Chapter 71 Hidden Feelings

Chapter 71: A Hidden Heart

After a few moments of playful banter, the two continued chatting about anything and everything, casually sipping osmanthus wine as if it were water.

At some point, they found themselves sharing the same blanket. Jiang Luo lay down, his head resting on Huo Zongzhuo’s pillow, his own having slipped off the bed onto the floor.

Finishing a topic, Jiang Luo spontaneously turned to Huo Zongzhuo, who was sitting beside him, and said, “Let me sing a few songs for you.”

“I sing better than pop stars.”

Huo Zongzhuo looked down at Jiang Luo.

Jiang Luo opened his mouth and began singing in Cantonese:

“Alone in the chilly night wind, I look back on past events,

The former me was filled with anger and resentment.

Slander and accusations built up, fueling my indignation,

Taking rumors too much to heart.

Having learned my lesson, guided by the classics,

Now I see clearly and no longer confine myself…”

Jiang Luo sang softly and thoughtfully, carefully choosing a song from before the 1990s: Leslie Cheung’s “Silence is Golden.”

He was quite fond of the song—its melody, its lyrics—feeling as though it reflected his own life and experiences.

Yet, at this moment, he had no particular intention of expressing or confiding anything; he had simply chosen “Silence is Golden” on a whim.

He was just singing, wanting to sing for Huo Zongzhuo, on this late New Year’s Eve night as they kept each other company.

He himself realized that his relationship with Huo Zongzhuo had grown beyond mere friendship.

Towards Huo Zongzhuo, he felt a certain emotional investment and dependence.

Jiang Luo sang: “With confidence in heart, I’ll ignore scorn and doubts, let others laugh and scold, live free and easy…”

In this life, both body and mind should no longer be trapped. He resolved to live as freely and unrestrainedly as possible.

But Jiang Luo was unaware of the profound stirrings he had created in Huo Zongzhuo’s heart—showing up at his door on New Year’s Eve with a pillow, asking to stay, sharing a bed, drinking together, chatting, joking, and singing.

Huo Zongzhuo looked down at Jiang Luo, his expression carefully guarded, revealing only tenderness, while his heart surged with a tumult of emotions.

He liked Jiang Luo.

He liked him very much.

Extremely much.

How could he resign himself to a future without Jiang Luo?

How could he accept a day when Jiang Luo would lie on some woman’s bed, singing to her, or even to their children?

No.

He couldn’t accept it.

He wasn’t willing.

Jiang Luo sang a few more songs, all in Cantonese.

After he finished, Huo Zongzhuo asked, “Do you like Cantonese songs?”

Jiang Luo yawned. “Not really. Most pop songs come from Hong Kong, and they’re mostly in Cantonese, so I just learned to sing them.”

Jiang Luo then added in Cantonese that he not only could sing but also speak the language fairly well.

“*Nei dim gaai gam dak yi*?” (Why are you so cute/charming?)

Huh?

Naturally, Huo Zongzhuo didn’t understand the last sentence.

Jiang Luo laughed and burrowed under the covers.

Huo Zongzhuo asked, “What does that mean?”

Jiang Luo: “Just praising you.”

Huo Zongzhuo: “Are you sure it’s a good one?”

Jiang Luo laughed. “Whether it’s good or not, you wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

Huo Zongzhuo shifted down a little, resting his arm closest to Jiang Luo on Jiang Luo’s pillow, making it seem as if he were embracing him.

He then gently brushed Jiang Luo’s bangs back from his forehead, a clear gesture of affection, and asked softly, “Sleepy?”

Jiang Luo hummed in agreement, closing his eyes, and said, “Do you know how to sing any lullabies?”

Huo Zongzhuo chuckled, his voice gentle and light. “Wanting a lullaby? Are you a baby?”

Jiang Luo, eyes still closed, said, “Just tell me what you can do.”

Huo Zongzhuo thought for a moment. “How about I recite a poem for you?”

“Ooh, cultured.”

Jiang Luo: “Sure, that works.”

