Chapter 4 Reunion (4) Let him continue being his little prince, this...
Gu Moheng's face paled instantly. His hand, which was under the table, clenched even tighter. He picked up the latte in front of him, pretending to be nonchalant, and took a hasty sip. The warm milk foam touched his cold lips, and the taste that should have been sweet was now just a bitter, metallic taste on Gu Moheng's tongue.
Wen Chen's casual "thoughtful" was like an invisible icicle, easily piercing through his seemingly impenetrable exterior and precisely striking his already riddled heart.
An impenetrable pain spread from his chest to every part of his body, but his face remained expressionless as he forcefully suppressed it by hiding it behind the cup.
Over the years, he has long since become accustomed to burying his emotions deep inside.
All of Wen Chen's emotions had settled, leaving only a bottomless calm.
"This agreement, rather than being about ensuring project quality, is more about... turning Dream Studio into an execution department under Mosheng Capital." The gaze behind the glasses was sharp as a knife, piercing straight at the person opposite him. "Excuse my bluntness, Mr. Gu. What you bought is my design, not my studio."
“Wen… Designer Wen, perhaps we can call this risk management.” Gu Moheng’s gaze refocused after the cup was moved away, like a hawk locking onto its prey, firmly locking onto Wen Chen, trying to find a trace of wavering in his eyes. “Mosheng Capital never fights a battle it can’t win.”
"So you want to replace the captain and let someone who doesn't know anything about navigation take the helm?" Wen Chen retorted firmly.
"It's not about taking the helm."
Gu Moheng put down his cup and leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them. His deep voice carried a complex sense of pressure.
"I want to stand by your side and make sure you don't steer my multi-billion dollar ship toward an iceberg."
Wen Chen suddenly laughed. It was an extremely cold laugh, devoid of any warmth, a laugh that Gu Moheng had never seen before. "Mr. Gu, perhaps you've forgotten. The one who abandoned ship first was you."
The air seemed to be sucked out in that instant, solidifying into a heavy block of lead.
The melodious jazz music in the café and the hustle and bustle of traffic outside the window are all infinitely distant at this moment, turning into blurred background noise.
The color drained from Gu Moheng's face at a visible speed. His hands, placed under the table, had knuckles that bulged from the force of his grip, resembling writhing dragons on the verge of death.
For the past eight years, he had frantically numbed himself with work, building a hard shell with one business victory after another. Others thought he was invulnerable, but Wen Chen stripped away all his pretense with just a casual remark, revealing the unhealed wound beneath. The mask of feigned composure cracked little by little, his heart felt as if it had been pierced, the sharp pain making it almost impossible for him to breathe.
He opened his mouth, wanting to argue, wanting to say, "That's not how it is."
But what gives him the right? He was the one who chose the cruelest way to sever everything back then, so what right does he have now to beg for an explanation from the person he hurt so deeply?
Wen Chen looked at his face, which had turned pale instantly, then looked away and refocused on the cold contract.
“I accept the weekly individual reporting session.”
His voice was calm and utterly unwavering. “But in exchange, this supplementary agreement must be revised. I have 100% decision-making power over everything regarding the design itself, from the concept to the details.”
"You, and anyone from Mosheng Capital, have no right to interfere."
He stared into Gu Moheng's eyes, speaking each word clearly and firmly.
"This is my bottom line."
Wen Chen wasn't particularly skilled at negotiating business deals, and most clients would likely find such a domineering service provider unbearable. Thinking this, Wen Chen swiftly and decisively pushed over the revised terms.
Gu Moheng's Adam's apple bobbed violently, as if he were swallowing countless unspeakable bitterness and compromises. He barely glanced at the terms again, and said in a hoarse voice, "Okay."
He picked up the pen and signed his name on the agreement that Wen Chen had modified. His handwriting was bold and powerful, reflecting the complex and indescribable state of mind he was in at that moment.
He agreed too quickly, which surprised Wen Chen. She silently wondered if Gu Moheng had other intentions.
Without saying much, having already achieved his goal, he picked up the Parker pen on the table and neatly signed his name at the end of the agreement. The handwriting was elegant, yet the strokes carried a resolute force.
"It's a pleasure to work with you."
Gu Moheng looked at the hand with distinct knuckles that was reaching out to him, the hand that he had once held tightly in his palm, paused for a moment, and then reached out to shake it.
