Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 22

The racetrack twisted violently outside the car window, pulled into a blurry, out-of-focus vortex of colors. The roar of the engine was the sole reigning tyrant over his senses, nearly drowning out the thundering of the blood surging through Fang Mingxuan’s veins blood that was being repeatedly boiled by jealousy and a sharp, stinging pain.

Two performance-beast sports cars were like savage animals biting and dueling in a narrow concrete canyon; every chase, every overtake, and every malicious swerve kicked up invisible sparks and murderous intent. The silver and black afterimages intertwined, weaving a heart-stopping, dangerous totem.

All of Fang Mingxuan’s past skills on the track, his composure, and even the judgment he prided himself on were cast to the winds, crushed beneath the tires. In his crimson-tinted vision, there was only the silver ghost ahead and the shimmering, thorn-like silhouette in the passenger seat that stabbed at his heart. Every effortless, provocative lane change by Liu Wei, every mocking slowdown to obstruct him, was like a blunt knife repeatedly slicing through his nerves, which were already stretched to the limit.

He could even “hear” Liu Wei’s triumphant, venomous laughter echoing sharply in the depths of his mind.

Overtake him! I must force him to stop! Make him stop! This thought was like a maggot in his marrow, transforming into a curse that devoured his reason.

Entering a high-speed right-hander, a fierce light flashed in Fang Mingxuan’s eyes. He floored the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. The black sports car, like a shark out of control, forced its way inside without regard for the consequences!

Was it rage that had completely incinerated his sense of distance? Or was it some subconscious, suicidal madness at work?

BOOM—!!!

A dull, massive impact rang out not the shrill scream of metal and rubber, but a solid, catastrophic thud! The front right corner of the black car, at a nearly suicidal angle, bit savagely into the area above the silver car’s rear left wheel hub!

At the moment of impact, time seemed to stretch and freeze. Fang Mingxuan felt an irresistible, brutal force strike from the right. His body was strangled by the seatbelt before being slammed hard toward the left! The entire world spun and overturned madly before his eyes, the scenery outside blurring into a flowing mess of filth.

Next came an even more violent vibration the black car, spinning out of control, slammed sideways into the thick, wall-like tire barrier at the edge of the track! The dull thud erupted again, and the airbag burst open in front of him with a bang, releasing a cloud of white mist and a pungent chemical powder smell that instantly filled the cockpit.

Tinnitus. A sharp, persistent ringing. After the violent jolting, the world fell into a strange, buzzing silence.

The silver car, having sustained the hit, also fishtailed and slid a long distance away. Liu Wei was deathly pale, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he slammed on the emergency brakes. The tires let out a shrill scream against the ground, and he finally managed to stop just short of hitting the wall.

After what felt like a century, Fang Mingxuan struggled to find a shred of clarity amidst the pressure of the airbag and the intense vertigo. He gasped for air, his lungs burning and his ears still ringing. He forced open the slightly deformed car door and stumbled out onto the ground. He knelt on one knee on the rough racetrack surface, his other hand bracing himself against the ground to keep from collapsing.

His face was pale from blood loss. He had hit his head somewhere; a streak of brilliant red seeped from his forehead, slowly sliding down his brow. The adrenaline-induced shaking raced through his body like an electric current. Fortunately, the barrier of the top-tier track had absorbed most of the impact, and the rigid structure of the cockpit had held up. The front and sides of both cars were a mess of scattered parts, but at least a more tragic outcome had been avoided.

However, Fang Mingxuan didn’t care about any of that. He didn’t even wipe the blood from his forehead. His gaze was like a fire-tempered grappling hook, piercing through the acrid blue smoke rising from the hood to lock onto the tightly closed passenger door of the silver car. His eyes swirled with a post-disaster violence, un-faded alarm and rage, and a deeper, nearly incinerating anxiety.

Liu Wei had also stepped out of his car by now. Clutching his chest where the seatbelt had left a red mark he walked quickly toward Fang Mingxuan with a face full of carefully staged panic and “concern.” He reached out to support Fang’s still-swaying body. “Mingxuan! My god… how are you? Where are you hurt? How could you be so impulsive? Do you want to die?! That was so dangerous just now…”

“Get… OUT!”

Fang Mingxuan swung his arm violently, using all his remaining strength to shove away Liu Wei’s reaching hand. The force carried a desperate finality. Caught off guard, Liu Wei stumbled and nearly fell. Fang Mingxuan’s voice was husky and broken, like sandpaper over rusted iron, carrying the ferocity of a survivor and something even more painful. He didn’t care about Liu Wei’s act; he couldn’t even feel the wound on his forehead or the dull ache throughout his body. All his senses and consciousness were locked on that one direction.

Finally, the passenger door of the silver car was pushed open from the inside.

Dong Junhao stepped out. Those large sunglasses of his had flown off during the impact. Aside from his face being slightly pale from the sudden turn of events, he appeared mostly unharmed, his tall frame still upright. However, there was not much expression on his face; in fact, he was unnervingly calm. He stood in stark, icy contrast to the disaster scene filled with smoke, debris, and pungent smells.

Fang Mingxuan’s gaze was like that of a drowning man catching a final straw, clinging tightly to him. That look was a mixture of too many emotions: un-faded shock, the humiliation of being provoked, the heart-pounding terror of the moment of losing control, and a trace of nearly pathetic pleading that he didn’t want to admit even to himself. He wanted to find a crack in that face—to find even a ripple of concern, emotion, or even angry accusation caused by his injury or this mad scene.

