Chapter 11 Plagiarism (5) He trusts you a lot.

"I was wrong eight years ago."

This statement was like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, instantly creating a monstrous wave.

But beneath the water's surface, there remained millennia-old ice. Wen Chen's eyelashes trembled slightly, and her hand hovering over the call bell shook a little.

Wrong?

He waited eight long years for those words.

On countless sleepless nights plagued by stomach aches, on every dusk when his heart clenched at the sight of campus couples gazing sweetly at each other, and in every moment when he thought he was about to collapse—he fantasized that Gu Moheng would appear before him and utter this belated confession.

But when it actually came out of the man's mouth, Wen Chen felt it was utterly absurd.

He slowly shifted his gaze from the hand that was tightly gripping his wrist to Gu Moheng's face.

"Wrong?" he repeated softly. "Which one is Mr. Gu referring to?"

Gu Moheng's pupils contracted sharply.

"Was it wrong of you toy with my feelings back then?"

"You still think I'm a fool and fool me completely? You were wrong?"

With each word Wen Chen spoke, the coldness in his eyes grew thicker, and the sarcasm in his voice became sharper, like a scalpel precisely cutting open a bloody old wound.

"Or perhaps..." He paused, his gaze piercing Gu Moheng's disheveled eyes, and said, word by word, "that you think I've 'lost' myself, that I haven't discarded myself thoroughly enough, that I'm wrong?"

Those last two words, like a poisoned steel needle, pierced the deepest part of Gu Moheng's heart with ruthless precision.

"No...no..." Gu Moheng unconsciously loosened his grip on his hand, his usual eloquence, capable of twisting the truth, completely gone. Like a clumsy sinner, he palely repeated, "It's not like that, Wen Chen..."

Wen Chen stared at him coldly.

Eight years ago, Gu Moheng verbally tore him to pieces, but now he can't even utter a complete explanation.

How ironic.

"What does it look like?" Wen Chen asked, his voice devoid of curiosity, only carrying the desolate silence of an ice field.

"I..." Gu Moheng's Adam's apple bobbed violently, his eyes bloodshot. A thousand words were stuck in his chest, burning his internal organs with pain—about the decline of his family business, about the gambling agreement, about the days and nights he spent traveling far away, about the late nights he could only endure by relying on memories.

But under Wen Chen's icy gaze, these words became like a red-hot branding iron, burning him so much that he couldn't speak.

To say it out loud is like trying to excuse one's own cruelty.

Too pale.

That's utterly shameless.

In the end, all those surging words boiled down to just three:

"sorry."

Wen Chen turned her head away, no longer looking at him.

The phone on the bedside table started vibrating incessantly at an inopportune moment.

He swiped to answer the call, and Xiao Li's excited voice exploded in his ear. Wen Chen held the phone away a little, and Xiao Li's impassioned voice came through the receiver clearly: "Teacher Wen! Look at the news! The whole internet has turned things around! Luo Zheng'an issued a handwritten apology letter, admitting that it was a commercial frame-up! He even paid a huge sum of money, enough to feed the studio for two years! My God, we won!"

Xiao Li's cheers on the other end of the phone were like fireworks from another world, dazzling yet separated by a layer of cold glass.

Wen Chen's hearing was somewhat dulled, and the immense joy didn't immediately reach his heart. He simply listened quietly, listening to how his project, to which he had poured eight years of his heart and soul, was easily "saved" in a few hours by someone else using financial means.

Gu Moheng stared at him intently, the pain surging in his eyes almost consuming him.

Wen Chen showed no joy whatsoever. He raised his cold eyes and looked at Gu Moheng through Xiao Li's incessant chatter on the phone.

"And another thing!" Xiao Li said in a low voice, his voice filled with anxiety, "Teacher Wen, please don't go back to your apartment these days! Someone leaked your address, and reporters and paparazzi are blocking the door like madmen!"

Wen Chen finally frowned. He hung up the phone and turned off the screen.

His pale, tired face was reflected in the cold glass.

I can't go back to the apartment.

This top-tier VIP ward became his only refuge at this moment.

Over the next five days, Wen Chen deeply experienced what it meant to have "no way out".

Gu Moheng's laptop occupied the long table by the window, the sound of the keyboard typing was as dense as a downpour, but slowed down like a drizzle when Wen Chen was fast asleep.

His special assistant, Qin Shu, became a regular in the ward, quietly reporting on the astronomical progress of the project.

Gu Moheng seems to be handling a multi-million dollar merger and acquisition deal lately, making and receiving international phone calls that could shake the market, displaying calm, decisiveness, and a ruthless spirit.

But every hour, without fail, he would put everything down and go to Wen Chen's bedside.

"It's time to drink water."

"The IV drip is almost finished, I'll call the nurse."

"Do you need to use the restroom? Do you still feel nauseous?"

His voice would instantly shed all the coldness and hardness of the business world, becoming deep and clumsy ingratiating.

Wen Chen never responded, treating him as if he were invisible.

Gu Moheng would leave three times a day, disappearing precisely for more than two hours each time, and would always return carrying a thermos that Wen Chen recognized. His assistant, Qin Shu, would take over the care of Wen Chen during this time.

"Teacher Wen, President Gu has gone to prepare lunch for you." Qin Shu said with a smile, his attitude respectful but not obsequious, making him impossible to dislike.

