Chapter 25 Fragments (1) Quite the schemer, Gu Moheng. ...

Wen Chen wondered if it was just her imagination.

Ever since that day, when he pushed his suitcase and was almost coerced into staying by Gu Moheng, he finally retreated to the guest room in a sorry state, the atmosphere in this penthouse apartment has become subtle.

The most obvious change is that Gu Moheng is spending significantly more time at home.

Early in the morning, when Wen Chen walked out of the guest room with a cup of coffee, the man who should have been dressed in a suit and tie in the top-floor office of Mosheng Capital was now sitting on the sofa in the living room, wearing a soft gray loungewear.

A laptop sat on his lap, and several documents lay spread out on the coffee table. Sunlight streamed in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing him in soft morning light and creating an almost cozy illusion.

Wen Chen paused, her hand gripping the cup tightening slightly at the knuckles.

Upon hearing the noise, Gu Moheng immediately raised his head. The moment his deep eyes caught Wen Chen's figure, they lit up with a perfectly timed glimmer, as if he had been waiting for a long time.

"Awake?" His voice was as natural as a daily routine.

Wen Chen did not respond, but went straight to the kitchen island, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Mr. Gu, are you free today?" He took a sip of his scalding coffee, his tone flat, yet carrying an invisible chill.

Gu Moheng calmly closed his laptop, his gaze landing squarely on Wen Chen. "Recently, there haven't been any major issues at the company that absolutely require my personal attention."

Upon hearing this, Wen Chen looked up, his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses like a scalding blade, coldly sweeping over her.

Nothing major? Just two days ago, financial news was reporting that Moss Capital's acquisition of a long-established European tech giant had entered its most critical and heated phase.

Gu Moheng met his mocking gaze without changing his expression, slowly raising his right hand, which was still wrapped in thick gauze, and deliberately placing it in the most conspicuous position.

"Qin Shu reminded me," his voice was calm and even, as if stating an objective fact, "that my appearance at the company like this has a bad influence." He paused, his gaze fixed on Wen Chen, "and could easily cause our partners to have unnecessary misunderstandings about the stability of Mosheng."

He added at the opportune moment, explaining the reason for this carefully planned move: "So, I'll rest at home for a few days."

Meanwhile, inside the office building of Mosheng Capital, Qin Shu, who was overwhelmed with the acquisition, received Gu Moheng's instruction to "rest quietly due to a severe cold and not to be disturbed." He could only silently complain to the mountain of documents: "Why is the boss sick again today?"

Looking at his handsome face, which was spouting nonsense with such a straight face, Wen Chen felt a lump in his throat, unable to swallow it. He found the man's effortless shamelessness absurd.

He looked away and finished the rest of his coffee in one gulp.

"Whatever." He squeezed out the two words through gritted teeth, got up, slammed the empty glass into the sink, and turned to walk back to the guest room.

"Bang—" The door slammed shut, cutting off the outside world and also blocking out Gu Moheng's eyes, which sank to the bottom the moment he turned around.

Over the next few days, the penthouse apartment fell into a strange balance.

Gu Moheng seemed to have really moved the company back home. The living room became his temporary command center, and his calm and decisive business instructions from video conferences would occasionally penetrate the door and strike Wen Chen's eardrums.

Wen Chen, on the other hand, extended her time in the studio, leaving early and returning late. Although they were in the same room, it felt as if an entire Pacific Ocean stood between them.

Finally, a weekend afternoon arrived, and Wen Chen was facing his laptop screen, revising a complex structural diagram for the "Homecoming" project.

The documents sent by his assistant, Xiao Li, were scrolled to the bottom again, but the problem remained. A key load-bearing structure of the project had stalled, and he urgently needed a seven-year-old document from the German Krirk Group regarding the internal stress standards of a certain type of steel. This document had long been obsolete and was nowhere to be found online. He had asked all his classmates abroad to no avail, and had been sitting there for three hours in frustration.

