Chapter 45

Chapter 45

He Mingshuang’s lengthy post was reposted by the official police social media account, using her case to educate the public about the law.

Chu Heng also reposted it—this time offering sincere well-wishes: hoping she would enjoy better days ahead and a bright future, and so on.

These blessings were indeed heartfelt. In his previous life, after his death, the fact that he had been a kept man was exposed, prompting people to kick him while he was down—even posthumously—declaring it a good riddance. At the time, Chu Heng had just entered an advanced training program, overwhelmed by the new environment, and paid little attention to his posthumous reputation. Later, he simply forgot about it altogether and never deeply considered the reasons behind it. Now, looking back, he realized it must have been Meng Hui’s doing.

In his previous life, He Mingshuang and he had been mere acquaintances who exchanged only passing nods—but after his death, she stepped forward several times to defend his reputation, even visiting multiple times to burn joss paper for him. Joss paper carried karmic weight; only after receiving it did Chu Heng learn that she had argued online with his detractors—even at the cost of drawing criticism onto herself.

He hadn’t understood why, back then. Only after being reborn did he realize that He Mingshuang might have felt a shared sorrow, born of similar experiences.

Yet favors received must always be repaid. A favor from a past life, repaid in this one—Chu Heng had no qualms about helping her within his capabilities.

This was a minor favor. As for the great kindness, Chu Heng lay on his sickbed, pondering it repeatedly—still feeling utterly unable to repay it.

What could he do?

Chu Heng glanced at the man beside him and sighed silently.

*

After convalescing for over a month, Chu Heng regained normal mobility, checked out of the hospital, and immediately returned to the film set to shoot the remaining scenes.

Chu Heng could tell Chen Jinsheng disapproved—but curiously, he said little. Instead, he packed his luggage and laptop, accompanied Chu Heng to the set, and never let him out of his sight all day. While Chu Heng filmed, Chen Jinsheng watched from just off-camera. The moment the director called “cut,” during those one or two seconds when others were still reacting or breaking character, Chen Jinsheng would step forward to drape a coat over him, then half-support, half-embrace him to the dressing room.

Chu Heng’s injuries hadn’t fully healed; he fatigued easily and coughed involuntarily. If there was little time between scenes, he’d sit down, drink a cup of warm water prepared by Chen Jinsheng, and watch as Chen Jinsheng sat beside him, opening his laptop.

—Only then could Chu Heng see Chen Jinsheng handling company business. At first, he’d ask a few questions—but Chen Jinsheng gave only brief answers. After this happened several times, it dawned on Chu Heng that Chen Jinsheng didn’t want him to worry—so he stopped asking.

If there was a long gap between scenes, Chu Heng would take a light nap. Sometimes, if he fell into a deep sleep, the crew would push back his call time and not rush him. He wasn’t sure whether Chen Jinsheng worked during these intervals—because every time he woke up, Chen Jinsheng was always gazing at him, as if he had no energy left for anything else.

Two weeks passed like this, and Chu Heng wrapped filming and returned to City B.

Old Ding drove, steady-handed at the wheel. Throughout the journey, Chu Heng remained cradled in Chen Jinsheng’s arms—feeling not the slightest bump.

The first thing upon returning to City B was a follow-up hospital examination. When the report came back, Chu Heng watched the man—who had been tense for two months—finally exhale a long, deep sigh of relief.

He said nothing, letting the man take him home. Chen Jinsheng then began working remotely.

For the first few nights, Chu Heng slept profoundly—often waking around nine or ten in the morning. Thick velvet curtains were drawn tight, plunging the entire room into midnight darkness. Chen Jinsheng usually held meetings at this hour.

Chu Heng didn’t get up. Leaning against the headboard, wearing Bluetooth earbuds, he watched the laptop balanced on his knees. When he occasionally spoke, his voice dropped to a murmur. His left hand supported the laptop; his right arm loosely encircled Chu Heng’s right shoulder. Often, not long after Chu Heng woke, he’d meet Chen Jinsheng’s gaze shifting toward him.

Chen Jinsheng would smile, lift his right hand to brush aside Chu Heng’s sleep-tousled bangs—then immediately end the meeting, lean down, and kiss Chu Heng—on his brow, the tip of his nose, his cheek, or his lips.

After they both freshened up, Chen Jinsheng would hand Chu Heng a book to read on the sofa, then enter the kitchen to prepare the day’s first meal.

