Chapter 37 Glimmer (6) Then let's build a house and get a dog. ...
It was late at night when I got back to the apartment.
Using the faint city light streaming through the window, Wen Chen changed his shoes and hung up his coat, his movements mechanical and devoid of any vitality. Only he knew how wildly his heart was pounding in his chest.
He walked into the room and turned on his laptop. The screen suddenly lit up with a cold light, illuminating his pale and expressionless face.
USB flash drive insertion port.
A folder pops up on the screen, its name extremely concise.
【morning】.
The cursor hovered over it, but Wen Chen's fingers froze. He was trembling, the movement extremely subtle, but for a hand that held the pen as steady as a rock, it was already out of control.
He felt both anticipation and fear.
What is he afraid of?
Wen Chen slammed the computer screen shut. He closed his eyes briefly, seemingly unprepared.
He turned and headed towards the kitchen. He needed a touch of bitterness to suppress the surging ache in his heart. The coffee machine started up, the sound of grinding beans loud and jarring.
Wen Chen stared at the gushing black liquid, his gaze unfocused. This was Americano, which Gu Moheng never touched, but which was also an addiction he had been unable to break for the past eight years.
-
The First Municipal Hospital, intensive care unit. Drop by drop, the IV fluid drips from the tube.
Lying in his hospital bed, Gu Moheng stared at the white ceiling for a long time before regaining his senses. His body was still weak after the high fever subsided, and cold sweat clung stickily to his back. His right hand, wrapped in thick gauze, was still immobile, so he used his left hand to grope for the pillow.
He picked up his phone and unlocked it with his fingerprint. The screen lit up, its soft blue light reflecting in his deep pupils.
No red dot, no message.
Even the spam text messages that always pop up from time to time are now so quiet they seem to be mocking him.
The glimmer of light that had just gathered in Gu Moheng's eyes shattered instantly. He lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting a shadow beneath his pale eyelids. His thumb hovered over the profile picture for a long time, as if he wanted to click and post something.
"woke up……"
Delete it.
"My fever has gone down."
Delete it.
Gu Moheng pursed his lips tightly, his jawline taut.
Cannot send.
Wen Chen had said that things had to be done according to his rules. The words "pursue again" were a gift he had overheard, and he dared not squander them.
"President Gu?"
Qin Shu pushed open the door, carrying her laptop bag. Seeing Gu Moheng sitting up, she was startled. "Why are you sitting up? The doctor said..."
"Computer," Gu Moheng interrupted him.
Qin Shu was taken aback: "But your health..."
Gu Moheng raised his eyes. In those deep eyes was an undeniable pressure; even in his illness, the aura of a superior was still imposing.
"Bring it here."
Qin Shu dared not disobey, so he handed over the thin notebook and thoughtfully set up a small table.
Gu Moheng opened his computer with one hand. The screen was filled with dense stock market candlestick charts and emails waiting to be processed. He forced himself to focus on the red and green lines. His left hand awkwardly tapped the keyboard, replying to several urgent emails that required his approval.
"Da, da, da."
The keyboard sounds were intermittent.
Qin Shu stood aside, watching his boss's seemingly focused work.
That's where I'm working.
Every few words Gu Moheng typed, his gaze would involuntarily drift toward the closed door of the ward.
There was only a small glass window in the door, barely the size of a palm, through which occasionally a shadowy figure would flit across the corridor. With each shift of light and shadow, his fingers would pause typing. In those deep eyes, a near-mad hope would flash forth.
Then, they realized that the people outside the door were just nurses making their rounds or family members passing by. That glimmer of light quickly faded, turning into a deeper, more somber gray.
But he still didn't say anything, didn't ask, and didn't urge him.
He simply lowered his head and continued typing those cold business terms, one word at a time, with his not-so-nimble left hand. It was as if as long as he was "obedient" enough, that person would push open the door.
"Qin Shu." Gu Moheng stared at the screen and suddenly spoke, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
What is he doing?
Qin Shu was stunned for a moment before realizing who the boss was asking about.
"Mr. Wen... should go home and rest. He stayed up most of the night at the hospital watching over you."
Gu Moheng's fingers stopped typing.
"Hmm," he responded softly. He took a deep breath, suppressing the violent beast within him that clamored to lock Wen Chen by his side and never leave her side. His gaze, however, turned back to the doorway.
This time, he gazed for an unusually long time.
-
The bitter, burnt aroma filled the deserted apartment.