Wen Chen leaned back irritably, letting her body sink into the soft chair back, her slender fingers running through her slightly messy hair.

In the living room, Gu Moheng had just finished a video conference, and the echoes of his calm and decisive words still seemed to resonate in the air.

Wen Chen closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Her gaze involuntarily fell on the tightly closed guest bedroom door.

The man outside the door… Moss Capital has a global presence and deep roots in Europe. He must have connections to get it.

Should I ask him for help?

Wen Chen gave a self-deprecating twitch. He picked up his paintbrush, then put it down again, finally pulling out his phone and opening the familiar watermelon-cutting game.

"Swish! Swish! Swish!" Fingers swiped wildly across the screen, the sound effects of fruit exploding were particularly jarring in the silence, but they couldn't suppress the growing irritation in his heart.

Five minutes later, he slammed his phone face down on the table, jumped up, and opened the door he had been hiding from for days.

Gu Moheng was indeed in the living room, seemingly having just finished work. He was pinching his brow, his face showing just the right amount of fatigue.

Hearing the door open, he paused, immediately looking up. The moment his deep eyes caught Wen Chen's figure, all his weariness vanished.

"What's wrong?" He asked in a low voice, with a hint of coaxing.

Wen Chen didn't approach, but stopped at the door of the guest room, a dozen steps away, and said in a stiff tone: "I need a document."

Gu Moheng was slightly taken aback, then almost immediately understood. "A structural problem with 'homing'?"

Wen Chen remained silent, which was taken as tacit agreement.

Gu Moheng stood up without hesitation, as if he had been prepared to respond to any of his requests.

“I have it in my study. My computer has access to all of the databases of the European branch of Mercer.”

Wen Chen frowned. The study was Gu Moheng's most private space, and he didn't want to trespass on it.

"Send it to me," he insisted.

Gu Moheng looked at him, his eyes gentle yet brooking no refusal: "The file is very large, involving multiple layers of encryption protocols, making transmission inconvenient and prone to problems." He paused, his voice softening further, deliberately guiding, "Go check it yourself. The computer password, and the passwords for all the encrypted files..." He paused deliberately, observing Wen Chen's reaction, "...are all your birthdays."

Wen Chen's fingertips curled quietly at her side, and her lips pressed into a stiff straight line.

The door to the study was ajar.

Wen Chen pushed open the door and entered. The interior was decorated in a calm black, white, and gray color scheme, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the lazy afternoon sunlight. A whole wall of dark gray bookshelves was filled with finance and law books, everything was neat and orderly, precise and restrained, just like its owner.

His gaze fell on the black laptop in the center of the desk.

He walked over and sat down. He typed in that familiar string of numbers—his birthday. The screen lit up immediately. The desktop was excessively clean, with only a few folders labeled with English project names.

Wen Chen composed himself and began searching.

However, the moment my gaze swept across the screen, the name of a folder pierced my eyes like an ice spike—unexpectedly.

【Home】

There was only one word. Standing alone among a pile of project folders representing the flow of hundreds of billions of dollars, it was both out of place and exceptionally conspicuous.

Wen Chen's heart skipped a beat. As if possessed, he moved the mouse and double-clicked the folder.

A password input box popped up.

He gave a self-deprecating smile. Yes, this was the real Gu Moheng; how could he leave his truly private things here so unguarded?

Reason told him he should turn it off immediately. But his fingers felt like they were nailed to the mouse, unable to move. A crazy idea screamed in his mind.

He stared at the blinking cursor, his Adam's apple bobbing uncontrollably. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, and finally, as if guided by an invisible thread, gently dropped those four numbers—his birthday.

The moment he pressed Enter, he was prepared to receive the "incorrect password" message.

However--

No.

The folder popped open without any obstruction.

There were no dense reports, no complicated business contracts. Only project files generated by 3D rendering software, a few high-resolution preview images, and an unnamed folder.

Wen Chen's fingers, gripping the mouse, stiffened like a stone for a moment.