Huo Zongzhuo thought for a bit and began, “*Yuzhang gu jun, Hongdu xin fu. Xing fen yi zhen, di jie heng lu. Jin san jiang er dai wu hu, kong man jing er yin ou yue*…” (The old prefecture of Yuzhang, the new capital of Hongdu. Its stars align with Yi and Zhen, its land borders Heng and Lu. It embraces the three rivers and girds the five lakes, controlling the barbarian lands and leading to Ouyue…)

Huo Zongzhuo had also chosen a classical text at random, from Wang Bo’s *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng*.

Unsurprisingly, given Jiang Luo’s aversion to studying, by the time Huo Zongzhuo reached “*Qian li feng ying, gao peng man zuo*” (A thousand miles to welcome, honored guests fill the hall), Jiang Luo’s breathing had deepened, and he had fallen asleep.

Huo Zongzhuo smiled fondly, continuing to softly recite “*Shi wei jiu yue, xu shu san qiu*” (It was now late September, in the third month of autumn) while gently stroking Jiang Luo’s forehead and hair, his affection evident.

He gazed at Jiang Luo, captivated by his features under the warm light—his eyebrows, his eye sockets, his eyelashes, the bridge of his nose. He was utterly mesmerized.

It was an unconscious overflow of love.

Huo Zongzhuo felt his heart more full and substantial, yet also began to feel a certain emptiness, as if he were floating, ungrounded and uneasy. Especially when he thought about the differences between him and Jiang Luo, about Jiang Luo someday liking a girl, falling in love, getting married, leaving him, and building a life of his own.

Looking at Jiang Luo, Huo Zongzhuo suddenly felt as though this moment was a stolen one for himself.

Because it was stolen, it could only be hidden away.

Hidden away, everything kept secret.

Like that song says, “Silence is golden.”

Huo Zongzhuo gently touched Jiang Luo’s face.

Silent?

He wasn’t willing.

Why must it only be silence?

Was there really no path for him?

The next morning, Jiang Luo woke up first. Opening his eyes, he saw Huo Zongzhuo lying flat beside him, having given all the blankets to Jiang Luo. Huo Zongzhuo himself was covered with a throw blanket, probably found from somewhere else last night.

Jiang Luo originally intended to get up to go to the bathroom, but seeing Huo Zongzhuo sleeping motionless, he found himself staring for no reason at Huo Zongzhuo’s eye sockets and nose bridge.

Clearly, Huo Zongzhuo was the good-looking type.

High brow bones, deep-set eyes, a straight nose bridge.

Jiang Luo looked him over, then reached out his hand, lightly touching the tip of Huo Zongzhuo’s nose with his fingertip. He suddenly wondered, with a nose like that, if Huo Zongzhuo were to kiss some woman in the future, wouldn’t this nose be in the way?

Then he thought: Oh, big nose, big down there, too.

Too bad he doesn’t work.

Why doesn’t it work?

Jiang Luo pondered again: What happened to him? Doesn’t work? Could it be congenital?

Huo Zongzhuo’s eyelashes fluttered, as if he was about to wake up. Not knowing why himself, Jiang Luo immediately closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Huo Zongzhuo opened his eyes, turned to look at him, and spoke with a nasal tone: “Awake?”

Jiang Luo opened his eyes then and grinned. “When did I fall asleep yesterday?”

Huo Zongzhuo turned his head to check the time on the bedside table. “When I got to, ‘A thousand miles to welcome, honored guests fill the hall.’”

Jiang Luo sat up. “What’s that?”

Huo Zongzhuo, still lying down, put his watch on. “*Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng*.”

Jiang Luo threw off the covers and got out of bed, pretending to be clueless. “What king is Teng Wang?”

Huo Zongzhuo also got up, amused. “Really don’t know or just acting dumb?”

“Prince Teng was a prince from the Qing dynasty.”

Jiang Luo put on his shoes and headed toward the door to go to the bathroom, snorting laughingly. “Why don’t you say Wang Bo was from the Qing dynasty too?”

Huo Zongzhuo knew then that Jiang Luo had been pretending just now.