The Americano was long gone, leaving dark brown stains on the glass. Wen Chen stared at the computer screen, her fingertips hovering over the touchpad, hesitant to drop. The folder named "Chen" lay dormant in the center of the desktop, like a silent Pandora's box.
The wind outside seemed to have picked up, pounding against the glass, much like the erratic heartbeat of someone in the hospital.
Wen Chen took a deep breath and finally clicked the mouse. The folder popped up, revealing neatly arranged subdirectories, their organization so clear it was almost frightening.
【Chen's Works】, 【My Confession】, 【My Future Home】.
Each name is like a heavy confession.
Wen Chen opened the first folder, and the screen was instantly filled with densely packed pictures and documents, spanning a full eight years from their creation dates.
From the small park pavilion he designed early in his career that went unnoticed, to the library side hall he designed independently for the first time, and now to the skyscraper that has taken the industry by storm. Even the sketches he casually posted on an obscure design forum three years ago have been carefully preserved.
The notes even included a brief comment written by Gu Moheng at the time.
Wen Chen's fingers tightened slightly as she gripped the mouse.
It turns out that in these eight years, he had never truly been alone. There was a pair of eyes, across the time difference and the insurmountable gap in their social status, silently watching everything he did.
This feeling of being spied on should have sent chills down one's spine. But the warmth conveyed in the notes made Wen Chen feel no disgust whatsoever.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to close the page. The cursor moved to the second folder, "My Confessions".
Upon opening it, Wen Chen discovered it was practically a massive video library. The filenames were dated by week, starting from the month they broke up eight years ago, without interruption.
Wen Chen clicked on the first video. The image shook for a moment, then stabilized. The background was a dark and cramped basement with peeling paint on the walls and only a dim light bulb teetering on the verge of collapse.
Gu Moheng in front of the camera was emaciated. He was just twenty years old at the time, with bruises on his face, bloodshot eyes, and bloodstains on the collar of his shirt.
It must have been during the time he worked as a sparring partner in an underground boxing ring.
"Wen Chen." Gu Moheng spoke in the video, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace at the camera.
"I paid back 780,000 to the Lin family this week. That punch hurt quite a bit, but it's nothing compared to the pain in my heart when I left you."
"It's snowing in New York, is it cold where you are?"
Gu Moheng looked at the camera with a blank yet focused gaze, as if he were looking at his lover who was far away through the cold screen.
"sorry."
"I survived again."
Wen Chen slammed his laptop shut, his heart aching so badly he could hardly breathe. He picked up his now-cold coffee and gulped it down. The bitter liquid burned down his throat, but he couldn't suppress the surging emotions within him.
Wen Chen stood up, walked to the French windows, and opened them. A cold breeze rushed in, dispelling the smell of coffee in the room and cooling his burning eyes a little.
After a long while, he finally sat back down in front of the computer.
Open the last folder, "Future Home".
Wen Chen had expected to see the unfinished villa design from last time, but instead, she found a complete community planning scheme. It covered everything from site selection and wind direction analysis to surrounding medical facilities.
Wen Chen clicked on one of the drawings titled "Elderly Care Residence," where the slope of the barrier-free ramp was accurate to two decimal places.
They made twenty versions of the studio's lighting simulation diagrams just to find the most suitable lighting angle for Wen Chen to paint.
In one corner of the courtyard, a piece of land was specially marked out, with several pages of detailed comparative documents attached next to it, titled "Personality Analysis and Difficulty Assessment of Golden Retrievers and Labradors".
Wen Chen's gaze froze on the lines of annotations, some of which were even somewhat childish, as memories flooded back like a tidal wave.
One sunny afternoon during my university days.
On the lawn, the young and impetuous Gu Moheng rested his head on his arm, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, and turned his head to look at Wen Chen, who was drawing.
"I'll build you a castle later." Gu Moheng's eyes were bright and full of youthful arrogance and deep affection. "I'll lock you inside and not let anyone see you."
Wen Chen simply smiled and tapped his forehead with her paintbrush, jokingly scolding, "That's a cheesy pickup line."
"Isn't that tacky?" Gu Moheng took his hand. "Then let's build a house and get a dog."
The cold white light from the screen reflected on Wen Chen's face, revealing the fleeting glint of tears in his eyes. The mouse cursor finally stopped on the video file at the very bottom of the list.
Filename: [The Way Home].
The recording time indicates that it took place two months before Gu Moheng returned to China.
