Chapter 53 Heading Forward (8) I've already booked my next life too. ...
As the year draws to a close, a rare winter typhoon has swept through the city ahead of schedule. Torrential rain, like dense silver whips, lashed against glass curtain walls with a sharp, piercing sound, splashing water everywhere. The gale howled between buildings, its mournful cry spreading through the empty streets, as if trying to tear this long winter night apart.
Inside the apartment, however, there was a different kind of tranquility. The scratching sound of the pen tip gliding across the screen filled the air, and in the distance, the firewood in the fireplace burned quietly, its warm light spilling across the desk and illuminating Wen Chen's furrowed brows. He stared at the intricate structural nodes on the screen, his fingertip hovering over the pressure-sensitive pen, hesitant to make a move. It was still a little something; he felt it lacked that finishing touch, that final spark.
"Smack."
The previously lit screen went out instantly, along with the humming sound of the air conditioner.
"Damn it." Wen Chen rarely swore, and slammed the pressure-sensitive pen in his hand heavily on the table.
The darkness amplified the howling wind outside the window, and a chill crept up his ankles. This uncontrollable disconnection made him somewhat irritable. Before he could even fumble for his phone, the study door was pushed open.
A faint ray of light cleaved through the thick darkness.
Gu Moheng entered, carrying two candlesticks. The candlelight flickered in his hands, softening his angular face and making his deep-set eyes appear less sharp than usual.
"The backup power is broken." Gu Moheng walked to the desk, put down the candlestick, and then magically produced several sheets of A2 drawing paper and a brand new, sharpened pencil. "I know you won't be able to sleep until you finish drawing." Gu Moheng handed him the pencil, his deep voice carrying a hint of flattery, "Draw it yourself, I'll keep you company."
Wen Chen took the pencil, her fingertips accidentally brushing against Gu Moheng's hand. His hand was warm, like the only source of fire in this dark, cold, rainy night.
Gu Moheng didn't go to the sofa, but instead moved a hard chair and squeezed himself into a corner of the desk. He also took out a thick stack of documents and flipped through them by candlelight, his eyes frequently glancing at Wen Chen, his mind clearly not on the documents.
The candlelight cast long shadows of the two people on the wall, intertwined and inseparable.
Wen Chen lowered his head to draw, his brushstrokes rustling. But he could feel Gu Moheng's gaze fixed on him, intensely aggressive yet cautiously concealing its menacing intensity.
As her back grew warm, Wen Chen stopped writing, turned her head, and her clear, cold eyes gleamed in the candlelight, carrying a hint of mockery: "You'll be charged if you keep reading."
Gu Moheng was taken aback, then chuckled softly, his chest vibrating through the air to Wen Chen's ears: "I've given you all my wealth, Mr. Wen. Will you deduct it from my allowance?" He simply put down the documents, propped his chin on one hand, and stared at Wen Chen unabashedly, his possessiveness in his eyes undisguised.
Wen Chen lightly tapped the back of his hand with the pen, the force was light, more like flirting: "Take off all the paper."
“I want to increase the investment in the second phase of ‘Return to the Nest’ by thirty percent,” Gu Moheng suddenly said, the topic abruptly but very seriously.
Wen Chen frowned: "The budget is already sufficient."
“Not enough.” Gu Moheng leaned forward, the candlelight reflecting his serious gaze. “I plan to replace all the original glass curtain walls in the atrium with the special translucent material you want.”
“That would cost too much,” Wen Chen retorted rationally.
“I’m the client.” Gu Moheng looked into his eyes and said, word by word, “I say I agree, so I agree.”
He paused, then softened his voice slightly: "Wen Chen, I want you to build a house without any regrets."
Wen Chen's fingers tightened around the pen. He lowered his eyes and looked at the outline of the still-unformed "home" on the drawing.
The wind and rain outside the window suddenly became fierce, crashing against the French windows like giant waves, causing the building to tremble slightly. Inside, the candlelight flickered violently, and Gu Moheng subconsciously reached out to protect the flame, his fingertips trembling almost imperceptibly.
Darkness, torrential rain, an enclosed space. All of this was triggering a stress response deeply buried in Gu Moheng's subconscious.
