Chapter 3 Reunion (3) Those evil capitalists, they're about to unleash their power...

“Teacher Wen! This is clearly…”

What is it?

Wen Chen raised her eyes, her gaze behind her glasses as calm as a deep pool, and lightly swept over her assistant, Xiao Li.

Xiao Li was speechless under his gaze; the words "I'm deliberately making things difficult for you" stuck in his throat, unable to be uttered or swallowed.

The project manager was a middle-aged man in his forties, a steady and reliable person. He pushed up his glasses and said in a deep voice, "Professor Wen, Mosheng's request is indeed unreasonable. It is standard practice for investors to assign a dedicated person to handle matters, but how can the lead designer be required to report to the top decision-maker individually every week? This will take up a lot of your creative time."

"Although Gu Moheng's status in the business world is unparalleled, does he... understand architecture?"

The suppressed chatter of the young designers in the team, like countless buzzing insects, burrowed into Wen Chen's ears.

Do you understand?

A faint hint of mockery curled at the corners of Wen Chen's lips.

The noisy sounds in the conference room seemed to be infinitely pulled away, distorted into a blurry background noise. Amidst the interplay of light and shadow, his thoughts were abruptly pulled back to that sweltering afternoon eight years ago.

The library in the university town is filled with the scent of old book pages mixed with sunlight.

The cicadas chirped incessantly outside the window, but inside the museum it was so quiet you could hear the scratching of pens on paper.

He was engrossed in a thick copy of "The Great Le Corbusier." Suddenly, a pair of hands reached out from the side and snatched the book from his hands.

"Wen Chen, if you keep looking at this, your eyes will be glued to the book." The voice, still that of a young boy, carried a hint of helplessness but also an undisguised doting affection.

He looked up and unexpectedly met a pair of deep, smiling eyes.

Gu Moheng rested his chin on one hand, casually turning the pages of the book with the other, his brows revealing a dazzling yet carefree gentleness.

"I'm a finance and law student, and the architectural history book I've been helping you with is thicker than my textbooks," he complained, gently closing the book and placing it neatly to the side. Then, he tilted his head, his gaze fixed intently on Wen Chen, his bright eyes seeming to be fixed on the most precious treasure in the world.

Back then, Gu Moheng didn't possess the chilling aura he has now. He was more like a spirited young leopard, confident and proud, with a light in his eyes that shone brighter than the summer sun.

"Teacher Wen? Teacher Wen!"

The project manager's voice jolted Wen Chen back from the depths of her memories.

Wen Chen looked at the person in front of him through his glasses and suddenly thought that if this project were awarded to this person again, he could simply focus on design as usual. If this project wasn't "Returning Home"... he thought, he and he wouldn't have met again in this way.

Memories are like arsenic quenched with honey—extremely sweet, yet equally extremely poisonous.

Gu Moheng may not understand architecture, but he understands Wen Chen.

They knew how to strike his weak point most precisely, leaving him nowhere to escape.

He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging bitterness in his heart, forcing himself to stop thinking about that person and anything related to them. When he looked up again, all the dark currents in his eyes had disappeared, leaving only a reassuring clarity and gentleness.

"Please be patient, everyone. 'Returning Home' is the culmination of the hard work of all of us here. As the lead creator, I know how difficult it has been to get to this point."

“Mosheng Capital is the largest investor in this project, and as a partner, we should understand their concerns. Ultimately, this is just an adjustment in the workflow. As long as the project proceeds smoothly and ‘Return Home’ is successfully implemented, it’s just a matter of some additional communication, and it won’t cause everyone’s hard work to go to waste.”

Wen Chen lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes casting a faint shadow behind his glasses, concealing the fleeting sneer in his eyes. He slowly twirled the Parker pen between his fingers, the cool metallic touch gradually calming his chaotic thoughts.

a long time.

He looked up at Xiao Li, who was gazing at him with admiration.

"Reply to Mosheng Capital, including the time and place."