The moment their fingertips touched, a barely perceptible tremor occurred, whether from the other person or from himself, it was unclear.
Wen Chen immediately broke off the contact, as if avoiding a silent plague.
-
The night was as dark as ink.
A black Maybach silently glided into the basement of the city's most luxurious apartment building.
Qin Shu sat in the passenger seat, holding his breath the entire time, not daring to make a sound.
Emerging from the coffee shop, the owner seemed to transform into a moving iceberg, radiating a chilling aura that kept strangers at bay. His handsome profile was taut, and the oppressive temperature inside the car was frighteningly low.
Through the rearview mirror, Qin Shu had been silently observing Gu Moheng. Even when they encountered the most difficult opponents in Washington, his boss had never shown such a subdued mood. On that excessively handsome face, Qin Shu had never seen such weariness before. The flickering light from the streetlamp swept across his pale profile, mirroring his current, murky state of mind.
"President Gu..."
After the car came to a stop, Qin Shu opened the car door for Gu Moheng and mustered up his courage to speak, "You didn't eat anything tonight, do you need..."
"No need." Gu Moheng interrupted him crisply, his voice hoarse and tired. He unbuckled his seatbelt, strode out of the car, and his tall, aloof figure disappeared into the cold, shimmering light of the elevator entrance without pausing.
The elevator ascended smoothly, and the gleaming metal walls around him reflected his bloodless face and eyes that held a storm brewing within them.
Fingerprint unlock. The heavy solid wood door clicked open and then slowly closed behind him.
The penthouse, over 600 square meters, was completely empty. Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows was the city's most dazzling night view, but inside it was as cold as a tomb.
Gu Moheng didn't turn on the lights. He ripped off his long-bound tie, threw it on the ground, and slumped heavily into the expensive yet unusually cold Italian leather sofa in the center of the living room.
Darkness completely engulfed him, and Gu Moheng's breathing became heavy.
He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, the expensive fabric wrinkling under his grip, but it still couldn't relieve the suffocating feeling surging from deep within his chest.
Wen Chen's words echoed and reverberated in his ears like a curse, each word like a whip lashing at his soul.
"You were the first to abandon ship and flee."
Yes, it was him.
He raised his arm, helplessly shielding his stinging eyes. In the suffocating darkness, he seemed to see again the way Wen Chen had looked at him earlier that day.
So calm, so distant, so politely courteous, as if looking at a stranger with whom one has only business dealings, someone of no importance.
Some corner of his heart was being slowly tortured by that gaze, the pain seeping into his very bones, endless and relentless. He fell backward, powerless, his head slamming heavily against the cold leather sofa with a dull thud. The pain, ironically, brought him a moment of clarity. He watched, with heightened awareness, as the torrent of memories engulfed him.
Raindrops lashed furiously against the heavy French windows of the Gu family's old house, making a cracking sound.
The air in the study was stagnant, like lead. The air was thick with the smoke of expensive cigars, making one's throat itch.
Twenty-year-old Gu Moheng stood ramrod straight in front of his desk, wearing an expensive designer T-shirt. Opposite him stood his father, Gu Zhengxiong, whose temples had turned gray overnight.
"...That's the situation."
Gu Zhengxiong's voice was hoarse, "The bank loan is due next week. We've mortgaged everything we could. If the cash flow dries up, the Gu family is finished."
Gu Moheng's hands, hanging by his sides, tightened inch by inch.
"So?" His voice still carried the youthful clarity that hadn't faded.
Gu Zhengxiong wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Lin family is willing to invest."
Gu Moheng glanced to the side without speaking until Gu Zhengxiong looked at him and said, "As long as you get engaged to Director Lin's daughter, the 500 million yuan will arrive in your account within 72 hours."
"impossible."
Gu Moheng did not hesitate for a moment.
"You bastard!" Gu Zhengxiong slammed his fist on the table, making the antique brush washer on it jump. "Do you know what you're saying?!"
"My marriage is not a bargaining chip."
Gu Moheng raised his eyes, and in those deep eyes that were exactly the same as they were now, burned the fierce fire of youth who refused to yield. "The Lin family is so kind? Can't you see that their goal is the Gu family's assets!"
