Chapter 24 Cohabitation (12) Why didn't they fight back? ...
A few days later.
A top-tier domestic architectural design forum was held at the city convention center. Wen Chen, a rising star designer who has gained prominence in recent years, was invited to be one of the keynote speakers.
Under the spotlight, he wore a well-tailored beige casual suit, his gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses calm and focused. Standing on the stage, he exuded a gentle, refined, and professional aura, radiating an undeniable brilliance.
His speech focused on his recent acclaimed work, "Returning Home." From the design concept to the spatial structure and the use of materials, he explained everything clearly and logically, his words brimming with confidence and enthusiasm for the work.
The audience erupted in applause.
Sitting in the center of the first row, Gu Moheng quietly gazed at the radiant figure on the stage. His gaze was greedy and focused, as if he wanted to etch Wen Chen's presence into his heart, inch by inch, and into his very bones.
After the speech, we moved on to the final Q&A session.
A hand is raised high in the press area.
“Hello, Designer Wen.” A man wearing black-rimmed glasses stood up and said in a sharp tone, “Your work ‘Homecoming’ emphasizes the sense of belonging and security of ‘home’ in both its name and core concept.”
"We all know that architects' designs often reflect their personal experiences and emotions." The man's voice, carried clearly through the microphone, filled the room. "So, could you please share your personal understanding of 'home'?"
He paused deliberately, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "Is it related to a deep relationship you had?"
The moment the words were spoken, the entire venue fell silent.
All eyes were instantly focused on the handsome, upright figure on the stage. Countless gazes, filled with curiosity, inquiry, and sympathy, shot towards Wen Chen like invisible arrows, while flashbulbs went off one after another.
Wen Chen's hand holding the microphone tightened slightly at the knuckles.
The blinding spotlight magnified every expression on his face. He could feel a gaze from below the stage, more intense and penetrating than the light, locking onto him.
He didn't even need to look to know whose gaze was coming from.
Time seemed to stretch out infinitely at this moment.
The air in the venue was so stagnant that it was almost impossible to breathe.
Wen Chen slowly raised his eyes, his gaze behind his glasses calmly meeting the questioner's and the hundreds of eyes below the stage. A faint, yet unmistakable smile curved his lips.
It was a gentle and perfect smile, but one that was limited to social interactions.
Wen Chen pushed up his thin, gold-rimmed glasses, the lenses reflecting the glare of the overhead light, perfectly concealing the fleeting coldness in his eyes. He held the microphone, his voice clear and steady, carrying his usual gentle warmth, reaching everyone's ears through the venue's sound system.
"My designs are only for the future."
He paused slightly, his gaze calmly sweeping over the countless curious and inquisitive faces below the stage. "I won't interpret the past."
The moment the words left his mouth, the entire room fell silent.
Immediately, thunderous applause erupted, for his flawless answer and impeccable professionalism. The reporters exchanged bewildered glances, unable to utter another word.
Wen Chen nodded slightly, handed the microphone back to the host, and calmly stepped off the stage amidst applause.
First row below the stage.
Crack—
A very slight, crisp sound.
The expensive fountain pen in Gu Moheng's hand was crushed to pieces by his bare hands. Sharp metal fragments pierced his palm, bringing a sharp pain, but he seemed oblivious to it.
Those unfathomable eyes were fixed on the slender, resolute figure who walked off the stage step by step amidst the attention of the crowd. His carefully crafted questions, intended to elicit even a fleeting trace of past affection from Wen Chen, or even just a momentary pang of pain, only resulted in an even more perfect defense from the other. This outcome was like a slap in the face, a resounding blow to his self-righteous calculations.
Wen Chen stepped off the stage and walked through the dimly lit, narrow backstage corridor, shutting out all the noise behind her. The perfect mask she had maintained for so long shattered inch by inch the moment she turned around.
The backstage area was dimly lit, a world apart from the brightly lit stage. The deafening applause was muffled and distant, blocked out by the heavy curtain.
He leaned against the cold wall, took a deep breath, but his chest still ached. The surging emotions he had forcibly suppressed were now wildly clamoring to break free of their cage.
A series of heavy footsteps approached from afar.
Wen Chen frowned subconsciously, straightened up, and was about to leave when a tall figure blocked his way.