Huo Zongzhuo wasn’t looking down on Jiang Luo; he was genuinely curious, having just thought of it: “Do they study *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng* in middle or high school now?”

Jiang Luo opened the door and went out. “How would I know? I didn’t like studying.”

The reason he knew about *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng* was that in his previous life, Huo Zongzhuo had gifted a self-written version of it to a friendly boss. That boss had hung the classical text in his office, and Jiang Luo happened to see it when he visited—he saw the title of the poem and also Huo Zongzhuo’s personal chop at the end.

When he returned from the bathroom, Jiang Luo came back and asked, “Boss Huo, in what situation would you give someone a poem you wrote yourself, like that *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng* just now?”

In what situation?

Huo Zongzhuo felt he wouldn’t gift anyone something he’d written under any circumstances.

Although he did like to practice calligraphy, he wasn’t a renowned calligrapher—what's the point of giving someone his own writing?

When Jiang Luo asked, Huo Zongzhuo thought for a moment and said, “Maybe if I wanted to mock someone for being uncultured, to remind them to read more.”

Jiang Luo burst out laughing, especially thinking of that boss who looked like a pig’s head.

Huh?

Huo Zongzhuo didn’t understand what Jiang Luo was laughing about.

Jiang Luo waved his hand, indicating it was nothing, and added, “Why don’t you give me a copy of *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng* too?”

“I’ll frame it and hang it in my factory office.”

“Sure.”

Huo Zongzhuo agreed and asked, “Does it have to be *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng*? For an office, people usually hang something like a landscape painting.”

Jiang Luo picked up an empty bottle and glass and headed out, turning back. “I don’t want a landscape. Write me something like ‘Overnight Wealth,’ or ‘Make Trillions Wildly,’ or ‘Richest in Haicheng.’”

Huo Zongzhuo laughed. “Not even trying to hide your ambitions?”

Jiang Luo was already out the door. “A small boss who doesn’t want to be the richest isn’t a good singer.”

Downstairs, he saw his mother setting out breakfast on the table. Holding the glass and empty bottle, Jiang Luo spread his arms and approached her. “Mom~ Mom~ Morning~”

“Home beds are so comfortable to sleep in.”

“I’m sleeping here again tonight.”

And so New Year’s Eve passed, welcoming the new lunar year.

That day, at Mo Wanzhen’s place, she was with her parents and younger siblings at her aunt’s house.

After lunch, everyone was chatting in the courtyard. As they talked, her aunt smiled and said to Mo Wanzhen, “Zhenzhen, after the New Year, why not let our Xinxin go to Haicheng with you?”

Mo Wanzhen’s hands, shelling peanuts, paused. She hadn’t expected that and looked up, puzzled.

Mo Wanzhen’s mother also chimed in: “And your brother, after the New Year, take him to Haicheng with you too.”

“During dinner on New Year’s Eve, didn’t you say your boss’s factory is expanding and investing more money?”

“They must be short on people.”

“Just put in a good word and get your brother into some office.”

“Doesn’t need a high salary, five or eight hundred is fine. We’re not asking for much.”

Mo Wanzhen lowered her gaze, continued shelling peanuts, and stayed silent. She understood well enough.

Her family saw that she was making money in Haicheng and sending 200 home every month, but they weren’t satisfied.

Her family wanted her to continue helping out, to bring along her younger sister and brother, and ideally, for the whole family to move to Haicheng.

Mo Wanzhen lowered her head, eating peanuts, but this time she couldn't even fake a smile.

Meanwhile, at Zhang Ningfu’s home, on the afternoon of the third day of Chinese New Year, he was on the sofa playing with blocks with his granddaughter when his son, daughter-in-law, and wife gathered around, saying they had something to discuss with him.

Zhang Ningfu thought it might be about money, assuming the family was short on funds again, and he felt it was no big deal—his current salary was decent, he earned quite a bit, and he could manage.

But then his son spoke up: “Dad, you mentioned last time that your factory is going to be rebuilt and expanded, with a loan of ten million yuan.”

His son rubbed his hands together: “Dad, you see, you have some pull at the factory. Could you get me a job there too?”