Chapter 10 Ambiguous Chips

Chapter 10: Ambiguous Stakes

The hotel’s private members-only restaurant was open until 9:00 PM.

Lin Haoda followed Guan Junshan to the eighth floor by elevator, and ten minutes before closing, they became the last table to be seated.

Guan Junshan seemed to be a regular here. When he pushed open the door and strode into the hall, everyone paused in unison and nodded in greeting, even casting glances at Lin Haoda trailing behind him.

The manager led them to the best seat in the house with a view. Thick clouds hung over the city, and in the drizzly haze, a panoramic, shimmering view of Victoria Harbour lay at their feet.

Raindrops fell on the glass, creating a unique frosted texture. Beneath the cool, multicolored neon lights outside the window, Guan Junshan took a sip of lemon water, his gaze falling on Lin Haoda’s face. In the dim light, he had a hard-to-read expression.

“Lin Haoda, you still owe me an explanation.”

Always, Guan Junshan was not the type to waste time casually.

Ten minutes ago, he had suddenly appeared in the hotel lobby’s seating area, dressed in a full custom suit, with a subtle cologne. He stood by the sofa for several minutes with his arms crossed.

Initially, Lin Haoda was completely unaware. He was buried in his phone, engrossed in a documentary about hermit crabs.

Guan Junshan waited for a long time, and finally, with no other choice, he reached out and pulled out Lin Haoda’s right earbud. “Lin Haoda.”

Lin Haoda, who had been fully focused on the video, suddenly lost all sound in his right ear, which was then filled with the noisy reality around him. He instinctively looked up, his expression a bit dazed and confused. When he recognized Guan Junshan’s face, he immediately snapped back to reality and guiltily turned off his phone.

“Mr. Guan,” Lin Haoda said, slightly surprised. As he spoke, a hint of fruit candy scent drifted over. “You’re back.”

Guan Junshan had no time for those pathetic hermit crabs or to critique Lin Haoda’s hobbies. He seemed somewhat displeased, looking down at the man on the sofa and asking, “Have you had dinner?”

He didn’t ask how long Lin Haoda had actually been waiting there; talking about time was pointless. Guan Junshan needed a concrete measure of Lin Haoda’s willingness to wait.

Lin Haoda thought Guan Junshan hadn’t even seen his message, so his surprise quickly turned into delight. He rolled the candy over his tongue as he smiled and said, “I had a little snack.”

After hearing that, Guan Junshan stood there, looking down at him for a moment. Then he tossed the earbud onto the coffee table in front of Lin Haoda. There was indeed a pile of candy and chocolate wrappers in the ashtray, probably complimentary from the hotel—but at least it confirmed that Lin Haoda wasn’t lying.

Yet Guan Junshan still didn’t speak. He frowned, as if no answer Lin Haoda gave could fully satisfy him.

“It’s okay,” Lin Haoda said quickly, sensing his displeasure. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to it.”

Guan Junshan repeated in a flat tone, shifting his gaze elsewhere. “Do you often wait for people like this?”

Lin Haoda neither confirmed nor denied it. He accidentally bit down on the fruit candy, letting out only an indistinct sound. Guan Junshan heard a crunching noise, like he was talking to a six-year-old.

No matter how Lin Haoda had been before, to Guan Junshan, it might have been that he didn’t want to be lumped in with those people Lin Haoda had waited for, or that he didn’t want to be branded with the stigma of “making someone wait all evening without even eating dinner.” Without much hesitation, he decided to take him to the restaurant first.

The restaurant was closing in ten minutes. Guan Junshan glanced at his watch, turned around, and walked straight to the elevator.

Seeing him leave, Lin Haoda instinctively stood up from the sofa, still unable to figure out why Guan Junshan was angry. His eyes followed Guan Junshan all the way to the elevator, looking as if he wanted to follow but didn’t quite dare, his hesitation practically written all over his face.

Guan Junshan had already called the elevator. He thought Lin Haoda would naturally follow him, but when he turned around, there was no one behind him. Looking up, he met Lin Haoda’s uncertain look.

Guan Junshan was rarely at a loss for words, but he stared at him until the elevator arrived. Lin Haoda, however, pushed up his glasses and blinked twice, looking all innocent.

