed it again from the very beginning. He flipped through it several times, his brow furrowing deeply into the shape of a canyon. Finally, Huo Niansheng let out a rare sigh.
Skin graft via dermatome…
Skin graft via roller knife…
Skin graft via drum-type dermatome…
A skin graft involved harvesting a portion of healthy skin from one’s own body to cover the area where a scar had been excised. Ultimately, it was a therapeutic approach of robbing Peter to pay Paul—a painful process fraught with substantial risks, accompanied by complications like necrosis and infection.
Chen Wengang lay on Huo Niansheng’s bed, cushioning his head on one arm. “I haven’t even sighed yet, so why are you sighing?”
Huo Niansheng countered, “Why don’t you think about what kind of reward you want when you’re discharged from the hospital?”
Chen Wengang replied that he wasn’t a child anymore, requiring rewards for taking injections and medicine.
Huo Niansheng insisted that it should still be given.
Chen Wengang smiled, extending his other fair arm toward him. Huo Niansheng rolled over, wrapping an arm around him and offering a light pat. Appearing intent on managing Chen Wengang’s spirits, he chatted with him about various random topics until drowsiness set in, and Chen Wengang drifted off to sleep right by his side.
During the final days leading up to his hospital admission, he spent every single night in Huo Niansheng’s room.
They shared whispered intimacies, sleeping side by side with their feet intertwined, sharing the same pillow.
When the scheduled date arrived, Huo Niansheng cleared his schedule of all other engagements. Waking Chen Wengang early in the morning, he personally escorted him to the hospital.
As the driver headed upstairs to assist with the luggage, Huo Niansheng called out to check, asking Chen Wengang, “Have you gathered all your identification documents?”
Leaning against the door, Chen Wengang looked at him and nodded.
Huo Niansheng’s driver was a middle-aged man surnamed Li, possessing a simple and honest disposition. Over the past year, he had grown intimately familiar with the route to the hospital; he knew exactly which lanes to take during peak hours versus off-peak hours, joking that he could practically drive there with his eyes closed now.
Once the admission formalities were completed, Chen Wengang was settled back into the very same familiar ward.
This particular hospital stay spanned an exceptionally long duration.
From summer all the way to winter, throughout the entire second half of the year, Chen Wengang barely returned to the apartment at all.
To increase the surface area of skin available for grafting, the surgeons needed to implant tissue expanders beneath his skin, gradually injecting saline solution over multiple sessions. Incising the skin, inserting the expander, awaiting healing, administering injections, harvesting the skin, surgical suturing… followed by a grueling, months-long recovery period.
Huo Niansheng came to visit and provide companionship at regular intervals.
Seemingly attuned to the sheer agony of the surgical process, he displayed immense care and concern, arriving like a clockwork employee punching a timecard—visiting five or six times a week. At times, due to the medication, Chen Wengang’s sleep schedule became completely inverted; when he closed his eyes, the man was by his bedside, and when he opened them again, he was still sitting right there.
He began to doubt whether Huo Niansheng had actually ever left after saying goodbye the previous evening.
Huo Niansheng clarified that he hadn’t stayed through the night; he had just arrived that day.
Chen Wengang’s ward was located in the surgical department. By a stroke of coincidence, a teenager was admitted to the opposite end of the hall; having sustained severe burns, the boy was also undergoing skin graft surgeries. The tearing agony of expanding skin frequently filled the entire floor with blood-curdling wails. Every time the boy was scheduled for an injection, it was nothing short of a full-scale battle; he would desperately grasp the bed railings, the IV stands, the door frames, and anything within reach to prevent himself from being dragged away to face the torture.
The two of them would sit inside the room, listening together to the exceptionally tragic screams echoing along the corridor, interspersed with curses and vitriol the boy had picked up from who-knows-where.
Chen Wengang fared better; as an adult, he wouldn’t resort to identical methods to vent his anger and grievance.
He simply became far more taciturn, no longer possessing the disposition for lighthearted banter.
Chronic pain naturally deteriorates sleep quality, diminishes appetite, and dampens one’s mood. Whenever the doctors and nurses arrived with inquiries, he would answer honestly, and once they departed, he would silently bury his face back into the mattress. When Huo Niansheng cracked a joke or two, he would cooperatively offer a faint smile.
But he no longer spent time sketching. Every time Huo Niansheng stepped into the ward, Chen Wengang was almost invariably curled up in bed asleep.