"We'll decide."

-

"Yunshan" Cafe, rooftop private room.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans, mixed with a faint, subtle woody scent.

Wen Chen arrived ten minutes early.

He chose a seat by the window, where the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting dappled patterns of light on his light gray cashmere cardigan. He spread out several key structural analysis diagrams on the table, then sat quietly, his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses fixed on the horizon outside the window, devoid of joy or sorrow.

The minute and second hands coincided. The door to the private room was pushed open from the outside, and a tall, aloof figure walked in, bringing with him the air from outside.

Wen Chen's gaze remained fixed on the window, without turning around, yet she could feel that familiar shadow looming over her, carrying an undeniable sense of oppression.

The newcomer sat down opposite him, making no extra sound as if deliberately keeping his movements quiet so as not to disturb the moment of tranquility, but his gaze remained fixed on Wen Chen.

The waiter came in and poured water for the two of them.

Wen Chen slowly turned his gaze back, and the two men's eyes clashed in the air across a long ebony table.

Gu Moheng wasn't wearing a suit today. Instead, he wore a high-quality charcoal gray cashmere turtleneck sweater, layered under a sharply tailored black overcoat, which accentuated his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and upright posture. Even his hair was meticulously styled, with a few strands seemingly casually falling across his forehead, yet perfectly softening the sharpness in his eyes. A faint, crisp woody scent even lingered in the air.

Wen Chen remembered that Gu Moheng never used perfume. He once said that he hated that fake scent, which interfered with his judgment.

Let's turn back time to early morning.

Qin Shu stood at the door of Gu Moheng's walk-in closet, a room large enough to host a small party, feeling his worldview being shattered. Behind him stood Kevin, a man with slicked-back hair and a floral shirt, known in the industry as a top image consultant. His boss—the man known on Wall Street as a "heartless capital harvester"—was wearing a bathrobe, his brow furrowed, scrutinizing the eighteenth outfit Kevin had put together.

“Too formal,” Gu Moheng’s voice was hoarse from the early morning, “like signing an acquisition contract.”

Kevin, with a delicate, flamboyant gesture, said, "Mr. Gu, this outfit perfectly highlights your ascetic and aloof demeanor, making it utterly irresistible!"

Qin Shu rolled his eyes inwardly; it was already a miracle that the other party wasn't throwing design drawings at him.

Gu Moheng glanced at the pure black haute couture suit and said decisively, "Change it."

Qin Shu glanced at his phone silently. At 6:30 in the morning, his boss had dragged him out of bed with a phone call, and he'd rushed Kevin, the teacher, to the penthouse apartment. He'd thought it was some secret visit from an international tycoon, but this was all?

"And what about this 'Winter Sunshine Embrace' outfit?" Kevin proudly presented another set: a light camel coat paired with a white sweater. "Warm, comforting, it'll melt away any defenses in someone's heart!"

Gu Moheng frowned even more: "Too soft."

Qin Shu thought to himself: What does the boss's usual aura, which can freeze people, have to do with "warmth and healing"? He looked up and silently mourned for himself. Even a cow's life is a life. The night before last, he only slept for three hours while organizing Wen Chen's data that spanned eight years. He came here early in the morning not to see the boss playing Miracle Nikki here!

Just as Qin Shu was about to fall asleep standing up, Gu Moheng finally personally pulled the charcoal gray turtleneck and black overcoat from the clothes rack. Kevin's eyes lit up, and he slapped his thigh: "Brilliant! Low-key yet in control, seemingly yielding, but actually advancing step by step!"

Qin Shu was numb. He only saw a fleeting hint of tension he had never seen before flash in his boss's unfathomable eyes as Kevin styled his hair in front of the mirror. Though it was brief, Qin Shu was certain he hadn't misread it.

He suddenly realized—the evil capitalists were about to unleash their power.

"Regarding the specific details of the project, I hope..."

Wen Chen's voice pulled him back to reality.