The kitchen door remained open, so Chu Heng could clearly see Chen Jinsheng inside—handling ingredients, cooking—while Chen Jinsheng, in turn, could keep an eye on everything Chu Heng did.

After just over a week, Chu Heng’s nighttime sleep grew lighter. Once, he suddenly awoke in the middle of the night—and instantly broke out in a cold sweat.

In the darkness, it felt as though a gaze were locked tightly onto his face—like that of a wolf or tiger, poised to devour him whole.

Chu Heng remained motionless, staying calm for a full half-minute before speaking. “Can’t sleep?”

Chen Jinsheng answered after a few seconds—his voice low, as if suppressing something. “…Mm.”

He lay on his side, his arm draped around Chu Heng’s waist. Chu Heng opened his eyes, staring at the pitch-black ceiling, his hand groping beneath the covers until it found Chen Jinsheng’s firm arm—then turned to face him.

From this angle, he could only vaguely make out Chen Jinsheng’s chest rising and falling slightly. Chu Heng tilted his head up and, guided purely by touch, kissed him. Chen Jinsheng stiffened instantly.

Chu Heng pressed closer—until no space remained between them. Slowly, he moved his lips—first brushing a patch of dry, warm skin, carefully feeling the steady pulse beneath them—then, with scattered, tender kisses, traced downward to the bobbing Adam’s apple.

He parted his lips, gently biting and licking with the tip of his tongue. Sensing the person beside him suddenly breathe faster, he whispered, “Perfect timing. I can’t sleep either.”

Chen Jinsheng closed his eyes for a moment—then clasped the hand Chu Heng had placed on his arm. “No.”

Chu Heng easily broke free—then took his hand again, fingers slowly intertwining with his. The smooth, well-maintained skin between their fingers brushed against his rough knuckles. Chu Heng swallowed lightly, propped himself up, and leaned close to Chen Jinsheng’s ear—his cheek nearly touching him. “I’m already better.”

He spoke softly: “And you’ll be very gentle—you won’t hurt me, right?”

The air stilled for a second or two. Then, in the next moment, the world flipped upside down as a scorching body covered his.

At the most critical moment, Chu Heng wrapped his arms around Chen Jinsheng’s sweat-slicked neck—tightening his hold as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Jinsheng… Boss Chen… my patron… my benefactor…”

“Have I always forgotten to say that I like you?”

“I like you—as I would a husband.”

Chen Jinsheng completely lost control.

He held Chu Heng for a long time before speaking hoarsely: “Me too.”

Chu Heng stroked his face. “Let’s always be good to each other from now on, okay?”

Chen Jinsheng said, “Okay.”

*

After that, Chen Jinsheng went out for half a day every few days—mainly to the company, buying groceries on the way back.

He still didn’t let Chu Heng go out—but he returned Chu Heng’s phone.

After charging and powering it on, unread messages flooded in one after another. Red notification dots appeared in the top-left corners of several frequently used apps. It took several dozen seconds for the phone’s vibrations to cease.

Dozens of missed calls. Chu Heng glanced at the number appearing most frequently on the first page—but paid it no mind. Scrolling down, he found Wang Yelong’s call record and dialed it.

Wang Yelong maintained excellent phone habits: his battery never dipped below 30%, he always answered calls instantly, and his device supported conversations lasting over half an hour. So the moment Chu Heng called, a voice came through immediately.

“Ancestor—you finally picked up!” Wang Yelong first let out a huge sigh of relief, then asked, concern coloring his tone: “Are you okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

Chen Jinsheng wasn’t home. He’d ordered flowers before leaving but hadn’t had time to arrange them. Chu Heng turned on the speaker, placed the phone on the counter, and began unwrapping and cutting away the ribbons and plastic film surrounding the bouquet.

“You’ve got the nerve to ask?” Wang Yelong’s voice faded momentarily—then the previously noisy background fell silent, making his robust voice even clearer. He raised his volume slightly. “You vanished after wrapping filming—no replies to messages, no answer to calls. If Chen Jinsheng hadn’t told me you were at home, I’d have assumed you’d gone missing.”

“After I was discharged and returned to filming, I handed all my things—including my phone—to Chen Jinsheng to hold onto. When I came back, I slept a lot—I just hadn’t gotten around to checking,” Chu Heng said.

