DLRAS Chapter 36

Chapter 36: Someone silently placed a fresh flower of love in my hands.

Regarding this question, Huo Niansheng seemed to have asked it many times.

Chen Wengang had answered one part of it last night, but it happened to be something he couldn’t give.

Chen Wengang fell silent, and Huo Niansheng took the opportunity to pull his hand back.

Amidst countless sweet words, this sentence was as true as it could get. Fleeting flings meant nothing to Huo Niansheng. But yesterday, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he decided to back off; when it came down to it, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt that once certain lines were crossed, there truly was no going back.

Letting go of his prey left his feelings tangled—it was hard to say whether pity or frustration outweighed the other.

Like someone who spots a flower in full bloom on a branch and wants to pick it to bring home, yet hesitates as the shears touch the stem, afraid it will wither.

Huo Niansheng pressed on: “What you want is care and devotion. You just happened to settle on me.”

Chen Wengang caught his hand once more: “Enough. Don’t say any more. I’ve thought it through.”

Huo Niansheng cast him a sidelong glance. Chen Wengang wore a gray striped shirt with loosely rolled sleeves. At his movement, the fabric slipped down over his wrists. Chen Wengang paid it no mind; right before Huo Niansheng’s eyes, he began undoing his buttons one by one.

With his shirt half-opened, he pulled Huo Niansheng’s hand and pressed it against his chest.

Huo Niansheng looked down, his eyes darkening. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he felt the frantic, steady pounding underneath.

Chen Wengang seemed composed on the surface, yet his fingertips twitched slightly—perhaps not from fear, but from the tremors of surging adrenaline. He drew a deep breath, his chest vibrating faintly with it. They were so close; Huo Niansheng’s presence bore down on him, yet offered a strange comfort all the same.

Weariness washed over Chen Wengang. He suddenly could not fathom what he had been obsessing over for so long.

Dreading abandonment down the line, fearing that pouring his heart out would only invite betrayal—having lived two lifetimes, he had not grown an inch wiser.

He pulled himself together: “I could ask you the same thing. What do you want? A bedmate? That works.”

The profile of Huo Niansheng’s face held a blade-like chill, carrying a faint shade of malice beneath the indifference.

His gaze locked sharply onto Chen Wengang.

Chen Wengang leaned against his chest, leaning up for a kiss: “It doesn’t clash with what I want. What I want is you.”

Huo Niansheng never imagined that every broken resolution of his life would end up squandered on a single person.

He pinned Chen Wengang’s hands behind his back and finally, throwing caution to the wind, pressed him down onto the sofa.

Torn packaging fell discarded onto the carpet.

Truth be told, their first time together fell far short of ideal.

Huo Niansheng hardly knew which of them ought to feel more regret. Chen Wengang, for one, had grossly overestimated himself. He remained tense and unyielding throughout; far from enjoying the intimacy, his flinching and recoiling repeatedly made Huo Niansheng feel like a criminal mid-act.

In those fleeting moments of raw closeness, Huo Niansheng thought he caught a glimpse of a hollow void buried deep within him.

Yet the clarity vanished in an instant, swallowed up by a sea of desire until it dwindled to a faint, unrecognizable glimmer.

Chen Wengang’s breath came in shallow pants. Huo Niansheng could not tell whether his words were genuine or counterfeit.

He refused to dig into whether Chen Wengang was simply desperate to use him as a stand-in for someone else.

In the end, it was over.

Huo Niansheng let out a self-deprecating laugh. He had never expected to meet such a humbling Waterloo here.

After cleaning up, he gathered Chen Wengang into his arms, softly murmuring to soothe him. The skin beneath his palms was warm, taut, and smooth. Chen Wengang buried his face into the crook of his neck, his breath burning like steam. Huo Niansheng tested his forehead; he wasn’t feverish.

Outside, twilight settled, giving way to shimmering stars as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

Yet when Huo Niansheng opened his eyes, the room was empty.

He got up and stepped out of the bedroom, only to find Chen Wengang’s luggage gone, leaving no trace behind—as though the night had been nothing more than an absurd fever dream.

Fortunately, he soon spotted a note left on the table. It mentioned an urgent family matter that required his immediate return, apologizing for slipping away without a proper goodbye.

Huo Niansheng dialed his number. Hearing Chen Wengang’s voice on the other end finally put his mind at ease; it truly was an unforeseen emergency, and Zheng Baoqiu had been called back as well. In fact, the two had set off only an hour ago, with Zheng Baoqiu at the wheel, stuck in traffic on the highway.

Over the receiver, Chen Wengang sounded entirely normal and collected.

He truly had slipped into the role of a casual fling—intimate in bed, thoroughly detached once out of it.

Huo Niansheng rubbed his temples in weary exasperation, feeling as though the man was driving him straight into a farce.

He told him to stay safe, hung up, and picked up the book Chen Wengang had left facedown on the sofa.

Turning it over, he saw the chapter opened to The Crossing.

Huo Niansheng slipped Chen Wengang’s note between the pages like a bookmark and tossed the volume back onto the cushions.

He had just sat down when curiosity struck, prompting him to see what Chen Wengang had been reading. He flipped the book back open and caught the passage:

“Someone has secretly left a flower of love in my hand.