His gaze fell on Gu Moheng's right hand, which hung by his side. The hand, with its distinct knuckles and an expensive watch, was clenched tightly, and bright red blood was dripping from between his clenched fingers, one drop at a time, onto the gleaming marble floor.
Wen Chen's gaze fell on the gaps between the fingers of that hand, her lips pressed tightly together. "What happened to your hand?"
Gu Moheng, however, paid no attention to the injury on his hand, not even glancing at it. His unfathomable eyes were focused on only one person at that moment.
Wen Chen's gaze slowly moved up from the still-bleeding hand, finally settling on Gu Moheng's face.
"Are you crazy?"
Gu Moheng smiled. The smile was light and faint, yet it carried an almost broken self-mockery.
"Yes, I've been crazy for a long time." He repeated in a low voice, his gaze fixed on Wen Chen, not missing the slightest change in his expression. This injury, this pain, if it could earn you a moment's attention, it would be worth it.
Wen Chen closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, all emotion had faded from her eyes. "Come with me."
After saying that, he grabbed Gu Moheng's arm and pulled him towards the backstage exit without giving him any chance to refuse.
Gu Moheng stumbled as Wen Chen pulled him, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes. Then, in the depths of that deathly darkness, a tiny, almost invisible spark ignited. He obediently followed, letting Wen Chen lead him through the corridor and out of the convention center. This brief touch was already a luxury for him.
Outside the convention center, traffic was heavy.
Wen Chen walked ahead, her steps quick and hurried, with Gu Moheng following closely behind, not falling behind at all.
The nearest community clinic is just a five-minute walk away.
The clinic reeked of disinfectant. The nurse, a young woman, gasped sharply when she saw the wound on Gu Moheng's hand.
"Sir, your wound needs to be treated quickly, and you also need a tetanus shot."
Wen Chen stood to the side, his hands in his trouser pockets, watching quietly.
He watched as the nurse used a cotton swab dipped in iodine to carefully clean the wound on Gu Moheng's palm. He watched as the metal fragments embedded in the flesh were picked out one by one with tweezers and tossed into a metal tray, making a crisp "clink" sound.
Gu Moheng didn't even furrow his brow once. He simply turned his head, staring intently at Wen Chen beside him. Fine beads of cold sweat constantly seeped from his forehead. He was gambling, gambling that Wen Chen would still feel sorry for him, even if only a little.
Finally, the nurse finished bandaging and got up to get the medicine.
Only the two of them remained in the examination room.
"There's a tissue on your left. Wipe the cold sweat from your forehead."
Wen Chen suddenly spoke, her voice very soft.
Gu Moheng raised her eyes and looked at him, her pale lips moving slightly.
"pain."
Wen Chen scoffed, "Now you know it hurts?"
Gu Moheng stared intently at him. "It's not my hand that hurts," he said, emphasizing each word. "It's my heart that hurts." He stared intently into Wen Chen's eyes, trying to find a crack in those calm, unwavering pupils.
The sneer on Wen Chen's face froze instantly. He abruptly looked away, but another image flashed uncontrollably through his mind.
That rainy night, the man's bare upper body, and the hideous old scar that ran from below his collarbone all the way to his chest, was far more terrifying than the new wound on his palm.
He looked at Gu Moheng's hand, which was wrapped tightly in white gauze, and asked, almost as if possessed, "How did you get that scar on your chest?" As soon as he asked, he regretted it; his concern was ill-timed.
Gu Moheng was looking down at his bandaged hand when he heard this, and his movements visibly paused. He looked up at Wen Chen, seemingly surprised that he would ask this.
Following his gaze, Gu Moheng glanced down at his chest, then smiled nonchalantly.
He leaned back in his chair, tilted his head slightly, and looked at the clinic's pale ceiling, as if recalling something extremely distant and insignificant.
"When I first went out, I was unfamiliar with the place and the people."
“The people there,” he paused, a cold sneer creeping onto his lips, “don’t really like my Asian face.”
“Back then, I was thinner, unlike now… So,” he looked away and turned back to Wen Chen, his eyes calm with the passage of time, “naturally, I became the new, easiest target to bully in their eyes.”
Wen Chen had imagined ten thousand possibilities.
