Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 13

To say that Dong Junhao had never fantasized while tossing and turning at night about one day making something of himself and carving out a place in some corner of this massive city would be a lie that even he couldn’t tell himself.

In the dead of night, when he lay exhausted on his hard plank bed, those vague but burning thoughts had indeed grown like wild grass in the barren fields of his heart. They burned in his chest, keeping him awake for hours.

But while ideals were searing hot, reality was bone-chillingly cold.

His years of struggling in the city were like someone pouring bucket after bucket of ice-slushed water over his meager sparks. That faint glimmer of hope had long since been doused, leaving behind only a wisp of flickering, scorched-smelling smoke that made his throat bitter and his eyes sting.

He saw it all too clearly: in this bizarre world governed by complex rules, if you didn’t have a shrewd mind capable of calculating down to the bone, a gold-stamped academic degree to act as a stepping stone, or the ironclad connections to give you a push at the critical moment… then even if you had raw strength that could lift a mountain, you were only fit to struggle at the edge of the quagmire of survival. You would be pressed firmly at the very bottom of the pyramid by heavier, invisible burdens.

He had seen too many companions like himself men who left their impoverished hometowns with eyes full of light and the same meager hopes only to have their edges ground away by the indifference and complex rules of the urban steel forest. Some accepted their fate and returned home covered in dust to repeat the cycle of their fathers, facing the yellow earth with their backs to the sky. Others became completely numb, like wind-up machines, repeating labor that allowed them to see the end of their lives in a single glance, the light in their eyes long extinguished.

He was not floating through this world alone. Behind him was the heavy weight of home.

In the few acres of thin farmland back home that relied on the whims of the weather, his parents’ increasingly hunched backs and cracked palms were waiting expectantly for him to send back more money. His younger brother had successfully gotten into university the pride of the family and the entire village but behind that pride were the very real, heavy costs of tuition and living expenses that left Dong Junhao without a moment to breathe. Every time he returned to the village or took a call from home, the concerned words of neighbors and relatives would always naturally veer toward: “It’s time to settle down,” “The bride prices back home have risen again,” “Your parents are waiting for a grandson…”

These invisible threads were dense, tightening circle by circle, until they had bound him into an immobile cocoon.

The crushing weight of reality made it hard to breathe. He was like an ox under a yoke; he could only keep his head down and stare at the single furrow of land that had to be plowed, with no right or energy to look toward the distant, perhaps non-existent, fertile fields. How could someone exhausted by the struggle for basic survival and non-negotiable family responsibilities someone who had to calculate every cent have the luxury or the right to talk about far-off “dreams” and “opportunities”?

It was too extravagant. So extravagant it felt like a mockery.

Furthermore, this sudden hope that seemed like a “pie falling from the sky” had been casually uttered by a young, wealthy scion who lived above the clouds. They breathed different air and had only met twice. How much credibility could a few light words hold, promising a brilliant but ethereal future that might be nothing more than a mirage?

They were from two different worlds, separated by a chasm. The other man might just be acting on a whim, finding a “rough thing” like him interesting and offering a bit of “appreciation” before turning around and forgetting all about it. And behind that so-called “opportunity,” what kind of unimaginable price would he have to pay?

Dong Junhao understood the most basic law of this society: the law of equal exchange. He felt it deeply. Right now, he sold his sweat and strength, even enduring uncomfortable touches and gazes, in exchange for a steady, tangible salary and commission. Though humble, it was clear, real, and controllable.

Fang Mingxuan’s invitation, however, was like a beautifully arranged, luxurious gamble. Behind the glitzy gambling table, the price of the entry ticket might be more than he could ever pay it might even be a trap from which he could never escape once he stepped inside. The stakes were likely things he couldn’t afford to lose.

His thoughts were like cold water flowing over hot stones, hissing and quickly cooling any unrealistic warmth. The slight ripple stirred in his heart by the man’s words quickly flattened, sinking and condensing into a harder caution and an instinctive, self-protective distance.

He raised his eyes. This time, his gaze did not dart away, yet it did not truly meet Fang Mingxuan’s bright, soul-piercing eyes either. Instead, his gaze landed on the exquisite dark patterns of the man’s bathrobe. His voice was low but exceptionally firm, carrying the practical clarity of someone who had been hammered by reality:

“Thank you for your kindness and appreciation. It’s just… I have no education, I’m just a rough man who does hard labor. I truly don’t have great ambitions, and I can’t afford to take risks anymore.”

