Chapter 14: The Veil of Maya (14)

After Gu Jing left, Wen Mingwei waited alone in the car for Tan Zhao as agreed.

He had a premonition that Tan Zhao would be busy all day and would only reappear by evening. He had underestimated, however; Tan Zhao kept him waiting until after nine at night.

They had changed locations once—from the hospital to the company. Wen Mingwei parked the car beneath the Tan Corporation headquarters and took a break at a nearby café, having a bit to eat.

Around one in the afternoon, Tan Zhao sent his secretary downstairs to find Wen Mingwei, but he wasn’t there. Suddenly, Wen Mingwei received a call: “Have you left?”

“I’m here,” Wen Mingwei answered, thinking Tan Zhao was done for the day. “So soon?”

Tan Zhao said, “I told my secretary to bring you some food. Where are you?”

“I’ve eaten, no need to bother.” Wen Mingwei’s voice carried the café’s background music—leisurely and comfortable, a good environment. The young master immediately frowned. “Wen Mingwei, is this how you keep me company? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t leave?”

“I’m just across the street, not far.”

Wen Mingwei smiled. “I can’t just sit still all day, can I?”

“Why not?”

“...”

“Come upstairs now and keep me company. There’s a lounge next door where you can sleep, play on your phone, do whatever you want. I’m not leaving, and you’re not allowed to either.”

Wen Mingwei was speechless.

If this were a test for a suitor, the young master’s ideal might be a traditional “pampered wife” type—completely obedient and clingy.

Or, looking at it another way, Tan Zhao himself could be the “pampered wife” type personality—strongly dependent on his partner, uneasy when apart.

But Tan Zhao wasn’t aware of this and had no time to ponder it. His requests to Wen Mingwei were instinctual, indifferent to reason or excess. After speaking, he quickly hung up, leaving no room for refusal.

Three minutes later, his secretary arrived and politely invited Wen Mingwei to “rest.”

The secretary was the same man from the hospital, around forty, dressed in a suit, exuding elite professionalism. He greeted Wen Mingwei and introduced himself as Mr. Han.

Wen Mingwei nodded and cooperated, following him.

Because reporters were outside the company’s main entrance, Mr. Han took a detour, leading Wen Mingwei to a hidden side door and up an exclusive elevator. This avoided both the press and company employees, making the journey quiet and somewhat awkward.

Mr. Han wondered why he had to serve Wen Mingwei, a mere outsider, going through so much trouble to bring him to the top floor, right next to the boardroom, and even guarding the door to prevent him from leaving.

Judging by appearance, he suspected this man was Tan Zhao’s boyfriend—neither family nor friend, only a lover.

But on a day like today, the young master bringing his boyfriend to the company was utterly improper.

Mr. Han silently scolded himself, though he dared not show any emotion.

The elevator climbed steadily, its polished silver walls reflecting the man’s tall figure and calm profile. Anyone with a hint of aesthetic sense would find it hard not to stare and become entranced.

Lost in thought, the man suddenly spoke: “By the way, since Mr. Tan Sr.’s illness came on suddenly, did he have time to make a will?”

“No,” Mr. Han replied without hesitation, then suddenly snapped to attention—how could he share such matters with an outsider?

“Who’s currently in charge of the board?” Wen Mingwei asked. “Is Mr. Tan Yi the acting chairman?”

Mr. Han broke into a cold sweat, clamping his mouth shut.

Yet Wen Mingwei, looking refined but radiating a strong commanding aura that filled the elevator, pressed on until Mr. Han obeyed instinctively: “...Yes, he’s the vice chairman.”

“What did the police say earlier?”

“They’ve thoroughly investigated the hospital, found nothing abnormal, and cannot classify it as murder.”

“Has the funeral been arranged?”

“The vice chairman wants to send the body to the funeral home tomorrow and prepare the ceremony, but the young master disagrees. They just argued about it...”

Mr. Han’s voice grew quieter as sweat poured down his face. He imagined himself being fired for letting such secrets slip. Yet Wen Mingwei seemed pleased, patting his shoulder approvingly: “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“...”

For some reason, that made Mr. Han even more anxious.

Each piece of this information was explosive news. Thankfully, Wen Mingwei was someone close to Tan Zhao, so it should be fine.

Wiping his sweat, the elevator stopped, and Mr. Han quickly led Wen Mingwei to the lounge.

Wen Mingwei stayed in the lounge all afternoon and evening without leaving.

Next door, the board meeting was ongoing, soundproofed so no noise leaked. Judging by the length, it was clearly more than a routine business meeting.

Around six o’clock, Wen Mingwei spotted people gradually leaving the corridor through the one-way glass door—it seemed they were wrapping up.

But Tan Zhao didn’t come out. Wen Mingwei learned from Mr. Han that Tan Zhao was discussing funeral arrangements privately with family and would need to wait longer.

That wait stretched until nine.

For most, waiting would be agonizing, but not for Wen Mingwei. He had the patience; with nothing urgent, staying here was no different from being elsewhere.

