Chapter 133: Becoming part of his very being.
Halley followed Chen Wengang everywhere, inseparable.
Having shed its puppyish immaturity, the dog was now well-trained, only revealing its natural, energetic side when Chen Wengang played with it. Compared to when it was younger, it seemed to have developed a deeper intuition, able to sense its master’s moods with pinpoint accuracy. In the past, whenever Chen Wengang’s spirits dipped, Halley would fret and pace around, whimpering as it pounced on him. Now, it remained silent, simply lying quietly by his side and resting its head on his knee. It seemed to possess a boundless, innate vitality, which it firmly and powerfully transmitted to Chen Wengang.
Before he knew it, New Year’s Day arrived. When Xiao Ping called home, her mother asked if she would be returning for the Lunar New Year.
Initially, she said she would, but after a moment, she called back to say never mind. The holiday period offered triple pay, and with her younger sister entering high school and the family’s mounting expenses, she wanted to take the opportunity to save more. The other reason—which she kept to herself—was that she had enrolled in night school, and classes ran until the 29th of the lunar month. If she factored in travel time, she would inevitably miss two days of instruction.
She felt a sense of anxiety; until the exam results were out, she didn’t want to talk about it, even with her family.
By New Year’s Eve, most of the villa staff had gone on holiday; only two or three, including the butler, remained.
The vast house suddenly felt hollow and empty; even when Halley barked twice, the sound seemed to linger in the lonely echoes.
Xiao Ping was cleaning, while Chen Wengang threw a tennis ball in the courtyard—he would throw it, and Halley would fetch it. As she passed by, Chen Wengang suddenly called out to her: “Don’t bother with that anymore, it’s already clean enough. Just go do whatever you want to do.”
She thought for a moment, then stopped standing on ceremony, saying she wanted to use the computer to look up some information.
Chen Wengang agreed and asked how her classes were going.
They went to the study, where Chen Wengang helped her figure out her credits and even took the time to tutor her in English and mathematics.
Halley lay by their feet, yawning. When a pen fell to the floor, it helped pick it up.
Chen Wengang petted the dog: “Thank you, you’re such a good boy.”
Xiao Ping looked at the dog, then at him—ever since Halley came into his life, he finally possessed more of the vitality of a living person.
At the very least, he was clearly striving to get closer to a normal life; anyone could see that.
But speaking of which, this brought to mind a worry she had been nursing lately. At night school, she had overheard gossip about “that Mr. Huo.”
Everyone there was a stranger with an unknown background. She didn’t speak up, and no one imagined that her employer was the protagonist of their rumors. Her classmates huddled together, discussing it with great enthusiasm. Someone mentioned how his temperament had shifted over the past few years, and for some reason, he had even stopped appearing in public much. Another person immediately covered their mouth, mysteriously whispering that an expert had analyzed it: he might have been cursed by a lover, charmed by some Southeast Asian dark magic to cloud his eyes and trap his heart. Because this superstition was too nonsensical, someone immediately retorted with disdain: if a playboy turns over a new leaf, there’s only one possibility—he’s just laying low for a few years to arrange a suitable marriage. Entertainment weeklies had already broken several stories, explicitly or implicitly hinting at who he was engaged to; couldn’t everyone see that?
The villa didn’t subscribe to any entertainment tabloids, and she wasn’t sure if Chen Wengang knew. At the very least, he didn’t show it.
But when she thought about it carefully, she couldn’t help but be intensely curious about the relationship between the two, even breaking into a cold sweat.
Huo Niangsheng was the owner of this villa, and he came up the mountain to stay from time to time; it seemed like a Shangri-La he had built for Chen Wengang. He seemed so noble, but at the end of the day, his whole life wasn’t staked here. He had another life down the mountain.
What kind of life did he lead in that other half?
Could all his behavior in the mountain villa be an act?
The villa passed the New Year in a cold, quiet manner.