"Wen Chen," Gu Moheng suddenly spoke.
"Hmm?" Wen Chen picked up the pen again and sketched lines on the paper. He didn't look up, but his ears quietly perked up.
"I had a nightmare."
Wen Chen paused, then raised his eyelids and looked at the man beside him. Gu Moheng stared intently at the faint candlelight, his gaze gradually becoming vacant.
"What did you dream about?" Wen Chen asked, her tone softening slightly.
“I dreamt that we got married.” Gu Moheng’s lips curled into a smile. “In that dream, there was no bankruptcy, no separation, and we were very happy.”
Wen Chen felt a slight prick in her heart, like being gently stung by a needle, and then asked, "And then?"
“Then I woke up.” Gu Moheng raised his head, his usually ruthless and decisive eagle eyes now bloodshot and filled with unfathomable despair. “When I woke up, I was still in that tiny basement room of about ten square meters in New York. Outside the window… it was pouring rain like this. I was all alone in bed, and it was as cold as an ice cellar.”
"At that moment, I wanted to die."
Gu Moheng seemed to realize his lapse in composure, and hurriedly lowered his eyes, trying to hide the fleeting vulnerability in his expression: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those things..."
"Gu Moheng." Wen Chen interrupted him, reaching out her hand and placing her palm against his cold cheek. The warm touch of her fingertips made Gu Moheng tremble violently.
"Look at me," Wen Chen commanded.
Gu Moheng was forced to raise his head, only to meet a pair of clear, star-like eyes. There was no pity he feared, nor disgust he dreaded, only a calm acceptance, as if it were a haven that could accommodate all his disheveled state.
"And now?" Wen Chen asked.
Gu Moheng greedily felt the warmth on his cheek. "Now... I know it's not a dream." He raised his hand and carefully covered Wen Chen's hand. "But I'm still scared."
"What are you afraid of?" Wen Chen didn't pull her hand away, letting him hold it, and instead clasped his fingers together, feeling his cool body temperature through her fingertips.
Gu Moheng's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, his voice hoarse: "I'm afraid all of this is just a fleeting moment before my death, I'm afraid you're just a figment of my imagination. I'm afraid that when I open my eyes tomorrow morning... it will be that empty room again, and another endless eight years."
Wen Chen sighed, then suddenly bent down and grabbed Gu Moheng's chin with her other hand, forcing him to tilt his head back.
Then, he kissed her.
Without any lust, just a simple, forceful grinding, it seemed as if she wanted to convey peace of mind to him through this real touch. Warm breaths mingled, real touches came between their lips and teeth, and they exchanged their warmth.
"Does it hurt?" Wen Chen let go of him, bit his lip, leaving a shallow tooth mark.
Gu Moheng nodded blankly, his voice slightly nasal: "...It hurts."
“It’s supposed to hurt.” Wen Chen straightened up, looking down at him with clear and firm eyes. “This isn’t a dream, and I’m not hallucinating.”
He grabbed Gu Moheng's hand and pressed it against his left chest. There, his heart was beating strongly.
Bang, bang, bang.
A clear and intense rhythm traveled through his palms to Gu Moheng's senses.
"Can you feel it?"
Gu Moheng's fingers trembled and curled up, gripping Wen Chen's clothes tightly. "I felt it..."
"Now that you've felt it, put your mind at ease." Wen Chen withdrew her hand and picked up the pencil again. "That special translucent material is indeed too expensive. However, if you insist, we can replace a small part of the central courtyard."
Gu Moheng was still immersed in the afterglow of the kiss and his mind was a little sluggish. He didn't react for a moment, but subconsciously replied, "Whatever you say."
The candlelight flickered violently in the wind, casting their shadows in shifting light and shadow. Wen Chen remained silent, the rapid, rhythmic scratching of the pencil on the paper making a soft, rustling sound.
About ten minutes later.
Wen Chen stopped writing and gently blew away the eraser shavings from the paper.
"It's fixed." He pushed the blueprints towards Gu Moheng.
