Chapter 137: Ten years later.
“Mr. Chen generally does not accept interviews,” Amanda said, shutting the request down instantly. “I’m sorry, which media outlet did you say you were with?”
“I’m a reporter from New City Weekly.”
“I will relay your request to him and let him make his own decision. You should go back for today.”
“Listen to me, listen to me,” Xu Niesheng trotted along, bobbing behind her. “It’s just that… ever since Mr. Chen was awarded the title of Justice of the Peace the year before last, I know he has a high reputation among the people, but after all…”
He made a gesture as if preventing eavesdroppers, lowering his voice: “After all, his past… at last month’s fundraising dinner, Councilor Wang Quan hinted to his face that the first pot of gold he earned wasn’t exactly ‘clean,’ wasn’t that the implication? So I believe he urgently needs a good, in-depth feature to provide positive public relations. Of course, a scoop would be best…”
However, Amanda was so busy she couldn’t even stop moving, let alone listen to his rambling. She was clutching three stacked file boxes. A glass door loomed ahead; she freed one hand to tap her ID card, and the door swung open.
Xu Niesheng seized the opportunity and slid in after her. She immediately tried to chase him out: “Hey, I said, you—”
Xu Niesheng shamelessly made a pleading face, insisting on seeing the man. At that moment, two figures—one tall, one short—approached from down the hall.
The tall one was a man with a scar on his face, wearing a black windbreaker. The short one was the German Shepherd walking beside him. It was an old dog now, its gait no longer as brisk as it once was. Yet, many knew the name: this “Mr. Chen” never left home without his leash, and his dog was fiercely protective with a legendary reputation, so it was best not to provoke them.
When they reached the spot, the man had a calm expression, yet carried an oppressive aura that made people afraid to speak freely. Just as Amanda was about to explain, Xu Niesheng’s eyes darted around, and he brazenly pushed his business card forward first.
This Mr. Chen might not be the richest tycoon in Gold City, but he was certainly a legend—a boy from humble beginnings who leapt to become a renowned philanthropist, his past full of drama. Yet, he was low-key, kept to himself, and rarely accepted public interviews despite doing much substantive work.
Xu Niesheng had already decided: even if he had to sleep on the street for three months, he would do whatever it took to land this exclusive.
Out of politeness, Chen Wengang accepted the card. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
Xu Niesheng immediately seized the opening: “Look, this is the ‘Niesheng Foundation,’ and my humble name happens to be Xu Niesheng. What kind of fate is this? Rest assured, just for the sake of this connection…”
Chen Wengang waved a hand, signaling him to stop. “Do you have time on Thursday morning?”
Xu Niesheng agreed immediately. But being a glib talker, he kept prying even as Amanda led him to the visitor room to register. Amanda didn’t seem to want to engage, only glancing at him once at the end and saying, “You’re quite lucky.”
The interview went ahead as scheduled. After the weekly was published, Xu Niesheng sent over a dozen sample copies to the foundation.
On the day they arrived, the copies were passed around among the staff. They discussed them with laughter, but some were unhappy. Qiao Ju, an assistant in the secretariat, walked over with a dark face, holding the article, clearly wanting to pick every sentence apart.
A colleague teased him: “It’s rare to get a legitimate look at the boss’s gossip; why are you being so cynical instead of listening?”
Qiao Ju huffed like a boiling kettle: “It was supposed to be an in-depth interview. Instead of reporting on him or the projects our foundation has done over the years, eight out of ten questions were digging into Mr. Chen’s romantic privacy. What kind of positive PR is this?”
The colleague knew his motives: “Reporters, they know best what the audience wants to see.” The colleague looked at him: “Mr. Chen is a man who knows his own mind. If he didn’t want to talk about it, nobody could force him.”
A visible raincloud seemed to form over Qiao Ju’s head.
The colleague found it amusing. It was hard to dampen the earnestness of a young man—though Mr. Chen’s face was scarred, his personal charm remained profound, attracting a steady stream of admirers. The promising, overseas-educated Qiao Ju was one of them. He had good personal qualifications and work performance, but after five years at the foundation and two years of pursuit, he had received nothing but polite “nice guy” rejections.
The colleague patted him on the shoulder.
After work, with the building nearly empty, Qiao Ju voluntarily stayed late. Without realizing it, it was past nine. Returning from the restroom, he saw a faint hint of red near the greenery in the corner of the corridor.
Qiao Ju’s heart jumped—no one at the foundation didn’t know that Mr. Chen had an amulet he never left home without…
He cleared his throat, his heart pounding, and knocked on the office door. Chen Wengang and Amanda were indeed working late. When Chen Wengang saw what Qiao Ju held, he froze and immediately reached for his neck. In Qiao Ju’s memory, Chen Wengang was always imperturbable; he had never seen his emotions fluctuate so visibly.
It turned out the string of the amulet had snapped. Chen Wengang took the amulet and thanked him repeatedly, appearing deeply moved.
It was late, so Chen Wengang said they should stop working and invited them to grab a late-night snack at a nearby porridge shop. After three bowls of ting zai porridge and four light side dishes, Amanda drove home alone. Qiao Ju actually had a car parked nearby, but he impulsively claimed he hadn’t driven today.