The next day, when Xiao Ping went to the living room, Chen Wengang gave her a red envelope. It had been prepared in advance by Huo Niangsheng and left in a drawer—one for each staff member—to express his gratitude as an employer for everyone’s hard work throughout the year. Those who were on holiday would receive theirs upon their return.
Halley didn’t fear the cold; it was doing “parkour” in the courtyard, and Chen Wengang stood by the door, watching it.
His breath condensed into mist on the glass; Chen Wengang reached out to wipe it clean, his figure appearing very lonely.
Xiao Ping vaguely remembered when she first arrived, he would stay indoors year-round, his skin a sickly, pale white from never seeing the sun; she had even felt a sense of impending decay about him. By now, she had grown used to it and didn’t notice it much. Besides, because he went out to walk the dog, he saw more of the sun, and his complexion had indeed improved. As the New Year arrived, it felt like a good sign.
Xiao Ping turned on the television to bring a bit more liveliness into the house.
She asked Chen Wengang: “Did Mr. Huo say when he’s coming over?”
Chen Wengang answered nonchalantly: “I’m not sure, and I didn’t ask.”
Xiao Ping flipped through a few channels, but there were no good programs on. Chen Wengang had told the remaining staff they didn’t need to work during the holiday; she was quite close to him, so they each occupied a sofa in the living room, watching their own phones.
Chen Wengang swiped at his screen, distracted. Xiao Ping had searched for Huo Niangsheng’s name recently, and by mistake, she tapped a history link. A video began to play, and the audio started up—it was a clip exposing Huo Niangsheng’s private life.
She scrambled to turn the sound off, looking at Chen Wengang with extreme embarrassment.
Chen Wengang, however, said: “It’s okay. I watch these things myself online sometimes.”
Xiao Ping became even more awkward. She coughed clumsily a couple of times before explaining: “I…”
Chen Wengang said: “It really doesn’t matter.”
The two stared at each other, the scene not lacking a certain comical quality. After a moment, Xiao Ping couldn’t hold it in and put her cards on the table. She admitted that it was because she had heard gossip from her classmates that she had thought to search for it, driven by curiosity, but mostly because she didn’t believe most of it.
Chen Wengang chuckled softly: “Even you believe in him that much. So, didn’t you notice any signs?”
Xiao Ping sighed: “It’s not a question of whether I believe him or not. Mr. Huo comes so frequently—don’t mind me being blunt—but even if he had other lovers, he would need to be in two places at once to manage it. I feel like he… you are very important to him; there’s really no need to overthink it. Sigh, okay, okay, I’m wrong. I’m being stupid on the first day of the New Year; can you just pretend you didn’t hear anything?”
Chen Wengang said gently: “I know. I know all of this.”
After a while, he spoke again, revealing a glimpse of his true feelings for the first time.
Chen Wengang said that from his own perspective, he could actually accept Huo Niangsheng choosing to live with someone else.
Of course, not to the point of a sham marriage for the sake of an alliance—he believed Huo Niangsheng wouldn’t stoop that low—but Huo Niangsheng really had been too good to him, too good. He had already spent excessive patience and energy. To Chen Wengang, he was like a straw to cling to for dear life, and Chen Wengang could only drag him under the water. So, if one day Huo Niangsheng realized that his investment and the returns weren’t equal and decided to find a suitable life partner, Chen Wengang could step aside and even wish him well. He only needed a dignified farewell.
For some reason, Xiao Ping suddenly felt frustrated at his lack of resolve, saying that Chen Wengang’s way of thinking was too gloomy, too self-deprecating, and just wrong.
Chen Wengang didn’t argue with her; he admitted that he couldn’t control his negative thoughts, but perhaps he wouldn’t think this way in the future.
Halley had run enough outside; it rushed back in like a gust of wind and let out a bark. Chen Wengang stood up, opened the glass door, and let it in. He led Halley to the bathroom and wiped its paws with pet-safe wipes, then returned to the living room, where Halley joined them to watch TV.