Over these months, in Huo Niansheng’s impression, Chen Wengang seemed permanently battered.
His body was continuously adorned with various medical apparatuses—indwelling needles, braces, gauze… alongside a myriad of marks that were either black and blue, or weeping blood and pus. The donor sites for the skin grafts also left distinct scars; in short, he never possessed a whole, unblemished appearance.
Consequently, his immunity plummeted. As if experiencing a sudden eruption, various post-operative complications followed in close succession.
Fortunately, the worst-case scenario never materialized. The most severe complication during this period was a bout of severe pneumonia that Chen Wengang contracted.
He was placed on a ventilator for a week, followed by a persistent cough that lasted for over a month. During that stretch, Huo Niansheng remained at the hospital to provide round-the-clock care, sleeping on the bed in the outer suite at night. Chen Wengang’s coughing fits were so severe that they kept him awake through the night, causing Huo Niansheng to be roused three or four times an evening.
Awakened by the noise, he would head inside, switch on the nightlight, lightly pat Chen Wengang’s back, and offer him a few sips of water to suppress the cough.
Chen Wengang found himself increasingly unable to see through the man.
Analyzing Huo Niansheng’s psychology, he felt that the man had perhaps developed a form of knight-errant complex toward him. The more care one invests in a subject, and the greater the emotional cost incurred, the harder it becomes to sever ties. Yet, this subject didn’t necessarily have to be a specific person; many individuals would carefully tend to a pet without counting the cost or expecting a return. He felt like Huo Niansheng’s… how should one put it—a pet, a piece of artwork, a charitable project.
A bed partner who could hardly be described as beautiful.
A responsibility that had been inexplicably thrust upon his shoulders.
One midnight, Huo Niansheng awoke once more, catching the sound of muffled coughing suppressed within a chest cavity inside the ward.
Pushing the door open, he found Chen Wengang lying with his back to the entrance, his torso hunched and curled tight like a shrimp in an attempt to stifle the coughing fit. But it was easier said than done; his entire spine trembled violently from the strain, his muscles taut, his throat emitting a painful, asthmatic wheeze.
Huo Niansheng flipped the light switch with a sharp click. Sensing that the man was awake, Chen Wengang no longer attempted to hold back, his condition dissolving into a string of agonizing, hacking coughs.
The cough came from deep within, an itch bubbling up from his bronchial tubes, relentless and leaving him breathless for a long stretch.
He felt a broad, warm hand settle upon his back, rhythmically and gently cupping it.
Chen Wengang managed to utter, “Go back… you really don’t need to stay overnight. Like this, you can’t sleep well, and neither can I.”
Sitting by the bedside, Huo Niansheng reached for the syrup on the nightstand, unscrewed the cap, and offered him a sip to hold in his mouth.
Chen Wengang swallowed it down, murmuring that he was fine and urging him to sleep, only for his lungs to flare with an itch again, plunging him into another endless round of coughing.
Huo Niansheng waited with immense patience for him to stabilize, his eyes clear and entirely devoid of drowsiness. Finding themselves in this state, both simply abandoned all attempts at sleep.
Chen Wengang mentioned that he had been born prematurely as a child, spending half a month inside an incubator. Perhaps due to this underlying factor, his immunity had been poor for as long as he could remember, causing him to fall ill frequently; he even attributed his lack of height during childhood to this reason.
Finishing his explanation, he seemed to find it amusing himself, a long-absent trace of playful mischief gracing the corners of his lips.
Huo Niansheng caught the jesting nature of his words.
He suddenly pressed a brief kiss against the corner of his lips.
During the day, they would venture out for walks. Huo Niansheng accompanied Chen Wengang outdoors to allow him to soak in the sunshine. There was an art to sunbathing; it was best to have the rays illuminate one’s back. Unfortunately, the weather that day proved unfavorable, the cloud cover thick and dense, blotting out the sky. Fortunately, high-altitude winds gradually pushed the clouds aside, suddenly tearing open a rift in the atmosphere. The piercing sunlight beamed down, instantly melting into his hair and tinting it with a rich caramel hue.
Chen Wengang sat upon a bench with his legs bent, the trousers of his hospital uniform riding up to reveal a pair of slender ankles.
Having been cooped up indoors for an extended period, his skin appeared strikingly pale under the sunlight.
Resting an arm along the backrest, Huo Niansheng lowered his gaze to look down, lost in thought.
