Chapter 10 Plagiarism (4) Teacher Wen, President Gu asked me to take you there. ...

Wen Chen's breath hitched as the familiar, sharp pain in his stomach returned without warning, gnawing at his will. He calmly slipped his hands into his pockets, pressing his knuckles firmly against his stomach, his face remaining impeccably calm.

"Protect me?" Wen Chen thought he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

Eight years ago, you used the phrase "it was just for fun" to "protect" me and pushed me away.

"Eight years later, you used ruthless methods to destroy another person to 'protect' me and bring me back."

He walked up to Gu Moheng, the two of them only a step apart, close enough to smell the cool cedar scent emanating from the other, and the faint smell of tobacco from his sleepless night. "Gu Moheng, your protection is still so aloof, so self-righteous."

Gu Moheng subconsciously reached out, trying to grab Wen Chen's arm, like a drowning person grabbing the last piece of driftwood.

"No... Wen Chen, listen to me..."

Wen Chen seemed to have anticipated his move, subtly taking a half-step back, leaving his hand, which had been suspended in mid-air, frozen in place awkwardly.

A perfect refusal.

A silent slap.

Gu Moheng's fingers twitched in the air for a moment, then fell limply to their sides. Looking at Wen Chen's handsome but cold face, he suddenly realized that eight years could truly change a person completely, inside and out.

Wen Chen didn't look at him again, and went straight to the bar counter. She took out a black checkbook from the inside pocket of her clothes.

"Whoosh—"

The sound of the pen nib gliding across the paper was particularly jarring in the deathly silent room. He didn't even ask how much it would cost for Mo Sheng's team to work overnight; he simply filled in an astonishingly long string of numbers at lightning speed.

"Tear—"

The check was torn off crisply.

He walked back and handed the seemingly light yet incredibly heavy piece of paper to Gu Moheng. "I don't like owing favors, especially not yours." His voice was as calm as if he were completing a simple transaction.

"This covers the costs for Mosheng's legal and public relations teams. If that's not enough, the bill can be sent directly to my studio."

Gu Moheng didn't take it. His gaze was fixed on the check, then slowly moved to Wen Chen's cold and resolute eyes.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "You... really want to distance yourself from me?"

Wen Chen smirked, the curve of which was cold and mocking. "President Gu, didn't we sever our relationship eight years ago?"

Seeing that Gu Moheng did not move, he gently placed the check on the coffee table, next to the already cold coffee stain.

One black and one white, clearly distinct.

"I've reviewed the surveillance footage, thank you."

He straightened his cuffs, turned and walked towards the door.

"Wen Chen!" Gu Moheng's voice rang out from behind, filled with undisguised panic and pleading.

Wen Chen paused for only a moment. Then, he took another step without looking back.

His hand gripped the cold doorknob.

"What should I do..." Gu Moheng's voice, filled with a deep sense of helplessness, came from behind him again.

Wen Chen's back was as stiff as a piece of iron.

He didn't answer, turned the doorknob, and went out.

“Clatter.”

The sound of the door lock closing completely cleaved the world in two.

Inside the door lies Gu Moheng's boundless hell.

Outside the door lies Wen Chen's thorny path.

Gu Moheng stood alone, stiff in the eerily empty suite, the light in his eyes gradually dimming.

The surveillance footage on the wall was still silently playing the sneaky figure on a loop, over and over again.

He slowly walked over, bent down, and picked up the check with trembling hands. The numbers stung his eyes.

Wen Chen is using most of her studio's working capital to buy out the last remaining, fragile entanglement between them.

"Ha..." A self-deprecating laugh escaped his throat. He suddenly clenched the check in his palm, crumpling it into a ball, the sharp edges of the paper pricking his palm painfully.

He slumped heavily into the sofa, burying his face in his hands. For the first time in eight years, Gu Moheng, who had once been all-powerful and capable of manipulating Wall Street, experienced utter defeat.

Wen Chen stepped out of the hotel, the cold morning wind hitting his face. The exhaustion from a sleepless night and the sudden emptiness after the tension overwhelmed him like a tide.

