Chapter 8 Plagiarism (2) It's late, I won't see you off. ...

Gu Moheng seemed to completely ignore Wen Chen's rejection, and reached out to unscrew the lid of the insulated box. Warm white steam instantly rose up, blurring his handsome features.

Behind the slowly rising white steam came Gu Moheng's concerned voice: "You definitely didn't eat dinner. How can your stomach stand being so empty?" Although his tone was stubborn, there was a hint of undisguised concern.

Seeing that he hadn't stopped drawing, Wen Chen finally stopped completely. He turned his head very slowly, his gaze first falling on the bowl of steaming porridge, lingering for a second. Then, he raised his eyes, his gaze meeting Gu Moheng's unfathomable eyes without flinching.

Those eyes, which he once knew so well, were now churning with complex emotions that he neither understood nor wanted to understand.

“I said,” her eyes behind the glasses were cold and sharp as frost, piercing him directly, “my affairs are none of your concern.”

After saying that, he lowered his head, no longer looking at Gu Moheng, and prepared to continue organizing the blueprints, using his actions to show the most thorough rejection.

His vision was suddenly blocked as a large, scalding hand gripped his wrist tightly! The force was astonishing, with an undeniable dominance, like a red-hot iron clamp gripping his cool wrist bones. The instantaneous pressure even sent a numbing sting to his fingertips.

Wen Chen's pupils suddenly contracted, and he looked up abruptly, only to be caught off guard by a pair of eyes filled with terrifying bloodshot veins.

Gu Moheng's eyes, which were usually impassive, were now a bloodshot red with a look of utter despair. Within that red surged an emotion he had never seen before, an emotion that was about to burst through the dam.

"Wen Chen," Gu Moheng's voice was hoarse, "do you really have to do this?"

This was the first time in eight years since their reunion that this man, who was always calm and composed, as if everything was under his control and he was aloof, had shown such utter embarrassment in front of him.

He remembered that eight years ago, Gu Moheng, though not as prominent as he is now, was still a radiant and sunny person.

Wen Chen realized that she was thinking of the person in front of her from the past, those always gentle eyes, which instantly turned into two bottomless, icy pools. "What?"

He countered with a question that was eerily calm.

"Is it a rejection of your charity, or an exposure of your self-righteous 'compensation'?"

Wen Chen looked at the face that she had once loved to the bone and hated to the core. A cold smile slowly curved her lips.

He spoke, his voice calm and undisturbed, yet every word pierced the heart: "Does President Gu want to see me like that fool eight years ago, clinging to your hand, crying and begging to die rather than let go?"

The color drained from Gu Moheng's face instantly, and the astonishing strength he had been gripping Wen Chen's wrist subconsciously loosened.

Eight years ago, on a rainy night, the icy rain seemed to threaten to engulf the entire city.

Soaked to the bone, Wen Chen stood stubbornly in the pouring rain, like a poplar tree that had been brutally broken by the storm but refused to fall. He gripped Gu Moheng's arm with all his might, his fingers turning white from the excessive force, almost digging into the other's taut flesh.

"Why...why do you suddenly want to go abroad?" His voice trembled uncontrollably, broken and mixed with the noisy rain, filled with desperate sobs.

Gu Moheng turned his face away, deliberately avoiding his burning, pained gaze. "Wen Chen, don't be so naive." His voice was a thousand times colder than the winter rain, utterly devoid of warmth. "It was just a game, and you actually took it seriously?"

After saying that, he reached out and, one by one, pried open Wen Chen's fingers that were tightly gripping his. The action was calm and cruel, as if he were discarding a superfluous old object that was no longer needed.

"Let go."

"No...I won't let go..."

“Wen Chen,” Gu Moheng finally looked at him, his eyes, once full of tenderness, now filled with a chilling indifference, “Don’t make me feel like you’re demeaning yourself.”

All of Wen Chen's struggling strength seemed to be drained away in an instant by those words. His tightly clenched hand finally fell limply to his side.

Gu Moheng turned around and walked towards the black car without looking back.

The car door opened and then closed.

He never looked back again.

The car resolutely plunged into the rain, splashing cold, dirty water all over Wen Chen, who stood there dumbfounded, as if he had lost his soul.

A sharp, piercing pain in his wrist jolted Wen Chen back to reality from the suffocating memories. He blinked, his focus returning, and saw Gu Moheng's bloodless face, so close to him, and those eyes now filled with endless pain and regret.

How ridiculous.

The person who pushed him into the abyss of despair back then is now standing in front of him with an expression of deep heartbreak and unbearable pain.

Wen Chen expressionlessly pulled her wrist out of Gu Moheng's loosened grip. The movement was swift and decisive, carrying a clear sense of disgust.

Gu Moheng staggered back half a step, his arm hanging limply at his side.

“Mr. Gu,” Wen Chen lowered his eyes, slowly straightening the wrinkles on his cuffs. When he looked up again, his face was already covered with an impeccable and formulaic gentleness and aloofness. He said, “It’s late, I won’t see you out.” He gave him the order to leave, in the calmest tone.

Gu Moheng stood frozen in place, motionless. He looked at the hard, unyielding ice in Wen Chen's eyes, and his heart felt as if it were being slowly tortured by the dullest knife. The pain was so intense that all that remained was a numb emptiness.

He knew. Eight years ago, he had personally taught this boy how to be cruel.

Now, that boy has grown up.

He refined the cruelty he learned from him into something even colder and sharper, and then returned it all to him.

Wen Chen stopped looking at him, as if he were just an insignificant obstacle. She walked around him, turned around and sat back down at the workbench piled with drawings, and picked up the pressure-sensitive pen.