He clicked on one of the preview images. The image loaded and filled the entire screen.

It was a detached house perched halfway up a mountain. Large floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist lines, and a cantilevered terrace extending outwards. The roof was a completely transparent glass dome, just like the dream he had casually made up eight years ago, lying on Gu Moheng's lap, pointing to the starry sky.

"We want a big house in the future, with a transparent roof, so we can lie in bed and look at the stars."

"We also need a sunken living room so we can light a fireplace there in the winter."

The image on the screen perfectly overlapped with the sketch he had drawn in the corner of Gu Moheng's finance textbook, as he remembered it. Even the location of the camphor tree in the courtyard was exactly the same.

The rendering is exquisite in its lighting and shadows, with every detail precisely capturing the softest corner of his memory.

Wen Chen stared at the familiar camphor tree, his eyes behind his glasses gradually turning cold.

It wasn't感动 (moved/touched), but rather the absurdity of being precisely calculated. Eight years of indifference, and now you think you can move him with something so virtual?

Wen Chen released the mouse, leaned back in the ergonomic chair, and curled up a mocking smile.

"You're quite the schemer, Gu Moheng."

He spoke softly in the empty study, his voice as cold as the frost of late autumn.

"Did you put it here on purpose for me to see?"

No matter how realistic it is, it's nothing more than cold data. The house is fake; the so-called "home" has long since crumbled to dust. He gripped the mouse again and ruthlessly clicked the red "X" in the upper right corner.

A soft "snap" sound.

The glass dome that held the boy's dreams vanished from the screen in an instant.

The desktop has returned to its original cool, pure black color.

Wen Chen was about to look away when she caught sight of an inconspicuous icon next to her.

[Create New Folder]

It was not named, and the default creation date was not even modified.

As if by some strange twist of fate, Wen Chen's fingers stopped.

Reason told him that he should leave immediately after getting the data on German steel, but the hand seemed to have its own mind.

double click.

The folder pops up.

There were a dozen or so scanned images scattered around inside.

Wen Chen clicked on the first one, a medical diagnosis report entirely in English.

Although they were medical terms, Wen Chen was still shocked by the bolded words.

Mount Sinai Hospital

Advanced stage of non-small cell lung cancer.

The date on the signature is four years ago.

In the patient's name column, a familiar name was written: Gu Zhengxiong.

Gu Moheng's father.

He unconsciously scrolled through the images: densely packed chemotherapy records, repeated critical condition notices, and a list of shockingly expensive targeted therapies.

Finally, the image freezes on a slightly blurry photograph, which has even faded and yellowed due to its age.

The background is an ICU ward filled with medical equipment.

The once spirited and arrogant Gu Zhengxiong lay on the hospital bed, emaciated and covered in tubes. Beside him sat a woman and a young man, both equally haggard.

It was Gu Moheng and his mother.

He was wearing a white shirt, holding a fruit knife, and was peeling an apple with his head down.

In the photo, his eyes are sunken, and his chin is covered in bluish stubble. Those eyes, which once exuded arrogance on the A University campus, are now as empty as two dry wells.

Where is even a trace of the "financial genius" he once was?

Four years ago was the year he hated Gu Moheng the most. He thought the other party was living a life of luxury on Wall Street, manipulating the world of capital, and had long forgotten him.

Little did they know, that person was suffering in hell.

The screen's backlight went out, and the world fell into a deathly black silence.

The pitch-black screen was like a mirror from the abyss, reflecting the figure that had quietly stood behind him.

Gu Moheng was there. There were no footsteps, no breathing, no sound at all. Just like the one who had invaded his nightmares countless times over the past eight years, he stood in a place that was both within reach and unattainable.

Wen Chen's fingers, gripping the mouse, were stiff as stone. The embarrassment of having his secret exposed and the humiliation of being caught red-handed were intertwined.

He should close the page immediately and leave as if nothing happened, just like he's been doing these days.