A thought struck Xiao Ping, and she pointed at the dog, asking Chen Wengang if he had ever thought about who should get the dog if they really parted ways.
Chen Wengang looked at her and smiled helplessly: “You sound like you’re asking who gets the kids in a divorce.”
She said: “It’s about the same thing. So, could you bear it? Is this your dog or Mr. Huo’s dog? Can you even tell the difference?”
Pinned by the question, Chen Wengang had to sue for mercy: “I couldn’t bear it, so let’s just say I was being stupid too, and we’re even. Okay?”
Xiao Ping laughed heartily and began to reflect on what was wrong with them, talking such nonsense on the first day of the New Year.
She changed to a cartoon. Neither of the adults in the room had much interest in it, but Halley loved it; it pricked up its ears and stared at the screen without looking back. Chen Wengang signaled for it to watch that, and the dog let out a happy bark, its tail thumping against his calf.
Many years later, when Chen Wengang looked back on the past, it was Halley who had pulled him out of the darkest, bleakest days of his life.
And Huo Niangsheng had become the foundation of his existence; he had merged into his blood and become a bone within his body—bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. He had become a part of what defined him.
This process happened bit by bit, invisible, like water dripping through stone.
Chen Wengang took medication for two or three years; the dosage had been increased at one point, then slowly adjusted downward. He changed doctors during that time, and different doctors offered different opinions. One thought his case was relatively serious and required long-term medication. Another felt he was still young, and continuing on that path would be too taxing on his body. Later, after undergoing new tests, they gradually weaned him off the medicine entirely to reduce the burden on his kidneys and liver.
But all that medication had been effective. The overwhelming, crushing voice of self-condemnation in his brain was gone, and he rarely experienced those sudden bouts of crying. Honestly, looking back, it all felt a little embarrassing.
Those past events had become something Huo Niangsheng could use to tease him.
Chen Wengang never got annoyed, nor did he deny it; he just looked at him gently.
To a large extent, perhaps both of them felt like survivors of some great ordeal.
But life remained a vast, difficult, and bitter sea.
For the many people trapped in cocoons of their own making, there were obstacles in every direction, with no shore in sight.
In Xiao Ping’s eyes, Chen Wengang still rarely smiled. He was composed and steady, gentle in his treatment of others. Without a doubt, his condition had improved, but it seemed the ability to smile might not necessarily return to his life. Depression is a difficult disease to cure completely; someone had once described it as a “black dog” that cannot be shaken off. It is ubiquitous, pervasive, insidious, and lurking.
Even if it leaves, it still hides in the shadows, waiting for a day in the future to make a comeback.
As a result, Huo Niangsheng still treated him with caution, as if handling a dangerous piece of glassware.
Chen Wengang was well aware of what kind of trouble he was to him, yet he couldn’t force himself to recover to the state of a “normal” person.
He picked up his paintbrush again. He added color to his canvases—colored pencils, gouache. He used elegant, subtle tones; one could hardly see the gloom in his heart, but there was no intensity or passion, either. He used this as a hobby to pass the time, though the interest wasn’t particularly fervent. Sometimes he would sit in the empty room serving as a studio for hours; other times, he wouldn’t come by to touch a brush for days.
He was also self-studying French, though his memory and focus could never return to their previous levels; he would read for two hours a day and then put it down. Huo Niangsheng once asked him why he decided to learn the language, and Chen Wengang said he had just taken it as an elective in college and was idly looking at it again.
He sighed, saying that time spares no one, and, well, he had indeed forgotten almost everything.
Sometimes when he recalled the various faces he had known in the past, it was hard to immediately call up their familiar names.
Chen Wengang wasn’t particularly depressed about this. Even so, he had become stronger and more rational. The sense of powerlessness hadn’t disappeared, but the black mist shrouding him had gradually thinned; he could finally see others, and he could finally see himself.