The two were clearly on completely different wavelengths, like they were speaking different languages.

So when the elevator doors opened and Guan Junshan stepped in, Lin Haoda watched his back with a sigh of disappointment, starting to wonder what he had said wrong.

The next second, the metal doors began to slide shut. Unable to bear it any longer, Guan Junshan reached out and blocked them. Through the gap, his cold, stern face reappeared, and his gaze, like an arrow, shot straight through the crowd and pinned Lin Haoda in place.

Even Lin Haoda, slow as he was, finally caught on. As if waking from a dream, he obediently grabbed his backpack and followed.

The oxtail soup arrived. Lin Haoda sat across from him, still stammering, his face buried in the rising steam. His thin eyelids were slightly reddened by the heat, giving him a natural knack for looking pitiful.

But Guan Junshan was naturally immune to such pity. He could no longer sit back and let Lin Haoda’s persistent entanglement continue unchecked.

To be honest, Guan Junshan didn’t exactly dislike Lin Haoda—at most, he found him a bit troublesome. Even if he’d been foolish enough to talk to him longer that afternoon, that didn’t mean Guan Junshan was willing to bend his rules for him.

On the contrary, after taking his fever medicine in the evening, Guan Junshan’s cold symptoms had improved significantly compared to the afternoon. If he had to say, his heart had hardened considerably as well.

In other words, by evening, Guan Junshan regretted it.

He no longer accepted the “suspension bridge effect.” Lin Haoda couldn’t just cling to him like this, nor could he count on that small crush to wait here all evening, hoping that this would make Guan Junshan take a second look or give any response—in Guan Junshan’s view, such behavior was a waste of time and effort.

Since Lin Haoda couldn’t learn to control himself properly, Guan Junshan wouldn’t hesitate to personally correct this absurd infatuation.

Just as Guan Junshan was thinking this and about to speak, Lin Haoda, who had been silent and hanging his head, suddenly spoke up: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep bothering you like this.”

Hearing him use the word “bothering,” Guan Junshan paused in sipping his soup. For a split second, a weird flicker of pleasure and smugness rose in him. After a long moment, he replied in a calm tone, “I thought you didn’t have that kind of self-awareness.”

Lin Haoda’s head was nearly buried in his soup bowl as he muttered several “I’m sorry.”

Seeing him like this, Guan Junshan couldn’t help but find it amusing, and even the headache that had plagued him all evening seemed to ease a little. Yet his voice remained indifferent: “Since you can recognize that, all the better.”

Hearing this, Lin Haoda lifted his head. In the light of the crystal chandelier, his eyes were bright and glistening, his lips red and soft. “I hope Mr. Guan can forgive me.”

“Don’t waste your efforts on me,” Guan Junshan said, looking away, stating the matter confidently. “There’s no possibility between us.”

When Lin Haoda heard this, he froze for a moment, his expression shifting. Just as he was about to say something, Guan Junshan’s phone rang. He stood up, stepped out to take the call, and when he returned, all the dishes had been served.

Lin Haoda’s plate was still empty, as if he hadn’t touched any of the dishes. Guan Junshan didn’t think it was his duty to cater to Lin Haoda’s taste preferences, so he acted like he didn’t notice and simply said, “The rain’s getting heavier. I’ll have the driver take you back later.”

“No need,” Lin Haoda refused.

Guan Junshan didn’t press for a reason; it was just a casual offer anyway, and it didn’t matter.

Although it was well past closing time, no one came to rush them.

The soft light from the ceiling fixtures gently fell down. The rose at the center of the round table was in full bloom, and the water level in the glass vase trembled slightly with Guan Junshan’s movements as he ate. Lin Haoda, however, sat quietly, lost in thought.

The atmosphere had been silent for a long time when Lin Haoda finally spoke again: “Mr. Guan,” he set down his knife and fork, hesitating several times. “I think you misunderstood something.”

“Misunderstood?” Guan Junshan frowned, staring at him for a while before suppressing his displeasure and kindly reminding him, “Lin Haoda, playing hard to get doesn’t work on me.”

Playing hard to get?