Looking at his stubborn face, Gu Zhengxiong laughed angrily, "Then let me ask you, where is Wen Chen? Don't think I don't know what you did at school!"
The flame in Gu Moheng's eyes flickered violently.
"What do you think you can give him after leaving the Gu family?"
Gu Zhengxiong's voice was like a poisoned blade, each word piercing his most vulnerable spot. "Is it to let him go from being a high-achieving student to a penniless, debt-ridden man with you? Or is it to let him give up his beloved architecture, give up his bright future, and jump into this bottomless quagmire with you?"
Gu Zhengxiong looked at his face, which had turned deathly pale, and softened his tone, "Let him continue to be his little prince. That's the only thing you can do for him."
"Ho—"
Gu Moheng sat up abruptly from the sofa, his chest heaving violently, like a fish thrown ashore, greedily inhaling the cold air. Cold sweat soaked through the back of his shirt, sticking clinging to his skin and bringing waves of chill.
Outside the window, the city lights still shone brightly. But his world, ever since that rainy night, had never been lit again.
He sat frozen in the darkness for an unknown amount of time. Gu Moheng slowly rose, barefoot, and walked into the study. He didn't turn on the light, but relied on the dim, sleepless light filtering in from the window to walk straight to the innermost row of black walnut bookshelves. His fingertips traced the rows of finely bound books with gold-embossed covers, finally stopping at an inconspicuous corner.
A glimmer seemed to flicker in his otherwise dull eyes as he almost reverently pulled out the heavy, out-of-place copy of *Das Kapital*. His slender fingers opened the book, revealing it to be hollow. Inside were no gold, no key, only a well-preserved old sketchbook with a leather cover.
Gu Moheng carefully took out the notebook, his fingertips repeatedly tracing the rough yet familiar cover, filled with endless longing and regret. This action had become his only salvation in the lonely nights of the past eight years. This notebook was also the only piece of luggage he had personally brought back to China.
He returned to the sofa and turned on a small table lamp.
A warm, yellow light gently fell, illuminating the notebook in his hand.
He slowly turned to the first page. The paper was yellowed, carrying the unique scent of time. On the page was the delicate and vibrant handwriting of young Wen Chen—"Our Home."
Below is a delicate pencil drawing depicting a sun-drenched living room with large floor-to-ceiling windows. Beside the window sits a comfortable-looking rocking chair, casually draped with a soft checkered blanket. A wooden bookshelf against the wall is crammed with various books, and a wooden guitar leans casually beside it.
Gu Moheng's fingertips gently brushed over the guitar on the screen. It was his most beloved guitar from his university days, the one he had played and sung for Wen Chen countless times.
He turned the pages one by one. There was an attic studio with a skylight where you could look at the stars, a small courtyard full of sunflowers and full of life, and a spacious terrace where two people could lie side by side and look up at the starry sky... Every painting, every detail, was a warm vision of "home", full of the boy's infinitely beautiful longing and love for the future he would spend with him.
Finally, he stopped at a certain page. It depicted an open kitchen, with Wen Chen, wearing an apron, intently cutting fruit, her profile gentle, a faint smile of happiness playing on her lips. Behind her, at the dining table, sat another person. It was just a blurry profile, a few strokes, yet precisely sketching the figure of a young man looking down at documents. A straight nose, a clear and smooth jawline—it was seventeen-year-old Gu Moheng.
Upon closer inspection, the boy's gaze in the painting isn't actually on the documents. Instead, through the pages, he's secretly and lovingly watching the figure bustling around in the kitchen, radiating warmth and joy.
In the lower right corner of the painting, there is a line of very small text.
[Caught peeking, Gu.]
A small, smug-looking face was drawn after the words.
Gu Moheng's breath caught in his throat. He reached out, his fingertips trembling, wanting to touch the boy in the painting. His hand froze in mid-air, afraid that if he touched it, this beautiful illusion would shatter and vanish like a bubble.
His heart ached so much he couldn't breathe. It was a belated yet more ferocious and cruel pain, enough to utterly drown and tear his soul apart.
In the coffee shop, he was not unmoved by Wen Chen's cold accusation.
But he knew better than anyone that he had no right to. He had no right to show even a trace of pain or beg for the slightest pity in front of the person he had pushed away and who had hurt him so badly.
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