Wen Chen tapped the touchpad with his fingertips, the screen flickered, and the image appeared.
This time, the setting was no longer a dimly lit basement or an apartment filled with his models, but a hospital ward filled with the smell of disinfectant.
In the video, Gu Moheng is wearing a blue and white striped hospital gown and is extremely thin. A black mourning bandage is pinned to his left arm, making his face appear even paler than paper.
Gu Moheng sat on the hospital bed, with his freshly packed suitcase behind him.
He looked at the camera and said, "Wen Chen."
Gu Moheng called out, "Tomorrow, I'm going back to China." He lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes concealing the turbulent emotions within, and a self-deprecating smile curved his lips.
"Lin Zixuan said I'm crazy, with a net worth of billions, yet I act like a prisoner going to the execution ground."
Gu Moheng raised his head, his deep eyes staring straight at the camera, as if piercing through time and the screen, looking directly into Wen Chen's soul at this moment.
"He is right."
"If you still refuse to forgive me this time..."
Gu Moheng paused, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as if he had swallowed a handful of shards of glass. "Then I'll spend my whole life standing where you can see me and waiting."
"No disturbance, no pressure."
"If... I mean if, you're willing to give me a chance."
Gu Moheng's eyes suddenly brightened, like the light of a drowning person grabbing onto a piece of driftwood. The video abruptly ended there, the image frozen on his obsessive gaze.
After playback ends, the screen will automatically return to a black screen.
Wen Chen closed her laptop, leaned back in her chair, and let out a long sigh. Her gaze wandered aimlessly across the living room, trying to find a place to settle her emotions.
Finally, his gaze settled on a corner of the coffee table. There sat a bird of paradise plant. Its leaves were broad and emerald green, and its upright posture possessed a remarkable architectural beauty.
Originally, there was only a bare glass vase there. Sometime later, that man quietly replaced it. Just like Gu Moheng, forcefully and irresistibly, he once again infiltrated his life, even the space between his breaths was filled with his presence.
Wen Chen got up, walked to the coffee table, and gently touched the thick leaf with her fingertips.
"Even such details... were considered?" he murmured, the coldness in his eyes fading, replaced by a layer of complex and indistinct light.
Just then, the phone on the coffee table vibrated.
"Buzz—"
The screen lit up, casting a blinding light in the dimly lit living room.
Fingerprint unlock; the text message is so concise it's almost rigid, with no fluff whatsoever.
[Temperature 37.2℃, fever has subsided, medication taken on time.]
Wen Chen's gaze lingered on the last line for a long time.
Thinking of you, goodnight.
To retreat in order to advance.
Wen Chen looked at the words, a half-smile playing on his lips. This wasn't learning to love; it was clearly adopting a more sophisticated way of hunting.
Did you intend to use this "sensible" behavior to soften his defenses?
Wen Chen didn't reply. She exited the text message interface and opened the phone's built-in calendar app. Her finger swiped across the screen, skipping over tomorrow and the day after.
Finally, the screen hovered over the date seven days from now. Click to create a new schedule. Having done all this, Wen Chen tossed her phone back onto the coffee table with a dull thud.
The next morning, the chill of early winter crept in through my collar.
Wen Chen didn't deliberately get up early; he followed his usual biological clock to wash up and change. The well-tailored beige trench coat completely enveloped his cool and aloof demeanor.
When I arrived at the studio, it wasn't yet time for work, and the corridor was quiet.
Wen Chen's gaze paused when it touched the glass doorknob. A dark gray insulated bag hung there, looking out of place. It wasn't one of those cheap plastic bags used for takeout; it didn't even have a logo, and the tie was knotted in a perfectly standard Windsor knot.
Wen Chen walked over, hooked her fingers on the bag, and took it off. It was heavy and still warm.
I pushed open the door, went inside, and placed the bag on the desk.
As the bag was opened, a faint aroma of bread wafted out. Inside lay a sandwich, neatly cut, a sealed cup of hot soy milk, and a sticky note with slightly crooked handwriting, clearly written with the left hand.
Eat a good breakfast.
The first line still carried his usual domineering manner.
But as the gaze shifts downward, the brushstrokes seem to become somewhat hesitant.
My right hand isn't very convenient, so cutting the edges with one hand might not be smooth enough. I tried seven times, and I think I can do it this time.
Wen Chen looked at the word "seven times" and raised an eyebrow slightly.
It's okay if you don't want to eat it; just throw it away. I'll try again tomorrow.