Someone has stolen my heart and flung it to the edge of the world.

I know not if I have found him,

Or if I am still searching far and wide;

Nor do I know if this is immense joy,

Or harrowing agony.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Huo Niansheng’s mouth as an image of Chen Wengang curled up on the sofa with the book drifted into his mind.

Yet the picture grew murky, overlapping with something else entirely, rising up like a disorienting haze.

The Chen Wengang in his mind’s eye no longer seemed young or lovely. What he had turned into, Huo Niansheng could not see.

After ending the call, Chen Wengang was about to lock his phone when it buzzed again—an incoming email.

There was no sender address. He scrolled down, caught a clear view of the attached photos, and instantly shut off the screen.

Beside him, Zheng Baoqiu complained, “The holiday isn’t even over yet. Where did all these cars come from?”

Chen Wengang turned to reassure her: “Don’t fret. Safety comes first; your mother will be fine. Want me to take the wheel?”

“Never mind, we’re stranded right in the middle lane anyway. It’s not easy to swap.”

“Did you let Mu Qing know?”

“Oh, no need. You probably haven’t heard, but his phone broke, so he headed back on his own yesterday.”

Skipping the Zheng estate entirely, they drove straight to the private hospital. Zheng Baoqiu jogged into the room; the suite Madam Zheng occupied was as plush as a luxury hotel suite. Huo Meijie sat propped up in bed with a beaming smile, catching her daughter in a tight embrace: “Mom!”

She had experienced a sudden bout of dizziness while showering that morning. After being helped into bed, she noticed spotting and was brought in for an evaluation.

The diagnosis:

Madam Zheng was pregnant once more.

An unexpected turn, yet far from bad news—a late-in-life blessing.

Zheng Baoqiu asked the doctor, “Is my mom’s health up for it?”

The doctor answered, “Your mother’s annual physicals show she is in excellent health. Naturally, an advanced maternal age carries inherent risks and demands far more physical endurance than it would for someone younger. But if she is determined to carry to term, careful monitoring and regular prenatal visits should keep things safe.”

One glance at Huo Meijie’s expression was enough to tell she had never entertained the thought of letting the baby go.

She waved her daughter closer: “Would you rather have a little brother or a little sister?”

Chen Wengang kept his eyes down, leaning against the hallway wall as he listened to the lively banter inside.

Bearing a child at this stage of life came with endless complications, but that was a choice reserved solely for the parents.

Zheng Bingyi lingered by the bedside, his crow’s feet deepening with the unfiltered delight of fatherhood in his twilight years. Lin, the ever-meticulous butler, bustled about distributing red envelopes to the hospital staff. When Chen Wengang and Zheng Baoqiu stepped in with their congratulations, Zheng Bingyi beamed and pressed a generous stack into each of their hands.

Zheng Maoxun and Mu Qing arrived shortly after, rushing over from the bar and home respectively.

The last person in the household to catch wind of the news was Zheng Yucheng, away on a business trip.

He was due back around this time; when Butler Lin reached him, his flight had only just touched down. Learning that one driver was off duty and the other had been dispatched to the hospital with supplies, Zheng Yucheng spared him the trouble and hailed a taxi from the airport himself.

Where he wandered off to on the way remained unknown. His plane landed at noon, yet he dragged his feet until dusk before finally pulling up to the Zheng residence.

Standing before the front gates, Zheng Yucheng froze for a long time.

He sucked in a heavy breath, his face darkened as though facing an impending apocalypse.

Yet no one took notice of his ghostly pallor. Hauling his suitcase through the front entrance, he was met with a flurry of purposeful activity.

Because Huo Meijie’s pregnancy was high-risk, requiring absolute rest, the kitchen was busy simmering pots of restorative broths. A-Mei and the domestic staff scrubbed every corner, scouring the premises for anything that might pose a hazard to an expectant mother; even the family poodle had been penned up ahead of time.

Run ragged coordinating the household, Butler Lin chalked Zheng Yucheng’s haggard state up to travel fatigue, took his suitcase, and urged him to get some rest upstairs.

In truth, Zheng Yucheng could not care less about Huo Meijie’s pregnancy.

He was in a daze, his return to Jin City resembling a desperate flight from ruin.

After forcing himself through a fitful rest, he wandered downstairs near midnight, only to catch Chen Wengang speaking in low, measured tones on the phone in the small lounge.

Zheng Yucheng watched his gentle, patient profile: “It’s one teacher per student, parental accompaniment isn’t strictly mandatory… Leave the tuition aside for now. Look at the link I forwarded you. Xiao Bao’s circumstances qualify for aid. You know how to fill out the form, right? Take a screenshot and send it over if you hit any snags. When you head over, tell them you were referred by a Mr. Ma—Ma Wen, ‘Wen’ as in culture…”

Facing the floor-to-ceiling glass, Chen Wengang absentmindedly traced a circle onto the condensation as he wrapped up the call.

The final stroke flicked outward. Outside lay pitch-black darkness, mirroring a face clouded with concern.