The crisis was resolved, in a way he had never imagined, completely eliminated by that person in the most forceful manner.

He leaned against the roadside railing, watching the bustling city traffic, but felt an emptiness inside, as if a piece of him had been ripped out. The stomach cramps grew increasingly severe, and cold sweat poured from his forehead, instantly soaking his temples. His vision blurred, and even standing became difficult.

Wen Chen held onto the railing and slowly squatted down, trying to alleviate the pain that was almost tearing him apart.

The black Maybach silently slid up to him. The window rolled down, revealing Qin Shu's face.

"Teacher Wen, Mr. Gu asked me to take you." Wen Chen gripped the cold metal railing, her knuckles turning deathly white from the force.

He didn't even have the strength to lift his head, and managed to squeeze out a few words through gritted teeth, "No need."

The knife in his stomach twisted again. The pain made his vision go black, and all the sounds of the world seemed to be sucked away, leaving only a sharp buzzing in his ears.

Seeing Wen Chen's swaying figure and pale, sweat-drenched face, Qin Shu quickly got out of the car and ran over to help him up as he nearly collapsed. "Your current condition is not suitable for you to be alone." Having served Gu Moheng for so many years, this was the first time Qin Shu had seen Gu Moheng value someone so much. As his special assistant, Qin Shu felt it was his duty to take care of everything for his boss.

Wen Chen gritted his teeth and remained motionless, a soft, hoarse laugh escaping his throat, carrying a mad, all-or-nothing intensity. He slowly raised his head, his beautiful eyes now filled only with an intense, unyielding mockery and coldness. "I don't need his help."

The moment he finished speaking, he could no longer hold on. His body went limp, and he slid helplessly down the railing. Before his consciousness was completely swallowed by darkness, he felt a pair of strong arms lift him up from the cold ground. That embrace carried a familiar yet utterly repulsive scent.

When I opened my eyes again, I was already in the spacious back seat of a Maybach. The car was heated up very well, completely shutting out the morning chill from outside the window, as if we were in two different worlds.

He was covered with a soft cashmere blanket, and a bottle of warm water with the cap unscrewed lay beside him. Qin Shu saw him wake up in the rearview mirror and said calmly, "Teacher Wen, let's go to the hospital."

Wen Chen did not respond. He turned his head and looked out the window at the street scene rushing past. The city was awakening in the morning light, but the dazzling neon lights were just a blurry and cold halo in his eyes.

"President Gu, he..." Qin Shu's voice rang out again, with a hint of hesitation that was barely perceptible, "...didn't sleep all night."

Wen Chen's gaze remained fixed on the view outside the window, but a faint, indifferent smile curved her lips. What does it have to do with me?

"Put me down at the intersection ahead." His voice was terribly hoarse.

"Teacher Wen, you look terrible."

"I said, put me down." Wen Chen's tone became a bit harsher.

Qin Shu remained silent, but the car did not slow down at all. Instead, at the next intersection, it drove steadily and resolutely toward the Municipal Hospital.

Wen Chen closed his eyes; he knew this was Gu Moheng's will.

It was true eight years ago, and it remains true eight years later.

Emergency room of a top-tier municipal hospital.

The stench of disinfectant and illness assaulted his nostrils, sending shivers down his spine. He sat on the cold examination chair, letting the doctor press on his abdomen with a stethoscope.

"What major shock did you experience recently?" The doctor looked up, pushed up his glasses, and looked at his face, which was paler than paper. "It's not an old problem; it's a typical case of stress-induced acute gastritis. If it gets any worse, it could lead to a perforated stomach."

Wen Chen listened, his face expressionless. He knew better than anyone else. Examination, injection, IV drip. Throughout the entire process, Wen Chen was like a puppet on a string, completely at their mercy. As the cold liquid seeped into Wen Chen's veins drop by drop through the IV tube, it gradually soothed the terrible "rebellion" in his stomach. The complete relaxation after a night of tension allowed Wen Chen to slowly drift off to sleep.

