Chapter 47 Heading Forward (2) Can I?

Following Gu Moheng's flattered expression, Wen's mother lowered her gaze and fixed it on his right hand, which was slightly exposed as his sleeve slipped down.

"Little Gu."

She gently put down the spoon in her hand, her knuckles slightly curled, her brows furrowed, and she asked with concern, "How did you hurt your hand?"

Gu Moheng's heart skipped a beat, and he stopped eating.

"It's alright, Auntie." He subconsciously hid his right hand under the table, forced a slightly stiff smile, and put on a relaxed tone, "I accidentally scratched myself, it's just a minor injury, it's almost healed."

"Wrapped up like this, and it's still a minor injury?" Mr. Wen put down his wine glass and looked over.

Gu Moheng was thinking of how to make an excuse when a slender, slightly cool hand suddenly swept across the table, its palm warm, and grabbed his wrist as he tried to back away.

Gu Moheng's breath hitched, and he abruptly turned his head.

Wen Chen remained calm, but with a firm grip, she pulled his hand, hidden under the table, into the light and placed it on the plain tablecloth. Under the lamplight, the gauze was dazzlingly white.

"Don't listen to his nonsense." Wen Chen's voice was calm and indifferent.

Meeting Gu Moheng's stunned gaze, he lightly touched the gauze with his fingertip. The movement was gentle, but his words were weighty: "It's been stitched up with eight stitches. The doctor said the stitches can only be removed next week."

The table fell silent.

Gu Moheng's ears burned instantly, the blush spreading all the way down to his neck. He curled his fingers, but didn't pull away from Wen Chen's hand. He just looked up at him in a panic, his eyes full of silent pleading: Didn't we agree to be composed in front of Mom and Dad?

Wen Chen ignored him, picked up the serving chopsticks with her other hand, took the tenderest piece from the belly of the steamed sea bass, carefully removed the fine bones, and then put the glistening white fish meat into his bowl.

"Eat this." Wen Chen put down her chopsticks, her tone still indifferent. "It'll help you gain protein and grow bigger."

Gu Moheng looked at the still-steaming fish in the bowl and responded softly, "...Okay."

Mr. and Mrs. Wen exchanged a glance, a knowing smile flashing across their eyes.

Some feelings can be hidden by words, but not by instinct.

After dinner, the snow outside the window had stopped sometime earlier, and a clear moonlight shone on the windowsill covered with a thin layer of snow, the moonlight so bright it was dazzling.

Mr. Wen put down his teacup and gestured with his chin towards Wen Chen: "Come to the study with me." Wen Chen stood up and followed his father into the study. Only Mrs. Wen, who was tidying up the dishes, and a slightly awkward Gu Moheng remained in the living room.

"Xiao Gu, come help me move a potted plant." Wen's mother wiped the water off her hands, turned around, smiled gently at him, and pointed towards the balcony.

Gu Moheng immediately stood up and hurriedly replied, "Okay, Auntie."

The balcony on this winter night was chilly. The moment he opened the door, a cold wind carrying the delicate fragrance of winter plum blossoms rushed in, clearing Gu Moheng's muddled thoughts.

Following his mother's instructions, he carefully moved a pot of orchids down from the high shelf.

Wen's mother pulled her shawl around her neck and looked at the slender figure inside the study window.

"I won't ask about what happened back then; it's between you two," she suddenly said, her voice as soft as if it were being blown away by the wind.

Gu Moheng paused, putting down the flowerpot, then immediately stood up straight, his expression solemn, his tone full of guilt: "Auntie, the mistakes of that year were entirely my fault. I was arrogant and that's why I hurt him..."

Mother Wen waved her hand, interrupting his confession. She turned around, her gaze gently falling on Gu Moheng's face, her eyes filled with tenderness.

“Xiao Chen has been stubborn since he was a child, and he swallows all his suffering alone.” She said softly, “In the past eight years, he has kept himself even more closed off. He seems gentle to everyone, but the door to his heart is locked tighter than anyone else’s.”

Gu Moheng's hands, hanging by his sides, clenched so tightly they ached.

He knew.

He knew better than anyone else in the world what a hard yet fragile stubbornness lay hidden beneath Wen Chen's gentle and humble exterior.

“He has become even more lonely in these eight years.”