He didn't look at the blueprints, but stared at Wen Chen, his gaze like an impenetrable net, silently enveloping him.

“Wen Chen,” he called him by his name, no longer the polite “Designer Wen,” “We haven’t seen each other for eight years, and the first thing we can talk about is work?”

Wen Chen's fingers, which were pressing on the blueprint, suddenly tightened. He looked up and said, "President Gu, I think you've misunderstood. I'm here today only to fulfill the 'separate reporting' clause in the agreement."

That's all.

Something shattered rapidly in Gu Moheng's eyes. His voice was slightly lower than before, "Wen Chen, don't call me that."

Wen Chen seemed not to hear. His gaze slowly moved down from Gu Moheng's aggressively handsome face. The soft, smoky gray turtleneck cashmere sweater hugged the man's broad shoulders and lean waist perfectly. A long black coat was casually draped over the back of the chair next to him, and a glimpse of a Patek Philippe astronomical tourbillon wristwatch peeked out from the cuff.

Wen Chen withdrew her gaze and stopped looking at him. His slender fingers gently pushed the blueprints in front of him forward a little.

"Mr. Gu, I believe our time together is limited."

Gu Moheng's hands, resting on his knees, slowly tightened, his knuckles bulging and turning white with force. He stared at Wen Chen's calm, expressionless face for a full ten seconds. In those eyes that instilled fear in his business rivals, the word "defeat" was clearly reflected.

After a long while, his gaze finally fell on the blueprints that Wen Chen had pushed over.

“‘Returning home.’” He pronounced the two words, drawing out the last syllable very softly, like a lover’s murmur, yet with a hint of cool playfulness. “The idea is very good.”

Wen Chen remained calm and composed, quietly waiting for what was to come.

“But Mosheng is investing in a commercial project, not a work of art.” Gu Moheng’s tone suddenly rose, becoming sharp and businesslike. “In your plan, the open-air streetscape accounts for 18% of the total building area, and the sky garden accounts for 7%. How do you guarantee the return on investment for this 25% prime location?”

really.

The same difficult tactics used by Director Li yesterday.

But the pressure was a hundred times stronger when it came from Gu Moheng's mouth.

Wen Chen pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes behind the lenses calm and undisturbed.

"Mr. Gu, this is my calculation model." He pushed a document in front of him towards Gu Moheng. "The experiential and social attributes brought by open spaces are expected to increase overall foot traffic by 30% and extend the average customer stay by 40 minutes. This implicit value will be directly reflected in the rental premium of core shops and the overall commercial value." His voice was clear and calm, and he was very familiar with every piece of data.

Gu Moheng opened the document, his slender fingers tracing over the dense data and charts. He read it extremely quickly, almost scanning it.

Then he looked up, his gaze lingering on Wen Chen's face for two seconds, his unfathomable eyes revealing an unreadable emotion. He then pushed a document he had brought with him onto the center of the table. "These are the supplementary clauses to the project contract from Mosheng's legal department. Take a look."

Only he knew that his left hand under the table, with its icy fingertips, had already been quietly clenched.

Wen Chen lowered his eyes and picked up the document. He had only turned to the first page when his fingertips stopped.

harsh.

No, this goes beyond being overly demanding. From selecting material suppliers to monitoring construction progress and intervening in post-construction publicity, Mosheng Capital's requirements permeate almost every detail of the project. This far exceeds the boundaries expected of an investor.

“Mr. Gu,” Wen Chen closed the document, looked up and stared directly at him, his gaze behind his glasses calm yet sharp, “this supplementary agreement seems more like an… acquisition plan.” He spoke tactfully.

Gu Moheng leaned back slightly, sinking into the soft sofa, his legs crossed, his posture as composed as a king ruling over the world.

“Designer Wen,” he said, his thin lips parting slightly, the words carrying a chilling quality that struck Wen Chen’s eardrums, “‘Return to the Nest’ is far larger than any project your studio has ever undertaken. Mosheng needs to ensure a flawless return on investment.”