Each one should have been grand and dramatic, befitting the name Gu Moheng. But the one word that came to mind was something so bland it was almost humiliating—bullying.
Wen Chen stood still, motionless.
That boy, in his memory, was forever as dazzling as the midday sun, forever arrogant and haughty, even his walk exuded a sense of dynamism...
Being bullied?
How is that possible?
Gu Moheng didn't seem to expect a response from him. He spoke casually, as if recounting old news unrelated to himself. But he knew that his words had stirred ripples in Wen Chen's heart like a pebble thrown into a still lake. He carefully observed Wen Chen's reaction.
"It's nothing serious." He tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing a very faint smile that betrayed no emotion. "It's all in the past."
The nurse walked in with the prescribed medication and bill, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Sir, here's your medicine. Remember to take it on time, and don't get the wound wet for the next few days."
Wen Chen snapped out of her daze, stepped forward, and pulled her wallet out of her pocket.
Gu Moheng took the bill first, using his uninjured left hand.
"I'll do it."
Wen Chen looked at him and didn't insist any further.
The two walked out of the clinic one after the other, rejoining the cold traffic and crowds. A cold wind blew, carrying the chill of deep winter, making their skin feel tight.
Gu Moheng's expensive cashmere sweater was now wrinkled and covered in dust from backstage.
Wen Chen suddenly stopped.
Gu Moheng also stopped and stood a step behind him, quietly watching him.
Unbeknownst to them, the two had already returned to the convention center parking lot.
"Get in the car." Wen Chen uttered two words, his voice cold and hard, devoid of any emotion.
The faint spark in Gu Moheng's eyes seemed to gleam for a moment. He silently opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat. In the enclosed space, only their suppressed breathing and the faint smell of medicine mingled.
They remained silent the entire way.
Until the car smoothly drove into the underground parking garage of the penthouse apartment.
Wen Chen unbuckled his seatbelt but didn't get out of the car immediately. He stared at the empty concrete wall in front of him, as if talking to himself.
Why didn't you fight back?
Gu Moheng's hand, which was gripping the car door handle, paused.
"You're not bad at fighting either." Wen Chen's voice was still calm, but it was as if it had been chilled to the bone. "Back in college, wasn't that center who knocked you down on the basketball court, taken down by you with just one punch?"
Gu Moheng's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty. He turned his head to look at Wen Chen's profile, which appeared somewhat blurry in the dim light. The boy who had cheered him on was now nothing but a cold question.
"That's different."
"What's different?" Wen Chen finally turned her head, her usually gentle eyes now like two bottomless, icy pools, staring intently at him. He needed an answer, an answer that could explain the eight years of emptiness and his current predicament.
Gu Moheng stared at Wen Chen in silence. He didn't know why things were different. It was because Wen Chen had been on the sidelines back then. He could lose the game, he could get injured, but he absolutely could not lose even the slightest bit of dignity and pride in front of Wen Chen.
But on the streets of a foreign land, amidst those malicious and discriminatory gazes, there was no one behind him.
Looking at the undisguised pain on his face, Wen Chen felt a pang of heartache rising in her chest.
He abruptly looked away and pushed open the car door.
"get off."
Back in the apartment, the motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on, dispelling the darkness of the room.
Wen Chen went straight to the kitchen, rummaged through the medicine box for the anti-inflammatory medicine prescribed by the nurse, took out a strip, and poured a glass of warm water. He placed the medicine and the glass of water heavily on the coffee table in the living room, making a dull thud.
"have eaten."
His tone remained cold.
Gu Moheng obediently walked over, picked up the medicine, and swallowed it with water. Like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, he carried out Wen Chen's every instruction, trying to salvage a sliver of possibility through compliance.
Seeing that he obediently did as he was told, Wen Chen turned to go back to his room. He didn't want to be in the same room with Gu Moheng anymore. That scar, that word, was like a fishbone, stuck firmly in his throat, making every breath a sharp pain.
He needs to be alone for a while.
Gu Moheng stood there, watching his retreating figure, the glimmer of light that had just ignited in his eyes instantly extinguished. He slowly raised his bandaged hand. Beneath the gauze, the wounds inflicted by the metal fragments seemed to begin throbbing with pain again.
But this pain is nothing compared to the old, bloody wound in my heart.
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