Gu Moheng remained silent, his gaze fixed on the neglected insulated food container. He reached out and stubbornly pushed the still-warm millet porridge forward a little further, placing it directly in the center of Wen Chen's lowered gaze, brooking him no disregard, and insisted, "Drink it."

Wen Chen's back stiffened, and she didn't turn around.

"Has Mr. Gu been abroad for too long and can't understand what I'm saying?"

Gu Moheng walked around the corner of the table and stood directly in front of him, his tall figure instantly looming over him, casting a shadow that was incredibly oppressive. He lowered his eyes, locking them tightly on Wen Chen's pale and tired profile, his tone slow but heavy: "Wen Chen, you know your own stomach condition. Don't use your health to spite me."

"I've already said, what I do is none of your business, Mr. Gu, there's no need to drag yourself into this." Wen Chen's voice was as cold as ice.

"Drink it." Gu Moheng ignored Wen Chen's sarcasm, his tone becoming even more serious, with a stubbornness that wouldn't give up until he achieved his goal. "I'll leave and won't bother you anymore."

Wen Chen tightened his grip on the pressure-sensitive pen and fell silent.

I'll exchange a bowl of porridge for peace of mind and for this person to disappear immediately.

The sharp pain in his stomach, at this inopportune moment, surged even more intensely, like a red-hot iron rod violently churning in his empty stomach. He raised his eyes, looking into Gu Moheng's eyes, filled with stubbornness and some profound pain, then, as if resigned, he twitched the corners of his bloodless lips, letting out a very soft, self-deprecating laugh. Finally, he reached out and picked up the small spoon.

Wen Chen scooped up a spoonful of golden, soft, and slightly steaming porridge and mechanically put it into his mouth. The warm, subtly sweet porridge slid down his esophagus, instantly soothing the sharp, churning pain in his stomach. His body's instinct made him uncontrollably crave this comforting warmth. But his heart felt as if it had been simultaneously submerged in ice water, slowly and heavily sinking inch by inch.

That's ridiculous.

This is an absurd scene.

Wen Chen didn't look up, but expressionlessly spooned the rather large bowl of porridge into her empty stomach, as if completing some kind of ritual.

Gu Moheng remained standing, his gaze fixed intently on Wen Chen's lowered profile. From his thick eyelashes trembling slightly with suppressed emotion, to his thin, bloodless lips pressed tightly together, to the hand gripping the spoon, its knuckles sharply defined from the force of his grip. This moment felt like a return to their university days, when he too had watched over Wen Chen as he finished his porridge.

Wen Chen was much easier to coax back then than she is now.

Finally, the last spoonful of porridge was swallowed.

"Clang—" The sound of a spoon being placed into a bowl pulled Gu Moheng back from his brief reverie. He pulled back the corners of his mouth that had involuntarily turned up, watching Wen Chen place the empty bowl and spoon rather heavily on the table, making a clear, crisp sound as if in a fit of pique. Then he looked up, meeting Gu Moheng's gaze. Those cold eyes were calm and unwavering, as if he were looking at a stranger who had nothing to do with him, a benefactor.

“Now,” his voice was devoid of warmth, “you can leave.”

Gu Moheng gave Wen Chen a deep look. Then he turned around, his steps stiff, like a puppet on strings.

"Click." The office door closed gently. The sound, like a needle, precisely pierced through all of Wen Chen's carefully constructed facade.

The moment the door closed, Wen Chen's back, which had been ramrod straight, slumped slightly upon hearing the soft sound. He leaned against the cold chair back, closed his eyes, and took a few deep, silent breaths. His chest heaved violently, and the warmth of the bowl of porridge in his stomach continued to radiate, gently soothing his long-spasmed stomach lining and bringing physical comfort, but it only served to highlight the emptiness and coldness in his heart.

He wiped his face hard, closed his eyes, his lips deathly pale. Killing a thousand enemies while losing eight hundred of his own—he hadn't done something like that in many years.

He pulled out his phone; the screen's pale, cold light illuminated his bloodless face. Without a moment's hesitation, he expertly tapped the familiar game icon.

"Swish—swish swish—"

The crisp sound of fruit slicing suddenly rang out in the deathly silent office, carrying a hint of eerie madness.

Wen Chen's thumb flew across the cold phone screen with a ruthless, cathartic motion.

"GAME OVER."

Two blood-red English letters popped up in the center of the screen.

Wen Chen stared at those two words for a long time.

He straightened up again, suppressing all his weakness deep inside.

His gaze returned to the computer screen; the glaring comparison image was still there. He opened his email, preparing to continue organizing his counterattack strategy. A new email lay quietly at the top of his inbox.

The sender was Assistant Xiao Li.

The email subject line, consisting of only three characters, was marked with the highest level of urgency in red—【IP Source】.

Wen Chen's heart skipped a beat. Her fingertip hovered over the mouse, and without a moment's hesitation, she opened the email.

The content is very short, consisting of only a few lines of technical analysis and a final conclusion in bold and enlarged.

Wen Chen read the line of text on the screen word by word, and the more he read, the more his brows furrowed.

The original IP address that leaked Pierre DuPont's manuscripts and framed 'Dream Chaser' for plagiarism has been confirmed.

[Precise address: Grand Hyatt Hotel, Top Floor Presidential Suite, Room 3901.]

His mind went completely blank for a moment. He stared intently at the address.

At the end of the email, there was a note from Xiao Li.

[Professor Wen, I just confirmed indirectly that the recent guest staying in the Presidential Suite 3901 at the Grand Hyatt Hotel was Gu Moheng from Mosheng Capital.]

A note from the author:

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