“This current job, though unremarkable, allows me to put in effort and earn honest money. For me, it’s quite suitable and quite good.”

“As for anything else… I don’t dare think about it, and I can’t.”

The rejection was clean and decisive it even sounded somewhat stiff due to his eagerness to draw a line, clearly displaying the high wall he had built within his heart.

The effortless smile that always lingered on Fang Mingxuan’s face seemed to fade almost imperceptibly for a split second, like a ripple on a pond, but it didn’t disappear. Instead, it settled into a deeper, seemingly expected calm and understanding. He showed no embarrassment at being rejected, nor any anger. His posture remained composed; he was like a patient hunter who was in no hurry.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said lightheartedly, as if the invitation that could have changed many people’s lives was truly just casual small talk. “To each his own. I understand, and I won’t force you. However, Master Dong, even if the deal fails, the friendship remains. We know each other now, right? Let’s be friends first surely that’s okay?”

He changed the subject, acting as if he had just remembered something interesting. His brow arched, and that specific playfulness of a noble scion careless yet pinpoint accurate returned.

“And if I remember correctly… didn’t a certain hero just say he would treat me to a meal to show his thanks?” He looked at Dong Junhao with burning eyes. “I wonder if those words still count?”

Dong Junhao froze. Only then did he remember his impulsive outburst of gratitude. His face grew hot, and he nodded quickly. “They count, of course they count. It’s just…”

He rubbed his hands together awkwardly. “I really don’t know any high-end places. I’ve only heard that there’s a small eatery in the back alley. The owner is a fellow from Shandong, and his Lu cuisine is quite authentic. If you don’t mind a simple place…”

“Lu cuisine? Sounds great,” Fang Mingxuan replied readily, looking quite interested.

But then, he furrowed those handsome brows slightly, showing a look that was a perfect mix of pickiness and helplessness. “But then again…” he trailed off, his gaze drifting seemingly by chance over Dong Junhao’s water-stained work clothes.

“I don’t have many flaws, but my stomach is naturally delicate. I’m not used to eating out randomly; I always worry things aren’t clean enough or the seasoning is too heavy. I wonder…” He skillfully pivoted the conversation, looking at Dong Junhao with a searching smile. “Does Master Dong know how to cook Lu cuisine himself?”

“Huh?” Dong Junhao hadn’t expected the topic to turn this way at all. He was momentarily dazed and answered instinctively. “I… I worked as a general laborer in a small restaurant once and learned a few things as an assistant cook. But my skills are purely for feeding myself. I can whip up some home-cooked dishes, but they’re just rustic countryside methods. They’re quite crude and wouldn’t be fit for a formal table, so how could I…”

“I knew I didn’t misjudge you. You really are a multi-talented man of hidden depths.”

Fang Mingxuan didn’t wait for him to finish. He interrupted with a tone of “I knew it,” the interest in his eyes deepening. “I’m already tired of the delicacies and refined cooking out there. Right now, I’m just craving a taste of home something with the ‘breath of the wok’ and a sense of human warmth.”

He took the opportunity to propose his suggestion, which flowed as naturally as if it had been scripted: “Tell you what, let’s not bother with going out. On your day off, come directly to my place. Use the ingredients in my kitchen to whip up a few of your best home-cooked dishes, and we’ll have a simple meal and a chat. We’ll consider that your sincere thanks to me. How about it? That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Dong Junhao fell into an even deeper hesitation.

Going to his house? Cooking for him… alone? This seemed far more private and crossed a more blurred line than eating at a small eatery. A sense of unease crawled up his spine.

“It’s settled then.” Fang Mingxuan no longer gave him time to weigh the options, making the final decision himself with a tone used to giving orders.

He stood up elegantly and grabbed a dry, soft towel, draping it over his shoulder in a casual yet graceful manner that covered his back the skin still flushed a healthy red from the scrubbing. As he turned to leave, he looked back once more at Dong Junhao, who remained frozen on the spot with a face full of complex emotions. He seemed to have seen through all the man’s inner struggles and concerns.

The corner of his mouth curved into a faint, enigmatic smile a look that was part playfulness, part understanding, and perhaps a trace of an almost imperceptible, predatory depth.

“Just bring yourself; no need to prepare anything. Once you know your day off, let me know, and I’ll come pick you up.”

He paused, lowering his voice. He left him with a tease that was almost reassuring, yet contained an underlying, unspoken meaning:

“Don’t worry. I’m not a man-eating tiger. I won’t do anything to you.”