In his previous life, he had missed critical turns of fate, learning of them only when tragedy had already run its course. Lu Chenlong’s younger brother, Xiao Bao, had died young, reportedly because he ran off unsupervised and, lacking any sense of restraint, gouged the paint of a wealthy heir’s new car with a stone. The man was drunk; in a burst of rage, he cracked a liquor bottle over the boy’s head, causing a subarachnoid hemorrhage. He appeared unharmed on the surface, but lapsed into a sudden coma that night and was rushed to the ER.

While the boy lay in the ICU, aside from Zheng Yucheng’s patronizing donation of a million yuan, neighbors claimed the heir’s family also dispatched people with cash hush-money.

Their representative had been blunt: “Your boy is intellectually disabled to begin with. You failed to keep an eye on him and let him run wild starting trouble—who wouldn’t beat him for that? Consider it our bad luck this time; we’re paying you out, and our family owns up to it. Feel free to sue if you’re bitter; the worst they can slap on us is accidental injury.”

Chen Wengang wiped the condensation circle away with his palm, his brow knitting tightly.

The matter had weighed on his mind for some time. The exact date the incident took place, or where the boy had gotten beaten, had only reached him through vague second-hand accounts; verifying it now was an impossible task.

Yet brooding changed nothing. Dodging disaster once offered no guarantee against a second stroke of misfortune.

Hiring someone to shadow him around the clock or locking him indoors were hardly feasible fixes.

Special-needs children like Xiao Bao lagged behind in mental development, yet their bodies continued to grow day by day. Their energy would only surge, their potential for destruction would only mount, and they would always find ways to slip out when parents momentarily let down their guard.

Chen Wengang knew the threat went beyond an arrogant heir. From experience, he could imagine how many beatings a boy like Xiao Bao might have quietly endured out on the streets prior to that, completely unable to voice what had happened.

The only real remedy lay in targeted behavioral intervention.

Once the head of the Ma Wen Foundation heard the boy’s background, he promised an opening at the specialized school the foundation was setting up for welfare institutions. Until that opened, he recommended an interim therapy clinic to bridge the gap.

Zheng Yucheng realized who Chen Wengang had been on the line with.

The image of that tanned, broad-shouldered Lu youth sprang vividly to mind.

Under normal circumstances, Zheng Yucheng would have bristled with jealousy, but tonight he had no room left for petty squabbles. He even attempted to slip away unnoticed, but Chen Wengang hung up and turned around, catching him on the spot: “You’re up already?”

Zheng Yucheng halted stiffly: “Yeah.”

His gaze darted away, unable to meet Chen Wengang’s eyes.

Chen Wengang let out a soft sigh: “Did the trip go well?”

Racked with guilt, Zheng Yucheng managed, “Wengang, these past few days…”

Chen Wengang broke in: “You ran into trouble, didn’t you?”

As though his soul had snapped violently back into place, Zheng Yucheng’s pupils constricted: “You—you know?”

Chen Wengang pulled up his inbox and turned the screen toward him: “Someone already forwarded them to me.”

The attachments showed Zheng Yucheng dining with He Wanxin, browsing luxury malls, and entering a hotel together side by side.

As if that weren’t damning enough, the final file was a scandalous snapshot of the two half-clad. In the hotel suite, Zheng Yucheng lay dead to the world, head buried in the pillow as if wiped out by after-hours exhaustion. He Wanxin faced the camera with a selfie, wearing a deeply satisfied, intimate smile.

Just like the private souvenirs lovers keep after a passionate encounter.

Zheng Yucheng’s jaw clenched tight. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he snatched Chen Wengang’s phone away.

Yet the futility hit him instantly; his arm dropped inch by inch, and he handed the phone back in defeat.

Zheng Yucheng shut his eyes, stripping away his final shred of wishful thinking: “Let me explain.”

Chen Wengang already understood what had unfolded.

He didn’t cut in, allowing Zheng Yucheng to flounder on: “I ran into He Wanxin in Singapore. I never dreamed she would spike my drink with sleeping pills… let alone take those photos and send them to you. I thought she only meant to use them for leverage against me.”

Yet deep down, he knew he had made an unforgivable blunder, forfeiting any right to walk it back.

When He Wanxin had latched onto him in Singapore, he knew she had ulterior motives, yet he wavered, failing to cut her off cleanly. He fancied he could play along without getting burned, only to walk headfirst into her trap. Excavating those excuses now was utterly pointless.

“You thought she only wanted them for leverage,” Chen Wengang remarked evenly. “So if she hadn’t sent them to me, were you planning to bury it?”

“That wasn’t it…” Zheng Yucheng dragged his hands across his face in torment. “To be honest, my head is a complete mess. I haven’t slept a wink for two days and nights. All I know is that I’ve truly wronged you…”

He made a desperate vow: “Once I sorted through this mess, I was going to come clean with you, no matter what came of it.”

At those words, Chen Wengang narrowed his eyes, measuring him from head to toe with an inscrutable look.

That calm, quiet stare felt like searing embers, forcing Zheng Yucheng to swallow a bitter pill that burned straight through to his core.

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Author’s Note:

The poem “The Crossing” cited in the chapter is by Rabindranath Tagore.

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