He felt that this particular ankle was perfectly suited for a red string threaded with a pure gold luck-turning bead—it might lean a bit toward the tacky side, but it didn’t particularly matter; on someone with such fair skin, it wouldn’t look unsightly regardless. The primary focus was the auspicious meaning: peace, safety, and good fortune.
In truth, it was impossible to pinpoint the exact moment, but a seed of hesitation had already quietly taken root within Huo Niansheng’s mind.
He found himself thinking: Why not just forget it? What is the point of enduring all this suffering here?
Plastic surgery wasn’t an absolute necessity. If Chen Wengang couldn’t bring himself to accept his appearance turning out this way, if he truly minded the peculiar stares of outsiders, or if he harbored a desire to reintegrate into society, Huo Niansheng could easily invest the effort to help him achieve it. But what if he simply didn’t want to?
Even if he didn’t work, didn’t socialize, and didn’t step foot outside, maintaining his life exactly as it was now wasn’t beyond his financial means to support.
There were myriad ways for a person to live; nothing was a absolute requirement, and nothing was that big of a deal.
A sudden weight settled against his shoulder. Huo Niansheng raised his gaze; Chen Wengang had leaned over, resting his head against his shoulder.
His eyes were lightly closed, as though the warmth of the sun had induced drowsiness, his thin eyelids fluttering imperceptibly. His breathing was remarkably shallow, his chest rising and falling subtly, his left hand loosely curled upon his knee. His wrist was also exceptionally slender—primarily because he was far too thin, appearing as though it might snap with a single bend.
Huo Niansheng took his hand into his own, his thumb lightly stroking the back of the other’s fingers a couple of times.
Chen Wengang returned the squeeze.
Not long after winter set in, an acquaintance Chen Wengang had made among the patients—Professor Lu, who resided in Room 403—passed away.
On the day the elderly professor departed, his children all returned from abroad. The entire family consisted of highly educated intellectuals, behaving with immense composure. They conducted a dignified memorial service before escorting the remains to the mortuary.
The boy from the far end of the corridor had been transferred to a different hospital—apparently a children’s facility, though the specifics remained unclear.
The names on the patient cards within the ward shifted continuously; patients arrived and departed, a revolving door of changing faces.
Chen Wengang hadn’t anticipated that by the time he was finally discharged to return home, the year-end was already approaching once more.
Reflecting upon it, the year had actually managed to draw to a close just like that. At schools, students were facing final examinations; at corporations, employees were drafting annual performance reviews. Everyone was engaged in summarizing and looking back, save for him—a solitary, idle individual who had frittered away time, not even registering what he had accomplished.
A month prior to the Lunar New Year, Auntie Meng tendered her resignation.
Her twin grandchildren had been born; her son-in-law faced a grueling work schedule, and her daughter was a novice mother desperately requiring assistance. She had actually formulated this decision long ago, merely postponing it for several months solely to ensure Chen Wengang was looked after.
Huo Niansheng accepted her resignation.
Domestic service agencies never lacked top-tier staff, but given that it coincided with the festive New Year period, securing a suitable replacement wasn’t an easy task to coordinate at a moment’s notice.
Chen Wengang suggested letting it be; he possessed functioning limbs and didn’t strictly require constant supervision.
Huo Niansheng doted on him with extreme care now, treating him with the special privileges reserved for a sick child. Fortunately, the property management services were exceptionally thorough, offering hotel-style amenities to residents. While it didn’t cover every single detail like a live-in housekeeper, coordinating domestic cleaning visits presented no issue whatsoever.
The crowds on the streets purchasing New Year supplies were a massive, surging throng, hauling dry goods, fresh produce, apparel, and delicacies back home as if they cost nothing at all.
Huo Niansheng accompanied Chen Wengang to the Lunar New Year Flower Market. Upon arrival, they were met with a veritable sea of humanity. String upon string of red lanterns hung overhead, and stall owners called out continuously. There were spring couplets, curios, and an overwhelming abundance of diverse flora—phalaenopsis orchids, chrysanthemums, mandarin orange trees, peach blossoms. Traditional potted plants remained the perennial favorites, selling with immense velocity. Chen Wengang kept his mask firmly in place, and Huo Niansheng shielded him within his embrace amidst the crowd.
With such a high density of people, even the paparazzi would find it challenging to squeeze through specifically to capture a photo or two of them.
Huo Niansheng purchased two potted mandarin orange trees to bring back home.