Looking at Gu Moheng, Wen's mother softened her tone, "He seems lively and cheerful around people, as if he can chat with anyone, and he seems gentle and kind to everyone. But actually, the door to his heart is locked tighter than anyone else's. Even though he's surrounded by people, it's always like there's a layer of fog between him and everyone else; no one can get into his heart."

Gu Moheng clenched his fists tightly at his sides, his nails digging deep into his palms, causing a sharp pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

The inscription on that door was added by him himself back then.

“But today, I saw him hold your hand like that.” Mother Wen suddenly smiled, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes. “So naturally, he probably didn’t even realize it himself.”

"Little Gu."

Gu Moheng immediately straightened his back, held his breath, and looked at Wen's mother with a solemn expression: "Please speak."

Wen's mother stepped forward, reached out, and gently straightened the hem of his sweater, which had been wrinkled while he was moving the flowers. Her actions were as intimate as if she were treating a younger member of her family.

“I don’t want you to control him, you can’t control him.” Her voice was soft yet deep, like moonlight falling to the ground. “I just hope you spend more time with him. Even if he pushes you, ignores you, or chases you away, you should still stand firmly where he can see you when he turns around.”

She glanced at him, her gaze deep: "This child spent eight years turning himself into an impenetrable fortress, and now... he's finally letting a crack open, allowing people to get close."

Gu Moheng's eyes suddenly welled up with tears, and a warm, sour feeling rushed to his nose. He took a deep breath, facing the biting cold wind, and said, "Auntie, don't worry."

“This time, I will never let go again.” He paused, then spoke clearly, “I will give myself to him, with interest, for the rest of my life.”

-

The Maybach's engine roared low and steady as it glided smoothly onto the main road late at night. The wheels crunched over the still-smoldering snow, making a soft, muffled "crunch." The car's heater was on full blast, its warmth enveloping the supple leather seats, yet it couldn't dispel the awkward silence that lingered between the two men.

Wen Chen leaned back in the passenger seat, half-closing his eyes to rest, but he took in all the movements of the person next to him.

Gu Moheng's slender fingers gripped the steering wheel firmly, but his right hand, wrapped in thick gauze, stood out starkly in the dim light of the dashboard.

He hadn't uttered a word since leaving the Wen family villa. The immense joy of being recognized by his elders, mixed with the profound guilt of leaving without saying goodbye eight years ago, was churning violently in this man's chest. This man could remain composed even when discussing multi-million dollar projects on Wall Street, but when faced with the old grievances of that relationship, he was as fragile as a bubble that could burst at the slightest touch.

Wen Chen knows him too well.

"Buzz—"

The car's Bluetooth vibrated, and an email notification sounded abruptly. Gu Moheng, however, seemed not to hear it, staring straight ahead at the night sky, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Wen Chen sighed inwardly.

The red light came on, and the car stopped. Neon light slanted into the car window, dividing Gu Moheng's profile into two halves of light and shadow. The shadow sank into his deep-set eyes, his emotions ambiguous and unclear.

"Wen Chen," Gu Moheng finally spoke.

Wen Chen didn't move, only responding with a soft "Hmm?" through her nose.

Gu Moheng's Adam's apple bobbed heavily, as if he were swallowing a lot of choked words. In the end, he could only squeeze out a sentence: "Your mother... is so good." It was clumsy, thankful, and carried an aftersound of flattery.

Wen Chen's eyelashes trembled, and she slowly opened her eyes, turning her head to look at him. "Hmm." His tone was flat, revealing no emotional fluctuation. "She has always been kind and generous to others."

Gu Moheng gripped the steering wheel, his hands tightening and loosening, his palms clammy with cold sweat. Silence enveloped the car once more, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of the turn signals.

"She told me to spend more time with you," he said softly.

Seeing his anxious and uncertain expression, Wen Chen couldn't hold back the feigned indifference in her eyes any longer, and it melted away a bit.

"Mmm." He responded again, his voice rising slightly at the end, revealing a barely perceptible indulgence and tenderness.

That soft response was like a ray of light piercing through the lingering gloom in Gu Moheng's heart. He abruptly turned his head, his eyes bursting with an almost burning hope that crashed straight into Wen Chen's calm pupils. Ignoring the red light counting down ahead, his body leaned uncontrollably toward the passenger seat. The seatbelt tightened around his expensive sweater, accentuating the taut muscles beneath his broad shoulders.