Wen Chen's lips curved into a very faint smile, which seemed like mockery or self-deprecation.

"So, Mr. Gu doesn't trust my professional abilities?"

“I believe in your abilities,” Gu Moheng said, his gaze falling on the blueprints in his hand, a document embodying countless hours of hard work, but his tone was utterly cold. “But I believe even more in data and processes. Your ‘passion’ is touching, but passion can’t put food on the table, much less be converted into cash. Mosheng is investing real money, not some vague, unrealistic story.”

Wen Chen's hand, placed under the table, clenched silently, her nails digging deep into her palm, bringing a sharp, sobering pain.

“I understand Mr. Gu’s concerns. Regarding suppliers, we can provide three options, all of which meet the highest international standards. As for progress monitoring, our studio has the most professional project managers…”

He began to refute each point, his logic clear and his demeanor neither humble nor arrogant.

The voice was still clear and gentle, but beneath that gentle tone, a thin layer of ice had already formed, keeping people at a distance.

This is a war without gunfire, a showdown between the arrogance of capital and the perseverance of design.

Gu Moheng listened quietly, but his eyes remained fixed on Wen Chen, like an impenetrable net, trying to capture traces of eight years ago from every subtle change in the other's expression.

What broke this suffocating standoff was the waiter knocking on the door and entering.

"Sir, here is your coffee."

Two steaming hot hand-drip coffees, one a dark Americano and the other a latte with milk, were gently placed in front of the two people.

Inside the white porcelain cup, the dark brown liquid emitted a rich, caramelized aroma.

The waiter placed the scalding hot black Americano on Wen Chen's right, very close to his hand.

Wen Chen was about to speak, continuing to refute Gu Moheng's profit-driven capitalist rhetoric, when a hand reached out without warning. It crossed the table, gently placing itself on the scalding hot cup in front of Wen Chen, subtly pushing it away from his hand by half an inch.

This is a completely subconscious, habitual protective action.

It was so smooth, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times.

All the words Wen Chen had prepared caught in his throat. He couldn't help but look at Gu Moheng's outstretched hand, trembling in the sunlight.

The torrent of memories swept away the dam he had painstakingly built over eight years with overwhelming force.

In the university study room, he always habitually placed his water cup on his right, completely forgetting about it when he was engrossed in reading.

Gu Moheng would always be by his side, quietly moving all the hot things to a safe distance away from him.

Once, twice, countless times. Until this action became a muscle memory etched into their bones, a habit that even eight long years and those deep wounds could not completely erase.

Wen Chen abruptly lowered her eyes, using her glasses to conceal the turbulent emotions surging within them.

The hand had already retracted with lightning speed, the fingertips seemingly still retaining the scalding heat of the porcelain cup. Gu Moheng looked at his unruly hand, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. He couldn't help but slightly lift his eyelids, observing Wen Chen's expression. His jawline was taut, and a rare hint of embarrassment and annoyance flashed in his eyes.

Wen Chen silently picked up the cup of coffee; it was still scalding hot. He brought the cup to his lips and took a tiny sip. The extremely bitter taste exploded on his tongue, burning all the way to his heart.

Then, when he looked up again, his face was once again adorned with that impeccable, gentle mask that belonged to "Designer Wen".

He looked at the man opposite him whose expression had changed slightly and whose breathing was unsteady, and smiled very lightly.

That smile was as cold as ice, not reaching his eyes.

"President Gu is still the same as before..."

His voice was very soft, with a slightly drawn-out ending, and he deliberately paused in the middle.

That brief pause, like an invisible hook, fiercely tugged at the deepest, most hidden, and softest corner of Gu Moheng's heart, causing him to suddenly tighten.

"……thoughtful."

He spoke the last two words clearly and slowly, with a deliberate air of detachment and judgment.

But like a poisoned needle, it silently and precisely pierced the softest, most vulnerable old wound in Gu Moheng's heart.

A note from the author:

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