Chapter 31 Fragments (7) If I had told him back then, he would have waited for me...

A minute felt like an eternity.

Wen Chen couldn't even remember how Gu Moheng let go of her hand last night, nor how she locked him out. She only remembered the man's tired eyes and the lingering warmth on his shoulder.

"Hiss—" A sharp pain shot through my fingertip.

Wen Chen snapped out of her daze; a tiny cut on her index finger was oozing bright red blood. On the table, imported pencils worth dozens of yuan were neatly arranged like works of art, and the floor was covered with expensive wood shavings.

He has a quirk that everyone in the studio knows: he likes to sharpen pencils when he's not focused.

"Teacher Wen, it's already eleven o'clock, aren't you leaving yet?" Assistant Xiao Li poked his head in, his eyelids twitching as he looked at the pile of pen shavings on the table.

What a powerful fire must have been burning within him!

Wen Chen pressed a tissue against the wound, her expression calm: "You go first, I'll finish editing the photos."

"Oh, then you should get some rest too." Xiao Li pulled his head back and closed the door.

The central air conditioning vents are making a slight whooshing sound.

Wen Chen tossed away the crumpled paper, rubbing his tired brow. The lines of the blueprint distorted into Gu Moheng's bloodshot eyes. "He's gone mad," he muttered, picking up his phone. The screen lit up, and a financial news alert exploded into his vision like a thunderbolt:

The bold, black font is shocking.

"Gu Moheng of Mosheng Capital: How Did He Go from 500 Million Yuan in Debt to a Capital Empire in Four Years?"

Wen Chen's fingers froze in mid-air. The three words "Gu Moheng" seemed to surround his world like a Trojan virus.

It was everywhere, leaving him nowhere to escape. Reason told him to swipe away immediately, turn off his phone, and out of sight, out of mind. But his finger seemed to have a mind of its own, inexplicably hovering over that headline.

He told himself to just take a look. Just to see what this madman who treats the business world like a battlefield has been up to these past few years.

The fingertip falls, and the page redirects.

A large section of text came into view, accompanied by a photo of Gu Moheng ringing the Nasdaq bell. The man in the photo looked spirited, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

Wen Chen had no interest in admiring his dashing figure in the photo. Her gaze quickly swept over the flattering business jargon and precisely caught a few keywords.

'Lin Group invests capital...'

'A massive debt crisis stemming from poor decision-making within the family business…'

'Sign a performance-based agreement...'

The gaze finally settled on a few inconspicuous words: 'It is understood that Gu Moheng registered the initial team of Mosheng Capital overseas seven years ago in April. Four years later, the first large sum of money was used to repay debts of family-related parties…'

Wen Chen gripped her phone tightly; the cut she'd made with the utility knife earlier reopened, and blood seeped out. At that moment, the chaotic timelines in her mind were forcibly connected by this news report.

Eight years ago, they broke up, and Gu Moheng went abroad and disappeared without a trace.

Subsequently, the financial crisis of the Gu family broke out in full force, leaving him with huge debts. However, a few months later, he founded "Mosheng" on the other side of the ocean.

Four years ago, he won his gamble, paid off his debts, and planned to return to China. But then, his father was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer.

With the scattered clues interwoven together, Wen Chen had a rough idea of ​​what had happened to Gu Moheng back then.

I don't know how much time passed.

After composing herself, Wen Chen left the studio.

The streets were deserted and desolate at one o'clock in the morning.

The Bentley's keys were in his pocket, but instead of driving, he hailed a taxi. As he gave the address, he felt like a prisoner walking into a trap.

It was late at night when I got back to the apartment.

With a soft "beep", Wen Chen pushed open the door.

The living room lights were off, only the afterglow of the city light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows and a faint blue glow on the coffee table. Wen Chen changed her shoes and, as if possessed, walked over.

A figure was curled up on the sofa.

The man who was ruthless and decisive in the business world, who had pressed forward relentlessly in his presence, was now asleep, his head tilted to the side, leaning against the hard armrest of the sofa. He hadn't even taken off his bespoke suit; only his tie was loosened and hung limply around his neck.

His right hand, wrapped in thick bandages, hung limply at the edge of the sofa, rising and falling slightly with his breath. His brows were tightly furrowed, as if he couldn't find peace even in his dreams.

Wen Chen changed her shoes and stood three steps away from him, looking down at him. That sleeping posture... he'd probably feel terribly uncomfortable when he woke up tomorrow morning.