When he woke up again, it was already bright outside, and the world was clear again. The pungent smell of disinfectant, a mixture of human experiences and the lingering odors of the emergency room, was no longer there. He moved his body; the sheets beneath him were made of fine, smooth, high-thread-count cotton, far superior to the rough, stiff sheets that were standard in hospitals.

Wen Chen's gaze slowly swept across the empty room, landing on the IV tube on the back of his hand. He used his other hand to support himself on the edge of the bed and sat up abruptly. The movement was a little hasty, and a slight, dull pain came from his stomach; he only frowned almost imperceptibly.

“Clatter.”

The door to the ward opened with a click.

The person he least wanted to see at that moment was standing at the door.

Gu Moheng had changed out of his bathrobe and was wearing a high-quality dark gray turtleneck cashmere sweater, which made his figure appear even more upright. The bloodshot eyes were more pronounced than when he was in the hotel, and a light stubble had appeared on his chin. His cold demeanor revealed an inescapable weariness and dishevelment.

He was carrying a thermos in his hand. When he saw Wen Chen sit up, his pupils suddenly contracted, and he quickly walked to the bedside and put down the food container.

"Don't move."

Wen Chen ignored him, turning her head to look at the gray sky outside the window, as if he were just a non-existent wisp of air.

"The doctor said you have low blood sugar, plus acute gastritis and stomach cramps, so you need to rest." Gu Moheng unscrewed the lid of the thermos.

A gentle fragrance instantly filled the ward, which was filled with the smell of disinfectant.

It wasn't his favorite yam and millet porridge. It was a light fish porridge with a few green vegetable leaves floating on top, without a trace of fishy smell, only the ultimate freshness and aroma of rice and fish.

Wen Chen recalled how, when he was sick, Gu Moheng would drop everything to cook for him. That's why she was so convinced back then that he loved her.

Gu Moheng scooped up a spoonful and held it to Wen Chen's lips.

Wen Chen turned her head away.

The spoon hung awkwardly in mid-air, its warm steam rising and dissipating, much like Gu Moheng's tentative, tentative steps. The savory aroma of the porridge mingled with the cool, disinfectant, creating an eerie tension.

"Wen Chen, be good." Gu Moheng's voice was very low, almost coaxing.

"Is Mr. Gu playing with his pet?"

His stiff arm hung suspended in mid-air, the steaming bowl of fish porridge instantly becoming the most ironic sight in the ward. The last vestige of cautious warmth in Gu Moheng's eyes, like a candle flame extinguished by a cold wind, vanished abruptly. In its place lay a thick, unyielding darkness.

Wen Chen stopped looking at him and reached out with her other hand, which wasn't receiving an IV drip, to reach for the call bell by the bedside.

He wanted to call a nurse.

He wanted this person to disappear from his sight immediately.

Before my fingertips could even touch the red button, my wrist was gripped tightly by a large, burning hand.

"Don't……"

Gu Moheng's voice trembled violently, carrying a broken tone that was almost pleading.

"Don't send me away."

Wen Chen froze. He had never heard Gu Moheng speak in such a tone—stripped of all identity, status, and wealth, leaving only a man's most naked, almost collapsing plea. His eyelashes trembled slightly, and his hand, hovering above the call bell, seemed frozen in place.

Behind the glasses, his gaze involuntarily fell on the hand that Gu Moheng was tightly gripping his wrist. The knuckles were distinct, the palm dry and hot, bearing familiar calluses. How many times had this hand warmed his hands in winter, massaged his shoulders while he drew, and held his hand firmly when he was lost, leading him through crowds of people?

Memories are like the most poisonous vines, creeping wildly around the heart along that burning touch.

"President Gu," Wen Chen spoke slowly, his voice as calm as a frozen pool, "After playing the domineering CEO, are you now starting to play the tragic heroine?"

Gu Moheng shook his head, staring at him intently.

“Wen Chen,” he said in a low voice, with a kind of desperate pain, “I was wrong eight years ago.”

A note from the author:

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