The bouquet Chen Jinsheng had ordered today was a large cluster of sunflowers, accented with a few champagne roses and chamomile. Its overall palette was warmly inviting. After removing the outer packaging, the originally well-arranged, harmonious composition collapsed. Yet the floral arrangements Chen Jinsheng made never fell apart.

Chu Heng felt a flicker of frustration. He tossed yesterday’s wilted flowers, put on his Bluetooth earbuds, grabbed the empty vase, and headed to the kitchen to fill it with water.

“You even gave him your phone?”

Chu Heng hummed noncommittally.

“Ancestor—do you remember you’re a highly watched public figure?” Wang Yelong exclaimed incredulously on the other end. “Forget about the several business engagements you’ve recently postponed or canceled. Just look at the fans flooding your Weibo posts daily, asking after your health—there are dozens. And you? You posted just two words—‘Safe’—after discharge, and everything since has been paparazzi shots.”

“Paparazzi shots?”

"...You don’t even know you were caught on paparazzi footage? There’s some footage of Chen Jinsheng helping you—it’s not widespread, but it’s gaining traction, all thanks to your handsome assistant." Wang Yelong sighed in exasperation. The two were now physically close, but since Chu Heng was still recovering from serious injuries, others simply perceived it as normal assistance for someone injured. "It’s a good thing you weren’t wearing the ring—or the cat would be out of the bag. Better not wear it at all, really—even I can’t stop staring at it. When you picked it out, why didn’t you take a cue from others in the industry and choose something low-key, like a plain band? It wouldn’t look any less elegant."

"What’s so great about a plain band?" Chu Heng glanced down at the ring hanging from the silver chain around his neck, still convinced the ruby suited him better.

He turned off the faucet, picked up the half-filled vase, and walked out. Suddenly, he noticed the cabinet beneath the gas stove wasn’t fully closed. He pushed it shut—but it wouldn’t budge; the two doors were jammed. He pulled one open, jiggled it loose, and was about to close it when he spotted a coil of rope inside—familiar, unmistakably so.

"Yeah, yeah—you’ve got impeccable taste," Wang Yelong replied dismissively over the phone. "Seriously, how *is* your recovery going? When are you coming out? Lately, we’ve all been relying on Chen Jinsheng for updates on your condition—and he barely speaks. Even his texts are terse. If I didn’t know your relationship, I’d almost think he’d kidnapped you."

Chu Heng set the vase down and pulled out the coil of rope.

It was the climbing rope from the film studio’s rock-climbing gym—given to Chen Jinsheng as a promotional item during *Hidden Path*, which Chen Jinsheng had claimed he’d thrown away.

It wasn’t neatly folded and secured as Chu Heng remembered. Instead, it had been unwound and re-coiled, with clear signs of wear at both ends but pristine in the middle—as if someone had repeatedly practiced knot-tying using only the ends.

Chu Heng fell silent for a moment, then re-coiled the rope exactly as he’d found it, returned it to the cabinet, picked up the vase, and walked back into the living room, where he gathered all the flower stems and arranged them together in the vase.

"Not sure—probably soon."

"No rush." Wang Yelong wasn’t actually pressuring him to return to work—just the uncertainty had been gnawing at him. Hearing Chu Heng sound perfectly fine, his voice even carrying that lazy, well-rested timbre, eased most of his worries. "Focus on recovering—don’t worry about anything else. Right now, Chen Jinsheng is handling both the company and your career. Nothing will go wrong."

Wang Yelong paused. "That includes your contracts for the next six months, your personal social media image, and all work-related matters—everything must be reviewed and approved by Chen Jinsheng."

Chu Heng adjusted the flowers, trying to make them look more harmonious.

"Got it," he said lazily.

Wang Yelong fell silent for a moment, as if wanting to say something—but ultimately just joked, "At this rate, even a golden agent like me won’t have anything left to do."

"Aren’t the newly signed artists enough for you? I bet they’re all dying to shadow you every day."

Before partnering with Chu Heng, Wang Yelong had already nurtured numerous well-known artists and built a formidable reputation. Young talents eagerly sought contracts with their agency—partly for that very reason.

Wang Yelong let out a sigh. "Managing them is far easier."

With money, fame, and resources, even a pig could be shoved into the spotlight—and those six weren’t lacking in talent, either.

"Has Meng Hui contacted you lately?" Wang Yelong suddenly changed the subject.

Chu Heng paused. "No, he hasn’t." At least, he hadn’t answered any of his calls. "What about him?"