On the day of the Laba Festival, an uninvited guest arrived at the door of the Horizon Mansion apartment. Chen Wengang crossed paths with that paternal cousin, Huo Zhenfei, once again.
Huo Zhenfei had come for a visit—he brought along several boxes of precious bird’s nest, stacking them upon the entryway console before shedding his overcoat. Invited into the living room, he took a seat upon the sofa. He struck up a relaxed conversation with Chen Wengang, inquiring about his recent circumstances while fully aware of the answers.
He observed Chen Wengang; the surgeons had finally managed to reconstruct a semblance of his features, rendering him looking a bit better than before—though still a far cry from a normal individual. This was hardly surprising; he had heard of other cases of acid disfigurement where undergoing dozens of operations was entirely within the realm of possibility.
As they chatted idly, Huo Zhenfei mentioned that his father intended to head to Ning’an Temple to offer incense for this year’s Lunar New Year.
Ning’an Temple was situated on Longming Mountain in the neighboring city of Zhangcheng. Its incense fires burned bright, and its reputation was immense; on the opening day of every year, the throng of devout believers arriving to claim the very first stick of incense was so vast they would practically come to blows. Hearing this, Huo Niansheng found it tedious: “Is it possible to request an exemption?”
Huo Zhenfei replied, “Absolutely not.”
Huo Niansheng inquired, “Whose bright idea was this anyway?”
His cousin answered, “Ning’an Temple houses Grandfather’s ancestral tablet. It happens to be exactly the third anniversary of his passing, and Father mentioned dreaming of him just the other day. Just consider it a gesture to keep the elder happy, accompanying him to pray for prosperity and a thriving lineage. It’s the New Year, isn’t it best for the entire family to be happy together?”
Huo Zhenfei added, “Burning incense and praying to Buddha—if you harbor any wishes of your own, you might as well take the opportunity to make a request while you’re there.”
Huo Niansheng burst into laughter. “I don’t even believe in Buddhism! How is it that I’ve reached middle age, yet I’m still being escorted by elders to burn incense like a primary school student?”
Huo Zhenfei wore an expression of helplessness. “Second Uncle’s family along with Jingsheng are all attending; it wouldn’t look right if you were the sole person missing. Just come along.”
Suddenly, Huo Niansheng felt a light nudge against his elbow.
Chen Wengang spoke softly: “You should go.”
Huo Niansheng caught the words, his expression remaining a mask of ambiguous amusement. He sat back at ease, crossing his legs, his gaze shifting back and forth between Chen Wengang and Huo Zhenfei as if deliberately calculating and weighing something in his mind.
Finally, his focus returned to Chen Wengang. For some reason, he suddenly conceded, “Fine, fine, I’ll go. How many days is it going to take?”
Huo Zhenfei noted, “Father wishes to stay behind to consume vegetarian meals for a couple of days. If you have engagements, you can head back on your own once the first incense is burned.”
Consequently, even before New Year’s Eve arrived, Huo Niansheng returned to the ancestral estate.
When it came to festivals like the Lunar New Year, Chen Wengang truly remained indifferent; the concept of a grand family reunion held no special significance for him.
He arranged the potted mandarin orange trees Huo Niansheng had purchased, wiping the leaves clean one by one.
The refrigerator remained packed with diverse ingredients; the fridge at Huo Niansheng’s residence was akin to a treasure chest, permanently stocked and never lacking.
Chen Wengang’s culinary skills were rudimentary at best. Huo Niansheng had suggested he simply prepare hot pot for himself; the residence possessed the necessary equipment, and there was no need to fret over the dishes—he could leave them in the sink for the property’s cleaning staff to handle.
He cooked a bowl of noodles, bringing it over to the coffee table to eat. Switching on the television, the apartment instantly filled with ambient noise. On the screen, experts were detailing traditional New Year customs—a segment repeated annually without fail. Changing the channel, two groups of individuals were debating whether the festive spirit of the New Year was growing increasingly dilute in modern society.
Huo Niansheng traveled solo without a personal driver, choosing instead to squeeze into the vehicle carrying Huo Zhenfei’s family of three.
The Huo family caravan set forth in a grand procession, establishing their base at a hotel situated at the foot of the mountain. The fact that a five-star hotel could operate successfully here was a testament to capitalizing on local natural resources; relying entirely on the famous mountain and grand temple to stimulate the regional economy, it was highly favored by numerous celebrities and tycoons.