Wen Chen hummed in response.

Qin Shu seemed unconcerned by his coldness, and proceeded to tidy up the documents left by Gu Moheng with methodical movements.

"Teacher Wen, are you thirsty? Would you like me to get you some water?"

Wen Chen looked at the young man, who appeared to be in his late twenties. He was refined, capable, and had a clear gaze.

"No need." He paused, then asked again, "Have you been following Gu Moheng for a long time?"

Qin Shu adjusted his glasses and smiled, "I've been working alongside President Gu since my university internship, it's been almost eight years."

“He trusts you a lot,” Wen Chen said in a declarative sentence.

"President Gu has treated me like both a teacher and a friend." Qin Shu's tone was filled with undisguised respect and gratitude.

He gently placed a financial magazine on Wen Chen's bedside table. "Teacher Wen, you can take a look if you're bored. This issue's cover story features President Gu."

Wen Chen's gaze lingered on the cold and handsome cover for a second before shifting away.

Qin Shu seemed oblivious to his resistance, pointing to the magazine and saying, "Eight years ago, when President Gu first arrived on Wall Street, nobody knew him. He earned his first pot of gold by relying on that thrilling betting agreement on the eve of shorting 'Rayton Brothers'."

"Back then, he stayed at the stock exchange day and night, and I heard that he slept for less than five hours in three days."

Wen Chen's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly as she gripped the water glass.

"Later, with the establishment of Mosheng Capital, it became even more..."

"Assistant Qin," Wen Chen suddenly spoke, interrupting him.

Qin Shu immediately fell silent. "Teacher Wen, please speak."

Wen Chen turned to look out the window. The sky was gray and there wasn't a ray of sunshine.

"It looks like it's going to rain outside."

The topic has ended.

Qin Shu was a smart man. He bowed slightly and retreated behind his desk without saying another word.

Silence returned to the ward, with only the rustling of leaves in the wind outside the window.

At that moment, the ward door was pushed open.

Gu Moheng walked in carrying a thermos, bringing with him a slight chill from the outside. The familiar, warm aroma of the mixed rice porridge and ingredients instantly filled the room.

Qin Shu immediately stood up, took the coat that Gu Moheng had taken off, and left silently.

The huge ward was now empty except for the two of them.

Gu Moheng placed a bowl of thick, soft chicken porridge, garnished with bright green scallions, in front of him.

"Eat it while it's hot."

Wen Chen looked at the bowl of porridge, a physiological warmth rising in his stomach, but his heart remained frozen. He reached for the spoon and ate it spoonful by spoonful, his face expressionless.

It's neither compromise nor forgiveness.

His body simply needed this heat to fight off the illness.

That's all.

Gu Moheng sat on the chair by the bed, staring at him without saying a word. His gaze was terrifyingly focused, as if he wanted to make up for every single second of the time he had missed in the past eight years.

Wen Chen felt uneasy under his gaze and ate faster.

"Eat slowly," Gu Moheng's voice rang out, "It's bad for your stomach."

Wen Chen paused, looked up, and her gaze was devoid of any warmth.

Thank you for your concern.

He swallowed the last mouthful of porridge, and the motion of putting down the spoon was neither too light nor too heavy, but it carried the resolute determination to end the ritual.

"You've finished eating, you can leave now."

Every word seemed to be pulled from an ice cellar and crashed into the deathly silence between the two.

Gu Moheng's gaze fell on the half-empty bowl of porridge, and his brows furrowed slightly.

"There's still half a bowl left." He spoke as if he hadn't heard the order to leave at all, his tone completely natural.

Wen Chen found it laughable. He tugged at the corners of his mouth, the curve as cold as a knife. "I'm not discussing this with you, President Gu." He looked directly at Gu Moheng, his eyes behind his glasses clear and sharp, like two invisible scalpels, trying to dissect the other's calm facade.

Seeing that he was determined not to eat anymore, Gu Moheng neither argued nor left. He reached out and naturally put away the bowl of porridge and the thermos, just like a professional caregiver doing his job.

Wen Chen's fist slowly clenched under the thin blanket. The feeling of punching cotton was more suffocating than a hysterical argument.

After tidying everything up, Gu Moheng picked up the thermos and turned to walk towards the bathroom in the ward, where the sound of running water could be heard.

Wen Chen closed her eyes, her temples throbbing.

The man hailed as the "Wolf of Wall Street" on the cover of a financial magazine is now silently washing a bowl of leftover porridge in his hospital room.

The sound of flowing water stopped abruptly.

Wen Chen's eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly beneath her eyelids.

The bathroom door opened, and Gu Moheng came out, carrying a clean, dry thermos.

He didn't look at Wen Chen again, but walked straight back to the window seat and silently put the thermos into the insulated bag.

Then, he sat down again at the long table and opened his silver-gray laptop.

"Tap, tap tap..." The crisp and rhythmic sound of keyboard typing rang out again in the quiet ward.

Wen Chen slowly opened her eyes and turned her head to look over.

The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, casting dappled light and shadow on the man's focused profile, outlining his high nose bridge and sharply defined jawline. He was completely immersed in the world of data and code. It was as if the humble man from just moments before had been nothing more than a figment of Wen Chen's imagination.

Wen Chen withdrew her gaze and closed her eyes again.