Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 15

Gradually, the dense, oppressive concrete jungle outside the car windows was left behind, and the field of vision opened up as if breaking free from shackles.

The rolling contours of mountains stretched across the horizon, and vast waves of lush green trees connected in emerald tides. Interspersed among them were orderly patches of farmland shimmering in various hues, resembling a giant, vibrant artist’s palette. The wind poured in through the half-open window, carrying the distinct, fresh scent of the countryside the slight bitterness of grass sap, the fragrance of soil baked by the sun, and the faint, distant aroma of damp vegetation and water vapor.

Dong Junhao’s nerves, which had been as tight as a bowstring throughout the journey, unknowingly relaxed under the silent comfort of this open, natural scenery. The stifling feeling in his chest, squeezed by urban clamor and prior embarrassment, seemed to dissipate with every breath of fresh air. As he watched the pastoral landscape flash by, a long-lost sense of kinship with the rural earth quietly took root.

He couldn’t help but turn his head toward Fang Mingxuan, who sat in the driver’s seat with a relaxed posture, and asked the question circling his mind: “Do you… live this far from the city?”

“Oh, when I’m busy, I stay in a downtown apartment for convenience.” Fang Mingxuan tapped his fingers rhythmically against the cold, textured steering wheel, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. “But whenever time permits, I prefer coming here. It’s for the peace, the good air, and so my eyes can see some actual greenery.”

Dong Junhao gave a soft “oh,” and his vague understanding that “rich people own multiple properties” finally found a place to land. However, the preference for “pastoral life” and “nature” expressed in the man’s tone wasn’t just a pretense of elegance; it was a genuine inclination. This subtly overturned his previous stereotype of such playboys as “people who only know pleasure and lack grounding,” sparking a faint sense of wonder in his heart.

The sports car eventually turned gracefully onto a clean, almost spotless asphalt path, entering an avenue shaded by tall, dense trees. The dappled shadows filtered out most of the sweltering sunlight, and the surroundings instantly became quiet, save for the slight rustle of tires on the road.

Ahead, a pair of black iron gates minimalist in design yet exuding a heavy, high-quality texture stood silently. As if sensing the vehicle’s approach, the gates slid open without a sound.

The scene revealed before Dong Junhao made his eyes widen slightly, his pupils reflecting his initial surprise. It wasn’t the extremely luxurious, over-sculpted mansion courtyard he had imagined. Instead, he first saw a garden that was exceptionally well-maintained yet didn’t feel overly artificial. Flowers and plants were naturally scattered, with a winding pebble path snaking between them.

Even more surprising to him was the giant glass greenhouse shimmering with a crystal-like luster under the sun on one side of the garden, and right next to it, a farmhouse with a quaint red-brick chimney. These two structures, full of life and even a bit “rustic,” were juxtaposed with the nearby three-story villa which featured clean lines and a modern feel. Far from being out of place, they formed a strange harmony and tranquility that bridged different eras.

“We’re here.” Fang Mingxuan parked the car smoothly under the carport, took off his sunglasses, and set them aside. He pushed the door open, looked back to see Dong Junhao still sitting in the car staring dazed at the scenery, and couldn’t help but smile. The smile reached his eyes, making them sparkle.

“What are you daydreaming about, Chef Dong? Your ‘battlefield’ is over there,” he said, pointing toward the greenhouse and the farmhouse. “The ingredients are waiting for your inspection. How can you decide the menu without checking out the ‘vegetable patch’ first?”

He led Dong Junhao past the villa and straight toward the glass greenhouse. Pushing open the heavy double-layer glass doors, a wave of heat mixed with damp soil, the scent of vigorous plant growth, and warm sunlight greeted them warmly, instantly enveloping them.

Inside, the greenhouse was bright and transparent with a pleasant temperature. Rows of neat vertical cultivation racks held various vegetables growing healthily green and lush, looking so fresh they seemed to drip with dew. There were tender cucumbers with their characteristic prickles, round and plump tomatoes in shades of red and yellow, lettuce and oilseed rape with spreading thick leaves, various peppers, and glossy purple eggplants. There were even several ridges of strawberries hiding under green leaves, revealing tempting spots of bright red.