He was a madman who knew when to advance and retreat, yet was also shameless and persistent. Wen Chen held the note in his hand; he could picture the scene. In the hospital room, the man, whose fever had just subsided, was clumsily using his left hand to hold a knife, struggling with a few slices of toast.
After each failure, he would sullenly throw the item in the trash and then obsessively begin the next attempt. This continued until he produced a seemingly perfect finished product.
Wen Chen put down the note and picked up the sandwich. It was a simple whole wheat toast sandwich with a fried egg and ham, but it was wrapped up so tightly that not a single bit of sauce was visible.
He opened his mouth, took a bite, and paused for a moment while chewing.
The salad dressing was mixed with freshly ground black pepper, a quirky flavor that Wen Chen loved most during her university days. The familiar spiciness and sweetness spread through her mouth, like swallowing a mouthful of bygone days.
Wen Chen swallowed it expressionlessly, but her eyes softened slightly compared to when she entered.
"Teacher Wen? So early?" Assistant Xiao Li pushed open the door, carrying a freshly bought coffee. Seeing Wen Chen eating breakfast, Xiao Li was clearly taken aback. His boss was a well-known "cultivator," needing an iced Americano to keep him going in the morning; he'd never seen anything like this before.
Just as I stepped through the door, several deliverymen suddenly rushed into the corridor behind me, each carrying a food bag printed with the logo of a well-known chain breakfast brand, and were heading towards the studio.
"This is...?" Xiao Li was stunned. "When did our studio start ordering breakfast together?"
Just then, the deliverymen arrived at the studio door and handed over a delivery slip: "Hello, this is breakfast ordered by Mr. Gu for all the staff of 'Dream Building Studio'. Please sign for it."
Mr. Gu? Xiao Li instantly realized what he meant, turned to look at Wen Chen, his eyes full of surprise.
As the studio staff arrived one after another, they started discussing the breakfasts at their workstations, their voices filled with surprise: "Wow, there's free breakfast! Is Professor Wen treating us?"
"That's not right. The takeout order says it was placed by Mr. Gu. Which Mr. Gu?"
Xiao Li walked into the office with his breakfast and saw Wen Chen eating a sandwich. He instinctively brought his own lunch bag over for comparison, and the difference was immediately obvious.
Her colleagues all had the same breakfast set: soft sweet bread, room temperature milk, and a vegetable salad, all packaged in standardized takeout boxes with brand logos. But in front of Wen Chen was a handmade whole-wheat sandwich, perfectly heated soy milk, and even the insulated bag was custom-made.
"Teacher Wen, your breakfast... is different from ours!" Xiao Li belatedly remarked.
"Um."
Wen Chen responded lightly, took another bite of the sandwich, and chewed slowly.
"By the way, Xiao Li."
Wen Chen swallowed the food in her mouth, took out a tissue, and elegantly wiped the corner of her mouth. "Make sure you have time free next Monday afternoon."
Xiao Li quickly put down his coffee, took out his tablet, and started scrolling: "Monday...Teacher Wen, I have an appointment with the client to review the blueprints on Monday afternoon."
"It's okay, there's no conflict." Wen Chen's voice was gentle as she put the last bite of the sandwich into her mouth.
After finishing his meal, he picked up his phone and opened the text message he'd received that morning, which only contained his temperature report. His fingertips tapped the screen calmly and without hesitation.
The few words were brief, and even the punctuation conveyed a sense of indifference.
I remember you were discharged from the hospital on Monday. Come to my studio at 3 PM on Monday. Let's talk.
send.
Meanwhile, in the special care ward of the First Municipal Hospital.
Gu Moheng was leaning against the headboard, holding his phone in his left hand, the screen frozen on his chat with Wen Chen. Because it hadn't been used for a long time, the screen went dark. He would immediately turn it back on with his finger, repeating this process over and over again, like a tireless robot.
"Buzz—"
The vibration in his palm made Gu Moheng tremble violently, almost causing him to drop his phone.
He almost held his breath as he opened the new message.
I remember you were discharged from the hospital on Monday. Come to my studio next Monday at 3 PM. Let's talk.
Gu Moheng stared intently at the line of text, the feeling of waiting for the verdict was even more suffocating than when he faced a huge debt back then.
I will be there on time.
Delete it. It's too unfamiliar.
【receive. 】
Delete it. It's too formulaic.
Gu Moheng took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. In the end, he replied with only one word.
【good. 】
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