"May I?"

The three-word question was asked with both stubbornness and caution.

Gu Moheng stared intently into Wen Chen's eyes, not daring to blink, for fear of missing even the slightest hint of disgust or rejection on Wen Chen's face.

Wen Chen quietly looked at the man before him, who had shed all his sharpness, and suddenly found it somewhat amusing. He straightened up slightly and, in the alternating light of the car headlights outside the window, looked directly into Gu Moheng's eyes, which were filled with seriousness and trepidation.

"Gu Moheng," Wen Chen called out his name softly.

"Aren't you already doing it?"

As soon as the words fell, Gu Moheng froze, his pupils contracting slightly, as if nailed to his seat by those words. He was stunned, bewildered, and then the light in his eyes gradually brightened, burning hot.

Wen Chen looked at his silly, goofy expression and shook his head helplessly. He raised his hand, his long, slightly cool fingertips piercing through the dim light and shadow, landing on Gu Moheng's slightly reddened earlobe, Gu Moheng's most sensitive spot. He gently pinched it with his fingertips, the touch surprisingly hot.

"Uh..." Gu Moheng let out a very low groan, his whole body trembling slightly as if he had been electrocuted. He subconsciously turned his head, wanting to rub his cheek against that slightly cool touch, savoring this long-lost intimacy.

But Wen Chen didn't give him any more chances to be affectionate. Her fingertips touched and then parted, maintaining a perfect balance of closeness and distance, firmly holding onto control.

"Don't paint with watercolors next time." He leaned back in his chair, his tone tinged with a hint of teasing, but his eyes curved into a soft smile. "Your hand isn't even steady yet, the colors are all smudged, and you insist on pretending to paint in an impressionistic style. Aren't you afraid my mom will laugh at you?"

Gu Moheng froze, blinking. The emotions that had been building up were gently punctured by those words and suddenly dissipated. His shoulders relaxed, and his breathing became lighter.

“Compared to your painting,” Wen Chen glanced at the greening signal light, a slight smile playing on her lips, and slowly added the second half of her sentence, “my mom seems to prefer the real flowers you sent. They’re blooming beautifully.”

Gu Mo was taken aback.

Immediately, a completely unguarded smile bloomed on his face.

His eyebrows and eyes were relaxed, and his gaze was clear and bright, like the moonlight after a sudden snowfall.

"Okay." He looked at Wen Chen, his voice gentle and chuckled, "From now on, I'll give you real gifts."

-

The Maybach's engine finally shut down, its lingering warmth and the scent of leather quickly dissipating in the winter night's chill. Wen Chen unbuckled his seatbelt, and as he opened the door, a blast of cold air rushed in, making his fingertips numb. He instinctively pulled his coat collar tighter.

The motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on, casting a warm yellow glow over the celadon vase on the shoe cabinet and superimposing the two people's shadows onto the wooden floor.

Gu Moheng followed him in, carrying cured meat and dried vegetables he had brought back from the Wen family; the cardboard boxes were soaked with oil. His aloof, elite demeanor clashed strangely with this rustic atmosphere.

He put his things down, paused for a moment, then turned and went into the study.

Two minutes later, Gu Moheng came out, carrying a heavy kraft paper file folder. He walked to the coffee table and gently pushed it in front of Wen Chen.

"What's this?" Wen Chen glanced at the heavy bag but didn't touch it.

"All my assets, and a newly drawn-up will."

Wen Chen's gaze shifted from the paper bag to his face. "What do you mean?"

Fearing that Wen Chen might misunderstand, Gu Moheng immediately leaned forward, his tone urgent: "I thought a lot in the car. You're right, but I'm still afraid... I used to be so self-righteous, thinking that pushing you away was for your own good."

“I’ve figured it out now.” He took a breath, his eyes surging with stubbornness. “I am yours, and everything I have is naturally yours.”

Wen Chen stared at him quietly. She stared for a long time, so long that Gu Moheng's forehead was covered in sweat and his knuckles were clenched so tightly they turned white.

Suddenly, Wen Chen reached out, his slender fingertips pressing against the file folder. The next second, he pushed it back with a slight force. The file folder slid across the table and returned to Gu Moheng's side.

Gu Moheng's pupils shrank sharply, "You don't want it..."