On the first day of the Lunar New Year, just as the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon, Huo Niansheng’s third uncle led the younger generation of the clan to successfully ignite the very first stick of incense.
Before the statues of the deities, curls of blue smoke drifted upward, and the solemn tolling of the temple bell resonated across the heavens.
Bong——
Ning’an Temple possessed a long history, appearing ancient and majestic, nestled amidst red walls and green foliage. Yet, it was far from quiet; right from New Year’s Eve, it had been a bustling hive of human activity, the throng of individuals arriving to pray wrapping around the complex in dense layers. Huo Niansheng gradually drifted away from the clan, blending into the crowd of tourists.
Two young women, having finished offering incense, strolled past him arm-in-arm, their voices chattering with the melodious cadence of larks.
“They say the amulets here are incredibly effective—consecrated, even. Are you truly not going to buy one? You could bring it back as a gift.”
“I simply have no one to gift it to. Otherwise, I could help Teacher Yang look into whether they have amulets for romantic luck?”
“Then it wouldn’t be called a peace amulet, it would be a peach blossom amulet—hey, do temples even sell peach blossom amulets?”
“One can pray for marriage and romance before the Buddha himself, so it shouldn’t be entirely out of the question!”
Huo Zhenfei, holding his son’s hand, navigated his way out from behind a moon gate, only to spot his inherently untamed cousin standing idly by. Looking akin to a male model striking a pose, he was leaning against a gnarled, twisted pine tree in the backyard.
Huo Niansheng leaned casually against the tree trunk, his head tilted back, his gaze fixed on something distant. His posture was completely relaxed, one hand dangling loosely at his side.
Huo Zhenfei noticed that his palm was wrapped around something, a vibrant red silk cord peeking through the gaps of his fingers.
Hearing footsteps, Huo Niansheng didn’t turn to look at them. He was staring at the soaring eaves atop the temple structure, as if amidst this deep forest and ancient sanctuary, he was gazing through the structural composition of soil and timber to contemplate the solemn countenance of the Buddha.
One was required to switch their mobile phone to silent mode upon entering the temple. It wasn’t until he returned to the hotel that Huo Niansheng noticed a missed call notification on his screen.
Displaying on the screen was Chen Wengang’s number.
He froze for a fraction of a second before dialing back. The first attempt yielded no response. It wasn’t until the second call that the line connected, yet the other end remained entirely devoid of speech.
Standing by the window, Huo Niansheng called out Chen Wengang’s name, urging him not to panic and inquiring what was wrong.
The sole response he received was an unvoiced, heavy silence, save for a progressively labored, heavy wheezing.
Huo Niansheng’s brow furrowed sharply. As he lifted his hand, he inadvertently knocked a glass over; it rolled across the floor with a hollow clatter, spilling a patch of moisture onto the carpet.
Chen Wengang was curled up in the entryway, his arms wrapped around his knees. His lips parted and closed, yet he simply failed to emit a single sound. He had originally dialed the number to seek assistance, but upon catching the sound of Huo Niansheng’s voice, his throat felt as though it were stuffed with cotton for some inexplicable reason, failing to utter a word despite multiple attempts.
Half an hour later, Amanda rushed over to her employer’s apartment from her parents’ residence.
Assisting Chen Wengang up, she secured a vehicle to transport him to the hospital.
He had actually been experiencing discomfort in his eyes for a period of time; at the very least, minor symptoms had manifested back when Huo Zhenfei visited. Initially, it was merely an ambiguous, fleeting pain coupled with a slight sensitivity to light. Uncertain whether it constituted a major issue, he hadn’t spoken up prematurely.
It wasn’t until he awoke from an afternoon nap that his vision vanished entirely—hence, it was no surprise that panic had set in. With not a single soul around him, navigating the familiar apartment suddenly became an insurmountable challenge. Bumping and stumbling his way to the door frame, he found himself entirely at a loss, not even registering the option to dial emergency services.
Sympathetic ophthalmia.
The physician explained, “Therefore, our human body functions much like a highly sophisticated instrument; pulling a single thread moves the entire fabric. In folklore, it’s sometimes said that if one eye goes blind, the other will follow suit; this is actually the underlying principle. If a single eye sustains trauma, it stimulates the ocular fundus to generate intraocular antigens, triggering an autoimmune response. This can result in an indiscriminate attack against the tissues of the remaining healthy eye. The injured eye is termed the exciting eye, while the affected healthy eye is the sympathetic eye. Ocular trauma doesn’t invariably trigger sympathetic ophthalmia; some individuals develop it weeks or months following the injury, others a year later, and some might face a sudden onset decades down the line…”
He expertly sketched a diagram of an eyeball on a sheet of paper, delivering his explanation with practiced ease.