Lin Haoda finally picked up on that phrase. He froze for two seconds, then quickly denied, “No, that’s not it.”

Guan Junshan took off his napkin, leaned back in his chair, and looked at him, his gaze heavy and penetrating.

Suddenly, several past scenes flashed through Lin Haoda’s mind. Could it be that Guan Junshan had misinterpreted his initiative and care over the past two days as signals of romantic interest? He didn’t dare continue that line of thinking, shaking his head repeatedly, emphasizing, “No, no, that’s really not the case.”

Guan Junshan was irritated by this attitude of doing something and then denying it. He smirked slightly and retorted, “Not the case? Then what is it?”

Lin Haoda opened his mouth, but the words got stuck in his throat. His mind was in turmoil. “It really isn’t what you think.”

He knew he shouldn’t continue, but he had no other choice.

Lin Haoda bit his lip, not daring to look up. “The reason I’ve been bothering you is because I need a favor from you.”

Guan Junshan sat across from him, the upper half of his face lit up by the light. Because he wasn't smiling, his eyes looked very cold, his pupils dark and bottomless.

"Something to ask me for?" He repeated Lin Haoda's words, as if he didn't really believe them. "Then go ahead, tell me what you want."

Lin Haoda was silent for a few seconds, then braced himself and spoke: "Liang Yuan... he came to find me again."

That scumbag ex-boyfriend, like a persistent pest. He had no family or friends in Hong Kong. If Lin Haoda could really choose, he wouldn't want to be another misplaced burden either.

Guan Junshan shifted his gaze slightly, taking a moment to connect the name to the face. It was like a tacky soap opera that never seemed to end, and now, unfortunately, he had become part of the cast.

At first, he thought Lin Haoda simply didn't want to admit it and preferred to lie. Now it seemed the one who had been fooling himself was someone else.

More importantly, Lin Haoda had only used a simple trick, and he had fallen for it.

Seeing Guan Junshan stay silent for a while, Lin Haoda was about to continue, but Guan Junshan interrupted him, his voice turning icy: "Lin Haoda, I'm not your personal assistant."

Lin Haoda was taken aback after hearing this, his voice lowering as well: "Sorry,"

"You don't need to apologize to me." Guan Junshan rose from his chair, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "I'm just surprised that someone would go this far to achieve their goals."

Lin Haoda opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but found no words.

"If there's a next time, who will you use?" Guan Junshan stood under the chandelier, hands in his pockets, looking at him. "Or will you wait and see who will help you?"

"Lin Haoda." By the last sentence, Guan Junshan's tone was already very harsh. "You've really enlightened me."

After saying this, he turned and left the restaurant.

Guan Junshan took the elevator straight back to his room. The front desk called on the internal line to ask if the bill from earlier should still be charged to his card as before.

Guan Junshan said "Yes," and for the first time in his life, hung up before the other person finished. His head pounded, and his chest felt tight.

He knew he was not someone who easily lost control of his emotions. Tonight was indeed an exception. Perhaps he had already changed his view of Lin Haoda quite a bit, thinking too highly of him, which was why, when the rose-tinted glasses came off, he felt the indignation of being deceived.

Caring about his illness, asking after his well-being, sharing daily life... so all of it was just an act he put on.

How could anyone use mixed signals as a bargaining chip?

Guan Junshan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the traffic flowing endlessly below.

He looked out at the city skyline, recalling the expression on Lin Haoda's face when he was exposed at the dinner table. His fingers gradually pressed into the glass, and he couldn't help but wonder: that day when Lin Haoda followed him to the restaurant and insisted on taking his coat for dry cleaning—was that also part of the plan?

—Relying on his good looks and pitiful demeanor, did he often deceive and toy with people like this?

—How many times had he pulled this? Were his targets male or female? And what did he get out of it?

Guan Junshan inevitably let his thoughts wander further and deeper, losing focus for a rare moment. When he snapped out of it, he forced himself to think about other things.

When his emotions finally calmed down, he walked into the living room, pulled painkillers out of his bag, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed a few.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait too long for the medicine to take effect. Lin Haoda, along with the headache that Guan Junshan had endured all night, was finally driven out of his head.