Wen Chen's gaze shifted downwards, landing on the still-lit laptop on the coffee table. The screen displayed a complex 3D architectural model, with a streamlined exterior and unique lighting design. It was their recent project, "Homecoming."

Gu Moheng was looking at his designs again? Wen Chen's heart skipped a beat, his gaze drawn to a leather notebook open beside the computer. By the blue light of the screen, he could make out the densely packed writing on it.

It was filled with all sorts of complex financial formulas and project budgets, written in a sharp, ruthless style. But at the very bottom of this page, behind that string of cold numbers, a line of repeatedly erased words suddenly appeared. The ink was deep, as if the writer had carved it with great force in a state of extreme struggle.

Wen Chen approached the coffee table, bent down slightly, and looked at the words on it.

If I had told him back then, would he have waited for me?

The blood in my body froze the moment I saw those words. The lingering clues in my mind, coupled with the turmoil behind those words, sent a surge of intense bitterness rushing to my nose.

Will it?

Will Wen Chen, who is twenty-two years old and treats Gu Moheng as her whole world, wait?

The answer is almost certainly yes.

Not only will she wait, but she will also share his debts and endure hardship with him.

As long as they are together.

But Gu Moheng personally nipped that possibility in the bud. He gave Wen Chen the most perfect protection in the arrogance of his own hands, and also inflicted the most cruel harm upon him.

Wen Chen stared intently at the words, his fingers clenching violently at his sides. He reached out, his fingertips hovering above Gu Moheng's cheek, just a centimeter away from touching that pale, tired face.

That will smooth out those furrowed brows.

The person on the sofa suddenly moved, and Wen Chen's hand froze, quickly withdrawing it. Reason returned at the last moment; it was the high wall built over eight years sounding the alarm. He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the emotions surging in his chest.

Turn around.

There was no blanket for the person on the sofa, nor was the glaring computer screen turned off. Wen Chen walked stiffly back to her bedroom.

“哢哒”.

The door lock clicked shut. This soft sound shut out the wounded man in the living room, and also shut out Wen Chen's heart, which was on the verge of losing control.

The empty living room returned to silence.

The man who had been fast asleep on the sofa slowly opened his eyes the moment darkness completely descended. There was no trace of sleepiness; his deep eyes were frighteningly clear, carrying a hint of the unfathomable and obsessive intensity of a hunter closing in his net.

Gu Moheng slowly sat up straight. His bespoke suit was wrinkled from curling up all night, and his loose tie had slipped down to his chest.

He looked down at the notebook on the coffee table. The page, turned by the air conditioning, still held the sentence. Gu Moheng stretched out his slender fingers, his fingertips gently tracing the heavily erased words, the scent of Wen Chen still lingering on his fingertips.

It was only one centimeter off.

If he hadn't been able to resist moving just now, Wen Chen's hand would have touched his face.

Gu Moheng gave a self-deprecating twitch, a hint of self-loathing flashing in his eyes. He, who once despised playing mind games, was now willing to expose his own scars as a bargaining chip just to keep someone.

Taking advantage of Wen Chen's soft heart, they deliberately revealed a flaw.

Is it despicable?

Maybe.

But he had already lost everything, and he had only survived by chance. He absolutely could not lose Wen Chen again.

Gu Moheng closed the notebook gently, as if carefully shutting away the slightest wavering in Wen Chen's heart. A dull, piercing pain shot through his right hand, but he felt the pain was just right. The more it hurt, the more it reminded him that there was still an unbreakable connection between them.

rain.

A torrential downpour of cold rain.

The world was fragmented by the gray curtain of rain.

Wen Chen stood on that familiar tree-lined path on campus, soaked to the bone, a chill creeping up her spine.

Not far away, that tall figure was turning around resolutely.

"Gu Moheng!"

Wen Chen ran as fast as he could, splashing mud into the puddles and soiling his white sneakers.

It was a rainy night eight years ago.

It was the beginning of his nightmare.

"Don't go..."

Wen Chen reached out, her fingertips almost touching the hem of her black clothes.

The figure stopped.

Wen Chen was overjoyed and was about to step forward. The man slowly turned his head, and his eyes, which were once full of tenderness, were now like sharp blades tempered with ice.

Boom—!

A thunderclap completely swallowed up that figure.

"Gu Moheng—! Don't go!"

Wen Chen sat up abruptly, her chest heaving violently. Cold sweat soaked through her pajamas, sticking stickily to her back.

The faint morning light seeped through the gap in the curtains.

There was no rain, nor was there that resolute figure turning away.

It was just a dream.