His health was fragile, though. One day he’d recover from one illness, and the next something else would flare. Rarely a day passed when he was truly well. By the time Tan Zhao arrived, Wen Mingwei was already dozing on the lounge sofa.

After sending Mr. Han away, Tan Zhao closed the door and approached him.

Wen Mingwei, a light sleeper, sensed a shadow fall over him and opened his eyes immediately.

“...Are you done with your work?”

“Yeah, taking a break tonight.”

Tan Zhao looked as he did earlier—wearing the same clothes all day, his complexion worse, and carrying a faint smell of smoke. He didn’t smoke himself; whoever smoked in his presence wasn’t many, likely his uncle.

Wen Mingwei’s nostrils twitched slightly. Tan Zhao noticed and frowned: “Keep sleeping. I’ll take a shower.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, don’t want to go home.”

The lounge was a suite with a large bathroom. After speaking, Tan Zhao took off his shirt, tossed it onto the nearby sofa, and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door.

Perhaps from exhaustion, Wen Mingwei saw through the frosted glass that Tan Zhao leaned against the wall motionless for a long time, as if drained of strength, his movements slow and heavy. After a while, he turned on the shower, water sounds faintly heard.

Not long after, Tan Zhao finished quickly, wrapped in a towel, and went to the cabinet for fresh clothes.

He faced away from Wen Mingwei, bending to open the cabinet door. His shoulders to waist formed a taut curve, the towel wrapped around his hips, revealing flawless long legs—the perfect proportions of an ideal human model.

Wen Mingwei didn’t often compare Tan Zhao to Jian Qingzheng, but sometimes certain angles unintentionally summoned long-buried memories.

The subtlety lay in the blurry recollections; the person before him was clear. Wen Mingwei sometimes suspected he had altered his memories to make the differences between Tan Zhao and Jian Qingzheng overlap, making them seem more alike.

“What are you looking at?” Tan Zhao suddenly came up, holding a set of unworn clothes.

Wen Mingwei changed the subject: “Is this your room?”

“Sort of. When I was young, I often came here to visit my grandfather. He worked here, and I would do homework, play games, and sleep here. Usually, no one else comes.”

Tan Zhao’s voice caught midway, memories vivid yet bittersweet. Things had changed; the people were gone.

But if he didn’t want to face memories at home, how could he avoid them here?

He steadied his breath and changed clothes in front of Wen Mingwei, sitting down with damp hair dripping down his neck.

Wen Mingwei kindly picked up a towel to dry him. After a few strokes, Tan Zhao leaned in weakly and rested on his shoulder, embracing him.

It was a continuation of the embrace from the car earlier. Wen Mingwei had initiated it, and Tan Zhao felt justified tightening his hold. He pressed him firmly into the sofa, bodies intertwined closely. Breathing in Wen Mingwei’s subtle scent at his neck, he said, “I’m so tired, sleepy.”

Wen Mingwei wrapped his arms around Tan Zhao’s shoulders. “Sleep. Whatever needs doing can wait until tomorrow.”

“Will you stay with me?” Tan Zhao asked softly. “Sleep together?”

Before Wen Mingwei could answer, Tan Zhao added: “Just sleep, nothing else. Don’t read too much into it.”

Wen Mingwei smiled. “The bed is small. Two people might be uncomfortable, no?”

“I don’t mind the crowding. What are you trying to avoid?” The young master, as the precious pursued, tossed out an enticing offer: “I’ll add twenty points for you tonight.”

“...”

Wen Mingwei thought to himself: Staying up all night is only worth twenty points? Isn’t that too little?

But seeing Tan Zhao’s current state, if he refused, Tan Zhao might throw a tantrum, forbid him from leaving, and repeat several times: “I don’t need you at all. Don’t be ungrateful.”

—That was how Wen Mingwei was as a child.

Back then, Jian Qingzheng followed him everywhere. He would hide and claim annoyance, but if Jian Qingzheng didn’t show up one day and he was caught with other friends, he would throw an even bigger fit.

The worst was when he ignored Jian Qingzheng for three months, forcing the latter to apologize and bribe him with gifts to make peace.

At that time, his mindset was one of deprivation and fragile pride—needing patience and comfort but unwilling to admit it, even resenting that weakness and trying to force it away.

He eventually changed, but so did his ability to feel happiness.

Many things in life are like that—two sides of the same coin, a double-edged sword, impossible to have both fish and bear’s paw.

Tan Zhao was not lacking love, but most of the affection he had came from Tan Yingzhuo. With his grandfather’s death, half the world was gone.

Wen Mingwei felt a pang of sympathy, as if pitying his own once weak and vulnerable self. He slid his hand into Tan Zhao’s damp hair and stroked it gently. “Alright, I’ll stay with you tonight.”

Tan Zhao answered contentedly and pulled him off the sofa to the small bedroom’s bed inside.

Wen Mingwei wanted to shower first, but Tan Zhao didn’t even give him the chance to undress. Half his weight pressed heavily on Wen Mingwei as he collapsed onto the bed, turning off the light and forbidding any further movement.