Gu Moheng's gaze sluggishly shifted from Wen Chen's face to the drawing, and he replied in a low voice, "Okay." He hadn't even seen what was drawn on the drawing; even if Wen Chen had drawn a stick figure, he would have said okay without hesitation.
The rain outside the window gradually subsided, but the wind continued to howl, as if venting the city's long-suppressed frustration. A strange silence fell inside. This silence wasn't awkward; rather, the presence of candlelight added a touch of warmth.
Wen Chen picked up the now-cold water glass next to him, took a sip, and unconsciously rubbed his slender fingers along the rim of the glass.
“Gu Moheng,” Wen Chen suddenly spoke.
"Um?"
"Let's go visit the cemetery after the typhoon passes."
Gu Moheng's hand, which had been supporting his chin, trembled violently, and his elbow slammed against the edge of the table with a dull thud. He looked up, his eyes filled with shock: "...What?"
Wen Chen turned his head, his clear eyes looking at Gu Moheng's thunderstruck expression in the dim light. "Give it to your parents. They should return to their roots, so we need to choose a good place." He reached out and grasped Gu Moheng's cold hand across the table, the warmth of his palm flowing over him. "I've looked at a few places, the feng shui is good, but we haven't decided yet."
Wen Chen gently slipped her fingers between his, their fingers intertwined. "I'll help you choose."
Gu Moheng felt a buzzing in his ears, the sound of blood flowing backward.
"Wen Chen..."
"What? You don't want me to go?" Wen Chen raised an eyebrow, her tone slightly teasing, trying to calm his agitation.
The next second, the chair scraped across the floor with a screeching sound.
Gu Moheng suddenly stood up, the movement so forceful that it even overturned the pile of documents beside him. He walked around the corner of the table, took a few steps to Wen Chen, knelt on one knee, and suddenly tightened his arms around Wen Chen's waist. He buried his face in Wen Chen's lower abdomen, his whole body trembling violently, and suppressed sobs echoed in the empty room, filled with endless grievances and relief.
"Ugh..." Wen Chen groaned as he was being strangled, but she didn't push him away. This man, who was a powerful and ruthless figure on Wall Street, was now crying uncontrollably, like a child who had been lost for many years and had finally returned home.
Wen Chen lowered his eyes, looking at the head buried in his arms. The hair, which was usually meticulously styled, was now somewhat disheveled. He raised his hand, his fingertips running through Gu Moheng's hair, gently stroking it again and again.
"Okay," Wen Chen said softly. "I'm here."
The rain outside the window had completely stopped. The candle in the study had burned out, the last tiny flame flickering and finally engulfing the darkness of the room.
Gu Moheng gradually calmed down, curling up in Wen Chen's arms, his breathing heavy and damp, his hands still tightly gripping Wen Chen's clothes. Wen Chen didn't move, letting him hold on, until the person in his arms began to breathe long and steady.
Wen Chen looked down at him. For the past eight years, had every stormy night been like this, with him alone, huddled in a corner of a foreign land, quenching his thirst with those illusory dreams?
Gu Moheng's brows relaxed slightly in his sleep, but his fingers, gripping the hem of his clothes, tightened even more. He carefully freed one hand and reached for his phone, which had rolled onto the carpet. He unlocked it with his fingerprint, and the screen glowed faintly.
Wen Chen opened the memo app and created a new document.
It was already 3 a.m.
He typed with one hand, the slight vibration of the input method traveling through his fingertips.
Title: [Gu Moheng's Fear List and Coping Strategies]
First line: Afraid I won't be there.
Response: Confirm "I'm here" before going to bed every night, report your whereabouts when going out, and keep your phone on 24 hours a day.
Second line: I fear the future is a lie.
Solution: Develop a joint plan, update it on January 1st every year, and put it in writing.
Wen Chen's fingers paused, his gaze falling on the sleeping profile of the person in his arms. In the darkness after the candlelight was extinguished, he could vaguely see the man's tightly furrowed brows, a hint of unease even in his dream.
He silently added another thought to himself: fear of being abandoned.
Wen Chen lowered his eyes and typed a line at the bottom of the document.
—I'll be there for you no matter what. Wen Chen, today.