"Keep it with you for now," Wen Chen interrupted him.

Gu Moheng froze, blinking blankly: "What?"

Wen Chen stood up. "This is such a large sum of money, it's too hot to handle right now." He bent down, gently lifted Gu Moheng's chin with his fingers, forcing him to look up at him. "You can keep it for now."

Gu Moheng was forced to tilt his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice dazed: "Until when?"

Wen Chen's lips curved slightly, her eyes held little smile, yet her earnestness was chilling: "At the wedding."

Those words came down lightly, but they completely stunned Gu Moheng.

"Married?" he murmured repeatedly, as if he had never heard the word before.

Looking at his dazed expression, Wen Chen gently stroked his chin with her fingertip and asked with a half-smile, "What, don't you want to get married?"

"I want to!" Gu Moheng almost shouted, his voice trembling with barely suppressed elation. "I dream about it!"

Wen Chen released her hand with satisfaction, straightened up, turned and walked towards the bedroom, her voice drifting lazily over, "Then let's keep it. We'll see if it becomes part of the betrothal gifts or the dowry."

Call me whatever you want.

Even after the bedroom door slammed shut, Gu Moheng remained kneeling on the carpet, clutching the paper bag tightly in his hand, his knuckles white. His heart pounded heavily, making his chest numb.

Wen Chen is willing to... marry him.

Overwhelmed by immense joy, he felt dizzy and his nose stung. He couldn't help but bury his face in the file folder.

late at night.

The study was dimly lit.

Gu Moheng sat behind the desk, the documents untouched, the paper bag beside him. Like a dragon guarding its treasure, he would occasionally reach out and lightly touch it, confirming its reality, confirming that the word "marriage" wasn't a hallucination. The smile on his lips subsided, then quietly curled up again.

The doorknob suddenly turned.

Gu Moheng sat up straight instantly, his face softening completely and regaining its usual coldness.

Wen Chen pushed open the door and came in. She had just taken a shower, and her dark gray pajamas hung loosely on her body. Her hair was half-dry and softly fell in front of her forehead, shedding the aloofness of the day and adding a lazy, homey feel.

"Still not asleep?" He walked to the table and casually tossed a silver USB drive to Gu Moheng. Gu Moheng caught it instinctively.

Wen Chen braced herself on the edge of the table, leaning closer. The faint scent of her post-shower fragrance instantly filled Gu Moheng's nostrils. "Not much wealth, enough to support myself. Not as much as President Gu, but still some savings."

“Wen Chen…” Gu Moheng’s eyes welled up with tears, and his throat tightened.

Wen Chen didn't give him a chance to get sentimental, straightened up and walked towards the door. But when she grasped the doorknob, she paused.

"Oh, right."

He didn't turn around; his slender back was illuminated by the light, and his voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet night: "I've changed my trip to France to next week."

Gu Moheng was taken aback, then his eyes suddenly lit up: "We're going?"

"Hmm." Wen Chen responded, turning her head to glance at his right hand, which was wrapped in gauze. "You have seven days left. Take care of your hand and get your body in good shape."

He paused, his voice softening: "I want to go to St. Chapel. I want to see the stained glass windows there with you."

After saying that, he opened the door and went out.

St. Chapel. The place they made a promise to visit eight years ago, but never went. Wen Chen hadn't forgotten; she would take him there to make up for the promise that was eight years overdue.

Gu Moheng inserted the USB drive into the computer. The screen emitted a faint blue light.

The folder unfolded to reveal an extremely detailed personal asset report: studio cash flow statements, copyright certificates for award-winning works, property ownership documents for several properties, and even details of regular fund investments. Every single item was clearly and completely accounted for.

At the very bottom, there is a document titled "Draft Prenuptial Agreement".

Gu Moheng's breath hitched. He clicked on the document, his vision blurring. He slid the mouse to the very end, where a handwritten note stood—the characters strong and vigorous, revealing the man's unique character—and it struck him.

[Note: If Gu Moheng dares to bully me, all the above terms are null and void. —Wen Chen, effective immediately.]

Gu Moheng stared at the words and suddenly chuckled softly. His laughter was tinged with tears, his chest heaving, the sound echoing gently in the quiet study. He raised his hand, his fingertips lightly, very lightly touching the name on the screen. Like touching a dream that had waited too long, finally willing to return to his palm.