My heart was still pounding wildly in my chest, and the suffocating feeling of being abandoned was so real it made me tremble.

Every fragment we know now reveals that Gu Moheng had his reasons. But the pain in that dream screams wildly: So what? You're still the one who's been abandoned.

Frustrated, Wen Chen scratched her hair, threw off the covers, and got out of bed.

Push open the bedroom door.

A faint aroma of rice wafted through the air.

Wen Chen paused in his steps.

Following the aroma, I arrived at the open kitchen, where Gu Moheng was standing in front of the counter wearing an apron.

With his back to him, Gu Moheng's tall figure appeared gentle in the morning light, unlike the resolute look in his dream.

Hearing the noise, Gu Moheng turned around. His sharply defined face was pale from lack of sleep, and the dark circles under his eyes were heavy. But the moment he saw Wen Chen, his eyes lit up instantly.

"woke up?"

Wen Chen didn't say anything, and walked to the dining table with a cold face.

On the table were two bowls of thick millet porridge and several plates of delicate and refreshing side dishes.

"Eat it while it's hot, it's good for your stomach." Gu Moheng came over carrying the last plate of fried eggs.

Because of his right hand injury, he carried the plate with his left hand. His movements were a bit clumsy, and when he put it down, the bottom of the plate hit the table with a crisp "clink".

The porridge was cooked until very soft, melting in my mouth, and instantly warmed my stomach.

Neither of them spoke again.

An eerie silence hung in the air.

Wen Chen ate very quickly.

"I'm stuffed."

He put down his spoon, and without waiting for Gu Moheng's response, got up and walked towards the entrance.

"Wait." The sound of a chair being moved came from behind.

Wen Chen stopped in the entryway to change his shoes, then stood up, took his coat from the hanger, and put it on neatly. He reached for his collar, and in front of him was a huge full-length mirror. In the mirror, his indifferent face was reflected, as was Gu Moheng standing behind him.

The man stood three steps away from him, not approaching any closer. He was wearing simple home clothes, his left hand hanging awkwardly at his side, and his right hand wrapped in gauze.

Those deep, abyss-like eyes were staring intently at Wen Chen's back, like a dog abandoned by its owner in the rain, refusing to leave, watching its owner turn and leave again.

"Anything else?" Wen Chen looked away and asked coldly in front of the mirror.

Gu Moheng stared greedily at the back of Wen Chen's neck, his Adam's apple bobbing: "Tonight..."

"I should be back very late tonight."

Wen Chen interrupted him abruptly, not giving him a chance to finish speaking, "You don't need to wait for me."

In the mirror, the faint light that had just appeared in Gu Moheng's eyes vanished instantly. Those eyes, which had been wet and seemed on the verge of breaking, slowly lost their feigned vulnerability.

Instead, there was an unfathomable depth of ink.

Gu Moheng walked to the French windows and watched the black dot completely disappear from sight before slowly turning his gaze away.

"Buzz—"

The phone on the sofa vibrated.

Gu Moheng walked over and glanced at the caller ID; it was Qin Shu. He adjusted his breathing, and when he answered the phone, his voice had already regained its cold, authoritative tone.

"explain."

"Mr. Gu, there's been a slight mishap with that bidding project."

A ruthless glint flashed in Gu Moheng's eyes.

"knew."

"And tonight's cocktail party..."

"Go as usual."

Hanging up the phone, Gu Moheng turned to look at the entryway. He took the scarf that Wen Chen hadn't taken from the coat rack, brought it to his nose, and took a deep breath. It smelled of Wen Chen's pleasant scent, mixed with the aroma of his usual minty shampoo.

"You took two steps back..."

Gu Moheng murmured softly, his fingers caressing the soft cashmere fabric of the scarf.

It doesn't matter.

As long as I can still see you, even if you back down a thousand times, I will still force you back step by step. Gu Moheng closed his eyes, buried his face in the scarf, and a barely perceptible tear slid down his cheek.

That was the first time in eight years that he allowed himself to show vulnerability.

But it was only for a moment.

The next second, he opened his eyes.

In an instant, the ruthless "gold digger" on Wall Street returned.

-

All day long, Wen Chen felt a dull ache in her finger from the cut by the utility knife.

The pain wasn't intense, but it felt like a fine needle pricking his nerves every now and then. The studio was filled with the sound of keyboards clicking away. He stared at the rendering on the computer screen, but his mind was filled with the look in Gu Moheng's eyes as he stood in the entryway watching him leave that morning.

Wen Chen picked up the cold coffee and took a sip.