“Did… did you grow these?” Dong Junhao crouched down, looking at this miniature “farm” in disbelief. His finger hesitated before lightly touching a tomato leaf. That fuzzy, life-filled sensation instantly triggered a switch in his memory, as if pulling him back to summer afternoons in his hometown, squatting by his family’s vegetable garden.

“I hired professionals to look after it. Me? I just come over occasionally to be an amateur farmer pulling weeds or picking fruit. It’s a hobby to adjust my mood.” Fang Mingxuan followed his lead, crouching down somewhat awkwardly beside him. He reached out and precisely picked a ripe, firm-skinned tomato, weighed it in his palm, and handed it over. “Want to try? They grow right here in the shed; no messy chemicals on them. Just wipe it and you can eat.”

Dong Junhao took it, instinctively wiped it on his clothes, and took a bite. The sweet and slightly tart juice exploded in his mouth, mixed with the warmth of the sun and the gift of the soil. It was the pure, natural taste that the beautifully packaged vegetables in the city could never compare to. His face relaxed involuntarily, revealing a brief but genuine smile as he nodded and gave a simple evaluation: “Mm, it’s really sweet.”

This plain affirmation seemed to put Fang Mingxuan in an even better mood. He then took Dong Junhao to see the red-brick farmhouse next door. The space inside wasn’t large but was organized neatly. Farm tools like hoes, shovels, and rakes were lined up along the wall, glowing with the soft luster of use. Most striking was the traditional brick-built stove and large iron pot in the corner. Though clearly modernized with a gas connection, it still retained a heavy atmosphere of home cooking. In another corner lay a heap of recently harvested potatoes still clinging to soil and several old pumpkins.

“How about it, Chef?” Fang Mingxuan leaned against a heavy solid-wood tool cabinet, his posture completely relaxed, even holding a hint of expectation. “Today, you call the shots. Pick whatever you want from the greenhouse; there are fresh farm eggs in the farmhouse, and I’ve stocked the fridge with meat. As for me, I’ll be your assistant today. How does that sound?”

The environment’s influence on a person is subtle yet immense. In this place filled with pastoral vitality which resonated strongly with the rural memories flowing in his blood and facing a Fang Mingxuan who had removed his expensive coat, rolled up his sleeves, and appeared casual or even “clumsy” while adapting to the farmhouse, the hard, protective shell Dong Junhao had wrapped around himself in the city began to soften and crack without him realizing it.

His eyes lit up as if he had finally stepped onto a “territory” he was familiar with and could control. His entire state transformed. “Then… let me see what we have first.”

He rubbed his hands, his palms warming with anticipation, and turned back to the greenhouse to begin a careful inspection with a professional eye. Sometimes he pinched a cucumber to check its firmness and prickles; other times he weighed the ripeness of a tomato or checked the color and skin of the eggplants. He muttered to himself unconsciously, as if consulting with old friends.

“The eggplants are just right thick flesh. They’d be good for Fish-Fragrant Eggplant or oil-braised… The tomatoes are fully ripe with a sandy texture; they’ll be fresh in a stir-fry with eggs or a soup… These peppers have a kick; they’ll definitely go well with pork belly for Twice-Cooked Pork… Let me pull a few handfuls of scallions to season the oil…”

Fang Mingxuan really did follow half a step behind him, a natural-colored wicker basket appearing in his hand at some point. Whatever Dong Junhao took a liking to, he would nimbly pick and carefully place in the basket. At first, his movements in identifying the vegetables and judging where to pick them were a bit green and hesitant the specific clumsiness of someone used to being pampered. But soon, under Dong Junhao’s brief instructions, he began to do it quite well.

One focused on choosing, the other on picking with unspoken coordination. Occasionally, they exchanged a brief comment over a particularly fresh cucumber or a perfectly shaped tomato. The atmosphere was lighter and more natural than ever before, even tinged with a strange harmony.

The sunlight poured generously through the crystal-clear glass roof, forming pillars of bright light that warmly enveloped the two of them. Dong Junhao had long since rolled his sleeves up high. His bronze, sturdy, and powerful forearms, set against the backdrop of the lush greenhouse, were filled with the aesthetic of labor. His brow was slightly furrowed, his expression focused and calm. It was a type of steady, confident radiance belonging to a worker that Fang Mingxuan had never seen on his face before it was exceptionally moving.