So, Chen Wengang offered to drive him home.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Qiao Ju’s mind drifted. He glanced at the side as the car moved, light and shadow flickering across Chen Wengang’s face. He finally couldn’t help but ask: “That amulet…”
Chen Wengang smiled: “Thank you. If I had really lost it, it would have cost me half my life.”
Qiao Ju didn’t want to talk about that: “So, actually, it was that… Huo…”
Chen Wengang did not deny it: “It was given to me by ‘that’ Mr. Huo. Weren’t you guys discussing it a while ago? Oh, actually, even if you hadn’t read the report, you should know him by the name of our foundation, right?”
The Niesheng Foundation was founded in memory of Mr. Huo Niangsheng. Even if some in society didn’t know the details, every employee heard about the organization’s culture during their onboarding training.
Qiao Ju felt a mix of emotions, unsure of how to continue the conversation. He had once gathered his courage to confess his feelings to Chen Wengang. The rejection had been graceful, sparing his pride. But no matter how graceful, a rejection was still a rejection. Chen Wengang had made excuses, saying he was too much older than Qiao Ju, and wished him luck finding someone more suitable.
At the time, Qiao Ju hadn’t listened—he was about to turn thirty, entering a more mature stage of life, fully understanding what he wanted. Chen Wengang wasn’t even forty yet; what was a gap of ten years? And what else was there? His face? His past? Qiao Ju only wanted a chance to prove they could be happy together.
Chen Wengang had just looked at him calmly and gently. His gaze was like twilight descending on a valley, possessing the texture of years of sediment. Qiao Ju had returned in defeat.
Now, under the cover of night, Qiao Ju boldly asked: “Were you two very close in the past?”
Chen Wengang was silent for a moment, then answered the question indirectly: “Actually, I rarely mention him these years.”
Qiao Ju shut his mouth, but he sensed that Chen Wengang had a desire to speak.
Chen Wengang said slowly and deliberately: “I don’t mention him because I’m afraid of saying too much. I would fall into the pain and be unable to extricate myself. And constantly showing one’s wounds, rambling on and on—others would get annoyed, and they need to move on with their lives. But if I don’t mention him at all, I’m afraid that no one will remember him, and no one will accompany me in missing him. I have always missed him very much.”
Qiao Ju said: “But he has been gone for so many years… I just think that having a profound love and a profound person hidden in the bottom of your heart is a precious memory. But people have to look forward.”
He added cautiously: “You don’t have to forget these things, but you could also bring them with you and start a new life, couldn’t you?”
Chen Wengang smiled faintly: “Everyone advises me that way. Actually, having come this far, am I not looking forward? I think I’ve been very strong. To go back to your question, I don’t even dare to say we were ‘very close’ because when he was alive, I never once expressed my love for him. After he passed away, my pain could only keep multiplying—it couldn’t decrease, and it certainly couldn’t vanish. If he hadn’t told me to live well, I might not have been able to hold on until now. That was the last thing he entrusted to me, and fortunately, I did it—I think I did okay, right? As for the rest, I’m old and brittle, and I really can’t manage that.”
Qiao Ju listened, dazed. After a long while, he came to his senses, scratched his head, cleared his throat, and joked: “What a pity, it seems I really don’t have a chance. But the good news is, this time it’s not a ‘nice guy’ card—I’ve finally been clearly sentenced to death.”
Chen Wengang said: “You will definitely find someone more suitable.”
The car stopped at an intersection. The red light flashed twice, then turned green, and Chen Wengang drove on. Two blocks later, they reached Qiao Ju’s neighborhood. It was a new residential area, the facilities were incomplete, and the streetlights hadn’t been connected yet, so he slowed down.
When they reached the entrance of the complex, Chen Wengang pulled over.
“We’re here,” he said. “Go on up, and get some rest early.”
On the way home, Chen Wengang suddenly thought of something. He checked the date and realized he had almost forgotten that this month only had thirty days.
Early the next morning, he called the florist, picked up a bouquet of deep red roses on the way, and drove to the cemetery. Halley lay in the backseat; as soon as the car stopped, it hopped out and followed Chen Wengang inside, familiar with the route.
He didn’t just visit Huo Niangsheng on holidays; Chen Wengang came to see him on the first of every month. Aside from this fixed date, he would come whenever he was in a good or bad mood. In the first few years, Chen Wengang always brought white flowers—white chrysanthemums, lilies, carnations, gardenias… As the visits became more frequent, he gradually started bringing various seasonal flowers.
His state of mind when visiting was no longer like a memorial, but more like keeping a date with a lover.
Chen Wengang placed the roses before the grave. The person in the photograph looked at him with gentle eyes. The photo had endured wind and rain, seeming to fade away its roguish quality, leaving only a sense of tenderness.
Chen Wengang wiped the photo and sat down on the steps before the grave. It was a beautiful day with a cool breeze. Halley lay lazily to the side, listening to Chen Wengang’s low, soft whispers as he rambled about his recent life. The dog wagged its tail, closing its eyes, drifting off to sleep.
_
Author’s Note:
There are a few loose ends to tie up—I still need to account for Wengang’s state of life ten years later; after that, we move on to the “Present Life” extra stories~)