"Mr. Wen, the investor reception for the 'Return to Home' project tonight is scheduled for the Grand Hyatt Hotel." Assistant Xiao Li pushed open the door and carefully observed the boss's expression.

Wen Chen frowned. That was the kind of occasion he hated most, where all the toasts and exchanges were just empty formalities.

"I understand." He pressed his temples, forcibly banishing Gu Moheng's face from his mind.

7 p.m., Grand Hyatt Hotel banquet hall.

The crystal chandelier reflected a luxurious light, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of expensive perfume and alcohol.

Wen Chen held a half-empty glass of red wine, finding a corner to hide in, trying to minimize his presence. He wore a well-tailored dark gray suit, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his high nose, exuding an aura of unapproachable asceticism. But his appearance was simply too eye-catching; even hiding in a corner, he was like a shining magnet.

"Designer Wen, what brings you here all alone?" A somewhat greasy middle-aged man approached with a wine glass in hand. He was Mr. Zhao, one of the partners in this project. A hint of disgust flashed in Wen Chen's eyes, but he had to maintain a composed adult demeanor.

"Mr. Zhao, I can't hold my liquor, I need to get some fresh air."

Mr. Zhao's gaze lingered on Wen Chen without restraint. "Mr. Wen is too modest. You've become quite famous in the industry these past few years. Not only are you a great artist, but you're also... good-looking." He then reached out to put his thick hand on Wen Chen's shoulder.

Wen Chen stepped aside, her eyes turning cold.

Mr. Zhao's hand hovered in mid-air, his face darkening: "The subsequent funding for this project is entirely up to me."

This is the world of fame and fortune; talent sometimes seems so pale and powerless in the face of capital. Wen Chen gripped her wine glass tightly, looking at him coldly, "My designs have no shortage of discerning customers."

After saying that, he turned to leave.

"You!" Mr. Zhao was furious and reached out to grab Wen Chen's arm.

Just then, the banquet hall doors were pushed open from the outside.

The once noisy hall fell silent instantly, and Wen Chen subconsciously looked up. Gu Moheng was dressed in a pure black haute couture suit, his right hand still adorned with that glaring white armband, yet it did not diminish his imposing presence in the slightest.

He was followed by several bodyguards in black, but his aura was a hundred times more imposing than theirs. His deep eyes swept across the room, precisely locking onto Wen Chen in the corner.

And then there's President Zhao, who's grabbing Wen Chen's arm.

Gu Moheng's gaze instantly darkened, as if ice had been poured into a deep pool. He strode forward, walking straight through the crowd, which automatically parted to make way for him.

Mr. Zhao felt a chill run down his spine as he was stared at, and he subconsciously let go of her hand.

"Mr. Gu... Mr. Gu? What brings you here?" Mr. Zhao put on a fawning smile, but cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

Gu Moheng didn't even glance at him, and walked straight up to Wen Chen, stopping in front of him.

His tall frame blocked the glare of the light. "Why didn't you answer the phone?"

Wen Chen paused for a moment before realizing that she had left her phone in the car.

"I forgot to bring it." He turned his face away, not wanting to be associated with Gu Moheng in front of so many people.

Gu Moheng didn't expose him. He turned around and his cold gaze fell on President Zhao's hand, which had just touched Wen Chen.

"Mr. Zhao, what were you trying to do to my...partner just now?"

"President Gu, you've misunderstood! It's a misunderstanding!" President Zhao's legs went weak with fear. "I just wanted to have a drink with Engineer Wen..."

"He has a bad stomach and doesn't drink alcohol."

Gu Moheng coldly interrupted him, picking up the glass of wine that President Zhao had just handed him with his left hand.

“Since Mr. Zhao is in such a refined mood,” Gu Moheng said with a flick of his wrist.

Splash—

The dark red liquor poured down, soaking all of it onto Mr. Zhao's shiny leather shoes.

"This glass is for him, I'll toast you."

Everyone stared in disbelief at the scene. In this circle, Gu Moheng was known for his refined manners; no one had ever seen him embarrass someone in public like this.

Wen Chen's heart skipped a beat. Looking at Gu Moheng's cold, hard profile, he seemed to see, in a daze, the boy who had fought off thugs for him years ago. Just like that—unreasonable, fiercely protective of his own.

Gu Moheng took out a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped his left hand, which had just touched the wine glass, as if he had touched something dirty.

“From today onwards, all funding gaps for the ‘Homecoming’ project will be fully covered by Mosheng Capital.”