A hand reached out from behind him, over his shoulder, but did not snatch the mouse as he expected, nor did it angrily accuse him of overstepping his bounds.

It gently rested on the top cover of the laptop.

"Clatter".

The laptop was closed.

The only sound in the study was their breathing.

Wen Chen remained seated, her back to him, motionless. Gu Moheng did not leave either. The scent, a mixture of faint medicinal aroma and the cool fragrance of cedar, was gradually creeping up from behind, weaving an invisible net.

"It was ugly back then."

Gu Moheng's voice came from above, hoarse and deep.

He was talking about himself in the photo.

Wen Chen coldly turned his chair to face the person behind him. He tilted his head back, pushed up his glasses, and the gaze behind the lenses had regained its usual aloofness.

Gu Moheng lowered his eyes, gazing at his wary face. His eyelashes trembled slightly, and a dull pain flashed across the deep, dark depths of his eyes.

He took a half step back and leaned against the huge, dark gray bookcase. "I should have come back to find you four years ago."

Gu Moheng stared at a point in the void, a self-deprecating smile more painful than tears.

Wen Chen didn't want to listen. Reason screamed in his mind, ordering him to get up and run away immediately, cover his ears, and no longer be swayed by any of this man's words.

But his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground.

Gu Moheng continued, “Those people on Wall Street call me a ‘money-devouring beast,’ saying I’m a gambler who’d rather die than keep my money.”

Actually, no.

Gu Moheng finally raised his eyes and looked at Wen Chen. His gaze was filled with too much heavy affection and regret, so intense that Wen Chen could hardly bear it.

"It's because I want to come back sooner. Even a day earlier, or even just an hour earlier."

Wen Chen's fingertips sank deeply into his palm.

“A week before that diagnosis came out.” Gu Moheng’s voice began to tremble. He reached into his pocket, seemingly to get a cigarette, but found nothing and could only slump his hand down. “I had already bought my plane ticket back to China.”

He looked at Wen Chen, his eyes revealing an almost childlike stubbornness, as if he were eager to prove something. "Because I didn't have much cash left at the time, I wanted to save it so I could buy you a gift when I got back. I even planned to go straight to your studio after I got off the plane. If I knelt there for a whole day and night, would you soften your heart even a little bit because of how miserable I was?"

A profound sense of destiny struck Wen Chen, causing his eyes to involuntarily redden, but he immediately let out a sneer.

"so what?"

Wen Chen stood up and stared intently at Gu Moheng.

"All the hardships are yours, and all the sacrifices are yours."

Wen Chen approached step by step, the tears in his eyes turning into raging flames of anger.

"And what about me? Am I a useless piece of trash who can only share the good times but not the bad? Or am I a puppet whose fate can be arranged for me like a fool, as long as you think it's 'for my own good'?"

Gu Moheng was speechless when asked the question. He opened his mouth, but his face turned completely pale.

"Wen Chen, I..."

"Don't call me!" Wen Chen interrupted him sharply. Her chest heaved violently, and the complex emotions that had been suppressed for eight years finally erupted through this opening. "Gu Moheng, your love is too presumptuous."

Having said that, Wen Chen could no longer linger. As if fleeing a plague, he strode toward the study door.

The fleeting moment when we brushed past each other.

Gu Moheng subconsciously reached out, wanting to grab him.

"Wen Chen..."

Her fingertips barely touched Wen Chen's sleeve.

Wen Chen flung his hand away as if he had been burned.

"Don't touch me!"

Gu Moheng's hand froze in mid-air. He could only watch helplessly as that resolute figure disappeared behind the door.

"Bang!"

The door was slammed shut, causing the entire bookcase to tremble slightly.

Gu Moheng remained motionless in that outstretched hand position for a long time. The study was empty, and the sunlight was still bright.

He slowly squatted down.

He forgot.

A belated expression of affection is just as belated as a belated truth.

Sometimes, lies are more hurtful than falsehoods.