"That kid’s lost his mind!" Wang Yelong exclaimed. "Ever since he was fired, he’s been flooding my phone with messages asking where you are. When I blocked him, he started calling from public phones—and he even showed up at the office to ambush me. Damn it—I nearly called the police!"

Wang Yelong’s tone grew increasingly irritated, clearly fed up. He launched into a rant about how he’d never realized Meng Hui could be so insufferable—and warned Chu Heng to ignore him if he tried the same.

During the company reshuffle, Chu Heng had revoked all of Meng Hui’s access. Then, the day after waking up in the hospital, he’d fired him on the spot. Meng Hui wasn’t stupid—he must have sensed something. Young and cunning, yet impatient, his erratic behavior now came as no surprise.

Chu Heng zeroed in on one detail: "He showed up at the office?"

"Yeah—once. You and Chen Jinsheng weren’t there. I told building security to stop him if they saw him again—and he hasn’t returned since."

Chu Heng was quiet for a moment. "It’s time to call the police."

Wang Yelong sounded confused. "What do you mean?"

Speak of the devil—the phone on the table lit up, signaling another incoming call. Chu Heng glanced at the number and said to Wang Yelong, "Let’s talk later—I’ve got another call."

"Wha—"

Chu Heng hung up and answered the call from the number dominating his missed calls list. But after picking up, there was only a long, heavy silence.

Chu Heng waited—growing impatient.

"Why aren’t you saying anything? Didn’t you want to make this call for a long time?"

After several seconds, the other end spoke tentatively: "Brother Chu—why did you fire me so suddenly? I know it was my fault you got hurt—I didn’t check the props carefully, and I didn’t stop that person in time. I was just too scared, and by the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late. I’ve learned my lesson—it won’t happen again. I truly value this job. Brother Chu, please give me another chance—I promise I won’t let you down."

Chu Heng waited until he’d finished his long speech before replying, "Meng Hui—aren’t you tired?"

"What?" Meng Hui was clearly taken aback—but quickly recovered, adjusting his tone to sound respectful and cautious. "Brother Chu—can we meet? I think there must be some misunderstanding between us. Even if I can’t work for you anymore, I’d still like to thank you in person for taking care of me these past two years."

"Unnecessary." Chu Heng cut straight to the point. "I don’t know who’s pulling your strings—the Yu family, or other rivals of the Chen family—giving you the confidence to commit crime after crime. But if that’s all you have to say, this call is over."

Meng Hui didn’t respond immediately. In fact, after Chu Heng mentioned the Yu family, the line went utterly silent—not even breathing could be heard.

A long pause passed before he spoke again: "You knew all along, didn’t you? You’ve been toying with me—watching me dance in the palm of your hand. Does that make you proud?"

His tone had completely shifted—cold, dripping with disgust, the latter half erupting almost like a roar fueled by rage.

The moment Meng Hui fell silent, Chu Heng was certain the Yu family was behind him. With the last shred of doubt gone, Chu Heng replied indifferently, "Think whatever you want. Meng Hui—you could have had a bright future, as a producer or doing whatever you truly wanted. I gave you a chance—but you threw it away."

Chu Heng genuinely felt regret. With Meng Hui’s background, mindset, and abilities, had he channeled his efforts in the right direction, he could have achieved greatness. Chu Heng—who’d dropped out of high school—understood all too well how rare and difficult it was for people like them, who’d come from hardship, to complete their education and graduate from prestigious universities. The struggles involved went without saying.

Meng Hui could have had a bright future—but fate loved playing cruel jokes on people like them.

It was precisely because it was so precious that Meng Hui felt grateful, found it impossible to let go of Yu Shangbiao’s death—and harbored such intense hatred toward him and Chen Jinsheng.

Because Yu Shangbiao had died at Chen Jinsheng’s hands.

Chu Heng understood Meng Hui’s hatred—and the motives behind his vengeful fury. But if Meng Hui wanted to hurt Chen Jinsheng, then he could only say he was sorry.

Chen Jinsheng had already paid for his past mistakes. No one could demand further retribution from him.

Yet Meng Hui misinterpreted his meaning—and grew even angrier: "I don’t need your pity! Do you think playing the righteous hero will make me believe you? You and Chen Jinsheng are both murderers. You killed a good man—so why do you get to live happily in this world, basking in others’ admiration and praise? Why?! Chu Heng—tell me why?!"