From time to time, Fang Mingxuan’s gaze fell on Dong’s relaxed brow, his efficient and powerful movements, and his temples slightly dampened by sweat. A deep, unreadable smile remained on Fang’s lips a smile of satisfaction, appreciation, and perhaps more selfish plans.

Having picked a full basket of dew-covered, fresh vegetables and taken several brown farm eggs from the farmhouse, Dong Junhao already had a rough menu in mind. Only then did Fang Mingxuan lead him toward the distinctively styled villa.

The moment he pushed open the panoramic glass doors that merged with the garden and stepped inside, Dong Junhao’s footsteps stopped abruptly, as if he had hit an invisible wall. Before him was an extremely open, high-ceilinged space so bright and transparent it felt unreal.

Minimalist lines, vast white spaces, a primary palette of high-end gray and natural wood… every piece of furniture and every decoration looked as though it had undergone the most rigorous measurement, exuding a sense of cool, expensive order. The floor was as bright as a mirror, reflecting the sky and clouds outside as well as their own silhouettes; it was so clean it looked as though it had never touched a speck of dust. The air was permeated with a faint, crisp fragrance that clashed with the scent of soil and plants he brought from the greenhouse.

Dong Junhao looked down at his old sneakers, which were stained with a bit of mud, and then at the light-colored stone floor beneath his feet. A strong sense of self-consciousness and bewilderment seized him. He stood at the entrance like a rough stone statue suddenly moved to a museum door, his raised foot hesitating to descend, fearing the filth on his soles would desecrate this spotless floor.

“What are you standing there for? Come in.” Fang Mingxuan had already walked in. Seeing him frozen at the door, a flash of understanding crossed his eyes. Far from minding, he turned back and very naturally reached out, grabbing Dong Junhao’s somewhat sweaty wrist the touch was warm and powerful, carrying an unquestionable pull as he gently led him inside.

“No need to change your shoes. There aren’t many rules here.”

Led by him, Dong Junhao stumbled onto the polished floor, feeling like an intruder. He instinctively tensed his body, every movement becoming cautious. Fang Mingxuan seemed to sense his tension and let go, explaining in a relaxed tone, “Don’t be so formal. I usually live here alone; it’s quite empty and quiet. Just treat it like your own home… well, be a bit more casual. It doesn’t matter if you get things dirty or messy; someone will come to clean it up tomorrow.”

His words slightly eased Dong Junhao’s awkwardness, but the sense of being in a foreign land remained strong. Fang Mingxuan led him through the open living room toward the connected open kitchen. The kitchen was equally stunning the island was wide, and the kitchen appliances were embedded in the cabinets, shimmering with the cold light of metal. They were all imported brands Dong Junhao couldn’t name and looked incredibly complex. It was as clean as a showroom display and didn’t look like a place where cooking actually happened.

Fang Mingxuan opened the massive double-door refrigerator. Inside, fresh meat, seafood, and various ingredients were indeed neatly arranged clearly prepared with care. “See if anything is missing,” he asked.

Dong Junhao shook his head. The ingredients were more than sufficient overly sufficient, in fact. His gaze swept over the gleaming but unfamiliar kitchenware induction cooktops, multi-functional ovens, steamers, and appliances he had no idea how to operate… his brow furrowed again involuntarily. This kitchen was a world apart from the stoves he was familiar with, which required only an iron pot and a spatula.

Holding the heavy, rustic basket and ingredients in the center of this cold, efficient, and design-heavy modern kitchen, his familiar sense of control began to fade. The previous lightness was once again clouded by hesitation. He turned back to Fang Mingxuan with a face showing a mix of determination and uncertainty. While the pastoral atmosphere had dissolved much of his previous formality, it was resurfacing in the face of this environment.

He pursed his lips and cautiously voiced a bold inquiry: “Can the traditional stove and iron pot in the farmhouse be used? You wouldn’t mind eating a meal cooked over a real flame, would you?”