Finishing his discourse, the doctor paused. Having practiced medicine for numerous years, he possessed immense experience, allowing the patient’s family member ample time to comprehend and process the information.
Huo Niansheng sat in the chair opposite him, his countenance dark as a stagnant pool. He was still clad in the attire he had worn to offer the first incense—a black Chester coat featuring matte velvet lapels, his leather shoes polished to a high sheen, exuding the formal dignity of one attending a high-profile function.
Through the fabric of his pocket, his fingers lightly brushed against the metal cigarette case inside before pulling away.
Shifting his posture, Huo Niansheng posed a question with immense humility and gentleness: “Hadn’t everything been perfectly fine prior to this?”
The doctor offered a warm, understanding smile, pointing toward his own eyes. “It’s an instrument, after all. The components on our bodies are naturally best left in their original factory condition; if it can be avoided, it’s best not to alter them. The principles of treatment dictate prioritizing the preservation of life first, followed by the globe of the eye, and lastly, the preservation of visual acuity. The previous procedures were handled correctly. It’s just that sometimes, it ultimately depends on whether Providence permits a smooth path. If it truly cannot be saved, then one must cut the knot cleanly.”
Huo Niansheng finalized the schedule for a further consultation with him.
Entering the main ward building, it was still the festive New Year season, yet the number of patients remaining admitted this year appeared higher than the last. A gurney bed was wheeled past him, the patient’s features obscured, revealing only a thick, short hand emerging from beneath the blanket, an IV line connecting to the hanging bottle overhead. A woman appearing to be a caregiver assisted an elderly lady to slowly navigate her way downstairs, her posture stooped, her withered hand grasping the handrail along the wall.
A middle-aged physician, accompanied by several interns, conversed about a medical case history as they walked briskly toward the exit.
Navigating his way upstairs via the steps, Huo Niansheng scanned the room numbers until he located the correct ward.
Chen Wengang had already been properly settled into bed. Catching the sound of the door opening and the approaching footsteps, he slowly sat up once more.
Huo Niansheng observed him groping in the air, extending a hand toward his general direction.
That hand remained suspended in mid-air for a moment before receiving a response; Huo Niansheng hesitated for a few seconds before finally grasping it.
Chen Wengang felt the mattress sink slightly beside him as someone took a seat on the edge of his bed. Surrounded by darkness, his remaining senses grew sharper, allowing him to discern the familiar scent of aftershave and woody cologne. Feeling as though he had located his sanctuary, he wrapped both arms around the man, locking them tightly around Huo Niansheng’s waist.
His hot breath brushed against the side of Huo Niansheng’s neck as the latter inquired, “Were you frightened to tears?”
Chen Wengang replied, “No.”
His emotions had already stabilized, and he offered an apology for causing such a frantic disruption for everyone during the grand New Year.
Sitting at the head of the bed, Huo Niansheng rambled on, reiterating the physician’s explanation before complaining about his tendency to encounter complications the moment supervision was removed. He added that should any future discomfort arise, he must speak up early—a basic fact even children understood.
Pressing his head against the crook of the man’s neck, Chen Wengang remained silent, silently enduring the scolding.
Huo Niansheng shifted to a reassuring tone, stating that nothing major would happen; he had verified that visual acuity wasn’t entirely beyond recovery.
Having rushed back post-haste, his voice was low and raspy. With every sentence he uttered, Chen Wengang could feel the corresponding vibration within his chest cavity.
This particular voice was intimately familiar to Chen Wengang. Yet, with his eyes closed, he found it challenging to visualize Huo Niansheng’s countenance—particularly his expressions. It sounded entirely uncharacteristic of Huo Niansheng, as though a secondary personality had fractured from within the same physical shell—one far more tender and serene, yet distinct from his usual self.
Was he originally like this? Judging solely by his speech, who would ever suspect this was a playboy who trifled with the secular world?
Huo Niansheng assisted Chen Wengang to lie flat once more, helping him pry his eyelids open to administer the eye drops.
The consensus reached by the specialists remained unyielding: an enucleation surgery—the removal of the eye—was required.