The file name was changed to: "Everything about Gu Moheng".
Click Save, select the file, and encrypt it.
Wen Chen put away his phone and wrapped the blanket back around them. He lay awake in the darkness, listening to the wind and rain outside the window, like a knight on night watch, guarding his king whom he had lost and regained.
-
The next morning.
The sky after the typhoon was an unbelievable blue, so clear and cloudless. Sunlight streamed in unrestrainedly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, sweeping away the gloom of the previous night. The power system had been restored half an hour earlier, and the central air conditioning hummed softly as it began to circulate warm air.
Gu Moheng woke up to the aroma of fried eggs. He opened his eyes abruptly, his gaze meeting the unfamiliar ceiling, his pupils contracting sharply for a moment.
There was no one beside him, and the blankets had even cooled down.
Panic surged through him like a tidal wave, and he blurted out, "Wen Chen?"
Gu Moheng threw off the covers and stumbled out of the bedroom, not even bothering to put on his shoes.
The living room was empty, with only the robot vacuum cleaner working silently. His heart pounded in his chest. Gu Moheng stood barefoot in the hallway, his hands and feet icy cold. His gaze darted frantically across every corner, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the open kitchen.
There was a figure there.
Wen Chen, dressed in a loose-fitting light gray loungewear set with the cuffs rolled up to reveal her slender, fair wrists, stood with her back to him in front of the kitchen counter. A soft sizzling sound came from the frying pan, as golden fried eggs puffed up slightly, filling the entire living room with a fragrant aroma—the most authentic and comforting scent of home cooking.
Gu Moheng stood frozen in place, panting heavily, his chest heaving. He strode over, but his gaze was drawn to a bright yellow light on the double-door refrigerator.
A sticky note is magnetically attached to the most conspicuous position.
Gu Moheng walked over, his fingertips trembling as he peeled off the note.
Today's Itinerary
1. Breakfast (both sides fried, fully cooked).
2. I will work from home for 4 hours (you will stay with me in the study).
3. Afternoon nap.
4. At 2 PM, we set off for the West Suburbs Cemetery.
Gu Moheng's gaze followed the handwriting downwards and lingered on the last line of slightly messy notes.
[PS: I checked, and there are still some excellent double burial plots available in the West Suburbs Cemetery. We can buy adjacent plots. Looking forward to seeing you.]
Gu Moheng stared intently at the words "double grave" for a few seconds, then clutched the note tightly in his hand and strode into the kitchen.
Wen Chen had just put the fried egg into a plate and was about to turn around to get the toast when a warm and tall body suddenly pressed against him from behind.
Gu Moheng's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, so tightly it felt like she wanted to meld him into her very bones, never to be separated again. The familiar scent of cedar mixed with the warmth of the man's body as he woke up enveloped her completely.
Wen Chen paused, holding the plate, and turned her head slightly, her voice gentle and languid: "Awake?"
Gu Moheng didn't speak, but buried his face deeply in the crook of his neck, greedily inhaling the comforting, cool fragrance that dispelled all his unease. Wen Chen let him hold him, even freeing one hand to pat the fluffy head back.
"Go wash up."
Wen Chen tried to turn around, but the arm around his waist didn't move at all, and even tightened its grip, making his ribs ache.
"Wen Chen." Gu Moheng's voice came out muffledly, with a heavy nasal tone, as if he had not yet fully recovered from the emotions of last night.
"Hmm?" Wen Chen put down the plate and patiently responded.
Gu Moheng's lips pressed against the thin skin of his neck, his warm breath spraying onto it.
"What's wrong?"
"I've already reserved my next life too."
The morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the blinds, dappling the kitchen counter and illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. He looked down at the pair of well-defined hands at his waist, and a faint smile slowly curved his lips.
"……greedy."
“Hmm, greedy.” Gu Moheng turned him around even more forcefully, pinning him against the kitchen counter. He lowered his head, his eyes clearly reflecting Wen Chen’s gentle appearance at that moment. “Greedy for you for a lifetime is simply not enough.”
Without giving Wen Chen any chance to object, he lowered his head and kissed her deeply.
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