"Fine—I’ll tell you why. Because your benefactor—the ‘great man’ you idolize—was also a criminal."

"You’re lying!" Meng Hui shrieked instantly. "It was *you* who seduced Uncle Yu—just like you seduced He Mingshuang! That’s why Chen Jinsheng killed him. The guilty ones are *you* and Chen Jinsheng!"

Chu Heng gave a cold laugh. "Oh—so that’s what the Yu family told you. How noble of them—yet they only dare scheme in the shadows, hiding behind you even now."

"That’s because the Chen family holds too much power! We stand no chance against them."

"If the Chen family were as powerful as you claim—why did Chen Jinsheng serve seven years in prison?"

"He got what he deserved! He killed someone—but only got seven years—isn’t that the Chen family pulling strings behind the scenes?! Chu Heng—don’t get too cocky. I’ll make sure everyone knows about the ‘good deeds’ you and Chen Jinsheng have done!"

Meng Hui’s voice rose, resentment practically oozing from the line. On one hand, Chu Heng found him unreasonable; on the other, he saw him as nothing more than a pitiful pawn—kept in the dark and used as a tool. So he said, "Meng Hui—listen carefully. In this matter, the Chen family never interfered. For seven full years, they disowned Chen Jinsheng—and didn’t lift a finger to help him."

"You’re ly—" Meng Hui tried to cut in immediately.

"Do you want to keep arguing pointlessly?" Chu Heng said coldly. "Don’t you want to know the truth? Is the Yu family’s version enough to make you betray your conscience—and everything you were taught? Or is the purpose of this call simply to extract from me the answer you want—that *I’m* guilty, Yu Shangbiao was innocent, and you’re carrying out justice? Even if you end up in prison, it’ll be because the Chen family manipulated things, the state misjudged—and you’ll become a wronged hero behind bars, never regretting a single thing you’ve done. Is that it, Meng Hui? Is *that* the truth and answer you want?"

Meng Hui was struck to the core—shouting hysterically, "Shut up! Shut up!"

But he didn’t hang up.

Chu Heng knew which words had hit home. No one could pretend to be someone else for years on end. Meng Hui’s usual demeanor—gentle, attentive, shy—was all genuine. He was kind-hearted, soft-spoken. Yet since ancient times, there’s never been a rule forbidding good people from harboring resentment.

Rather than fully believing the Yu family’s one-sided story—or doubting the country’s judiciary—Meng Hui needed justice to justify every action that violated his own values.

"No matter how vast the Chen family's business or how high their officials' positions, they cannot be above the law. Chen Jinsheng was sentenced to seven years for manslaughter. I was definitely a part of it, but it had nothing to do with anything sexual. Your great benefactor, Uncle Yu, illegally carried a firearm, held a gun to my head, forced me to take drugs, and to make Chen Jinsheng take them too. In the struggle, Chen Jinsheng accidentally killed him."

If not absolutely necessary, Chu Heng truly did not want to recall that incident from years past.

It was the cruelest of fate's many jokes, one that had once driven him to despair.

He thought his good days had finally arrived, but it was merely a match about to burn out on the brink of a cold, dark night.

As the eldest son of the Yu family, once a rival equal in power to the Chen family, Yu Shangbiao was outmatched in every way by his counterpart, Chen Jinsheng. The Yu family operated in the gray areas, and Yu Shangbiao had a dark, ruthless, and intensely jealous nature. He was deeply envious of Chen Jinsheng and had always wanted to see him utterly ruined.

Chen Jinsheng was invincible, yet he developed a weakness because of Chu Heng.

Yu Shangbiao kidnapped Chu Heng without leaving a trace, yet he deliberately left clues only for Chen Jinsheng.

In truth, even if that kidnapping had been full of flaws, Chen Jinsheng would have been the only person in the world to come after him, throwing caution to the wind.

Chu Heng would forever remember that rainy night, in the dark room where a lightbulb had shattered, filled with drugs and addicts, the feeling of icy dread that washed over his whole body as he witnessed Chen Jinsheng kill Yu Shangbiao. The hard touch of the gun barrel still lingered on his temple, a sharp needle had almost pierced the vein in his arm, yet his fear vanished completely, replaced only by a penetrating cold.

He suddenly realized he was the snowflake that extinguished that match.

His misfortune and calamity might accompany him from birth for his entire life, even implicating those around him.

"That 'great man' you're talking about was nothing but a drug dealer using charity work as a tool for money laundering."