On the day Chen Wengang entered the operating theater, Huo Niansheng waited outside as was his custom.
The red light overhead remained illuminated continuously. Amanda, remaining dutifully at her post, sat alongside him in the waiting zone, though truth be told, the experience was incredibly tedious. With nothing to occupy their time, Huo Niansheng turned his mobile phone horizontally, activating the speaker as he lowered his head to review a surgical educational video to pass the hours.
Glancing over, she caught sight of a 3D animation demonstrating the sequential severing of the six extraocular muscles and the optic nerve, isolating and removing the globe of the eye. It was an animated rendering rather than actual footage, devoid of blood and gore, yet it remained somewhat challenging to the nerves of an average individual. She swiftly averted her gaze.
Huo Niansheng, however, appeared entirely unfazed. After a moment, he requested Amanda to head downstairs to purchase coffee.
When she returned bearing the cups, she discovered her employer was nowhere to be found.
Searching the vicinity, she finally spotted her target through a windowpane.
A sizeable open terrace lay outside the second-floor corridor; Huo Niansheng had presumably relocated to this area to smoke.
He had ignited a cigarette, one leg resting on the edge of the chair while the other braced against the ground. For a man of his large stature, the chair appeared somewhat cramped. This particular posture lent him the air of a bankrupt tycoon—still clad in haute couture, yet his entire spine exuded an indescribable aura of defeat and despondency.
In Amanda’s memory, he hadn’t smoked for an extended duration, leading her to assume he had broken the habit. Approaching him, she handed over the coffee before it cooled.
Accepting it, Huo Niansheng set it aside for the moment, continuing to exhale clouds of smoke.
He suddenly inquired, “Speaking of which, do you believe in Buddhism?”
Amanda froze in confusion for an instant before replying, “My mother does. On the first and fifteenth of every lunar month, they head to temples to release loaches.”
Huo Niansheng arched an eyebrow. “Feudal superstition. Capturing loaches on one end, only for people to pay money to release them on the other—it truly is a lucrative business enterprise.”
Amanda noted, “I’m not entirely certain about the details; I’ve never paid close attention to those matters. The money is spent, she’s happy, and that’s about the extent of it.”
A brief silence descended between the two.
She added, “Presumably, such matters depend on the sincerity of one’s heart for the prayers to be answered. Should you desire to pray for blessings for Mr. Chen, I can inquire with my mother to provide an introduction. Between the first day and the Lantern Festival, numerous opportunities present themselves.”
Huo Niansheng stared at her face, though his mind was evidently drifting elsewhere. After a long pause, his expression suddenly loosened.
He burst into a hearty laugh. “My heart isn’t sincere, so it would be entirely useless anyway!”
Extinguishing the cigarette, Huo Niansheng composed his features, no longer engaging in jests. Consuming the coffee in a few gulps, he stood up and fastened the buttons of his overcoat.
His frame was tall and erect, his tailored trousers enveloping his long legs. The moment he stood straight, the aura of despondency that had cloaked him just moments ago vanished entirely—swept away completely as if it had been nothing more than a passing illusion. Once again, he was the composed, nonchalant Huo Niansheng.
Amanda took a half-step back to clear the path, catching his words: “I wonder if he’s out yet. Let’s head up and take a look.”
Turning to pass a waste bin, Huo Niansheng tossed the empty cup inside.
They waited for an additional two hours before the “In Surgery” indicator shifted to a green light.
The doors to the operating theater parted, and a gurney was wheeled out.
Chen Wengang had undergone local anesthesia; he retained consciousness, yet remained in a state devoid of complete clarity. He could register the hollow rolling sound of the gurney’s wheels echoing in his ears, yet the noise appeared entirely devoid of distinct meaning. Amidst that continuous rustling sound, the gurney navigated its way into the ward.
The male nurse and the orderly prepared to transfer him onto the bed, but Huo Niansheng waved them off, indicating for them to step back. Bending down, he found it far easier to single-handedly lift Chen Wengang into a bridal carry, settling him gently onto the hospital bed. The fabric of Chen Wengang’s hospital uniform shifted, exposing a section of his torso.
Huo Niansheng drew the blanket up, covering him to his chest.
Amanda headed downstairs to process the paperwork, and the orderly departed shortly after. Following a brief period of bustling commotion, the atmosphere within the room finally settled into a profound stillness.
I’m running out of tears