However, Dong Junhao’s gaze was merely flat, almost routine, as it swept over the mangled black car, the brilliant blood on Fang Mingxuan’s forehead, and his pathetic, kneeling figure, and then…

Indifferently and without pause, it moved away.

His vision bypassed the stunned Liu Wei and looked toward the distant rescue vehicles approaching with flashing lights. It was as if the man before him who had just caused a car crash because of him and might have internal injuries was merely an irrelevant obstacle that needed clearing.

To cut ties completely, to ruthlessly crush that uncontrollable surge of shock and bitterness in his heart, Dong Junhao forced his heart to freeze into the hardest ice. Only his hands, tucked into the pockets of the slightly oversized racing suit, were clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms and leaving crescent-shaped bloody marks. His chin was tilted slightly, his profile as cold and hard as rock, as he fought to maintain a detached posture as if all the noise, danger, and pain before him had nothing to do with him.

Only he knew how his heart had stopped for a heartbeat during the collision, and how it was now thundering madly in his chest, nearly breaking his ribs. Only he knew how his hidden hands were shaking uncontrollably and how his thigh muscles were spasming beneath the fabric. The blood sliding from Fang Mingxuan’s forehead stung his peripheral vision and felt like a red-hot iron against his shrinking heart.

The spark of expectation in Fang Mingxuan’s eyes the one that had flickered weakly amidst the rage and despair was snuffed out by Dong Junhao’s “dismissive” glance. What followed was a deeper chill a cold, dull pain spreading from the depths of his heart that was enough to freeze his blood. That pain was far more vivid and lethal than his physical injuries.

It was as if all his strength had been drained in an instant. The final shred of will supporting his body collapsed, and he fell back onto the ground, unable to care about the roughness or the cold. He stopped looking at Dong Junhao, letting the blood on his forehead continue to trail down and letting the pain in his back and the icy plains in his heart swallow him whole.

When Liu Wei approached again, putting on an even more “worried” and even “guilty” face to help him up, he didn’t push him away again. He was like a doll whose soul had been removed stiff and compliant as Liu Wei pulled him from the ground.

The rescue personnel arrived, quickly checking the scene and inquiring about injuries. Fang Mingxuan allowed them to handle him in silence. When he was semi-forcibly placed on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance with its piercing red and blue lights, his gaze remained lowered. He never looked in the direction where Dong Junhao stood not even once.

The siren of the ambulance pierced through the chaos of the racetrack, carrying Fang Mingxuan away, and seemingly taking with it a certain boiling yet icy atmosphere.

Dong Junhao stood on the spot like a silent stone statue. The early autumn wind blew with a chill, kicking up dust and debris from the ground and also blowing across the surface of the newly frozen lake in his heart, creating ripples of pain that no one could see. The fists in his pockets loosened, then clenched tight again; the wounds on his palms made by his nails oozed a sticky heat.

Liu Wei watched the ambulance disappear before slowly sauntering back, patting away non-existent dust from his racing suit. Despite being at an accident scene, he couldn’t help but let a look of triumph surface on his face a smile that looked exceptionally jarring and inappropriate against the surrounding chaos. He walked to Dong Junhao’s side and spoke in a low voice, his tone filled with the “mission accomplished” pleasure of someone whose plan had worked:

“My, though the process… was a bit intense, and this accident happened. But the result seems even better than expected.” He glanced at Dong Junhao’s expressionless side profile and continued, “Don’t worry. After this, with Fang Mingxuan’s pride and his hatred of being ‘ignored,’ I’d say he’s completely given up. In the future, he definitely won’t come to bother you again. Our little play… can be considered a successful ending!”

Dong Junhao turned his head slowly, very slowly. His face still held no clear emotion, but his eyes were like two deep lakes covered in thick ice cold and profound, clearly reflecting Liu Wei’s face, which was filled with calculation and triumph. He spoke, his voice as steady as a calm sea yet sharp as an ice pick, making the smile on Liu Wei’s face freeze instantly:

“Is that so? Then I must… congratulate you, President Liu. Your calculations were flawless. Not only did you vent your anger, but I suppose… ‘rekindling the old flame’ is just around the corner.”

Liu Wei was visibly stunned. He hadn’t expected Dong Junhao to be so blunt even sharply sarcastic piercing through his whitewashed true intentions in a single sentence. He looked Dong Junhao up and down again, his gaze now holding more scrutiny and surprise, as if truly “seeing” this man he had viewed as a “pawn” and a “brute” for the first time. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he gave a dry cough, trying to hide it with a laugh:

“Ahem… Master Dong, those words are… a bit cold, don’t you think. This was… mutual benefit; we both got what we wanted. You got rid of an unwanted pest, and I… well, I gave him a profound ‘lesson.’ A win-win, win-win.”

“Have you said enough?” Dong Junhao interrupted him. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unquestionable, finality. He didn’t give Liu Wei another chance to perform or explain; he walked straight to the damaged silver car and nimbly began to strip off the expensive, yet suffocating leather racing suit. The zip of the fastener sounded exceptionally clear and resolute against the fading noise of the track.

He took off the jacket and tossed it onto the messy passenger seat, followed by the trousers. Finally, wearing only his thin old work undershirt and faded cotton trousers, he stood in the increasingly biting autumn wind. His tall, sturdy frame remained straight, yet exuded a cold, isolated hardness after being stripped of all pretense.

“Our mutual utilization ends here.” Dong Junhao looked at Liu Wei, his eyes lacking even a shred of the endurance or compromise he had shown while being forced to cooperate. There was only total detachment and frozen indifference. “Now that the goals have been achieved, we are even. You are you, and I am me. There is nothing between us.”

With that, he didn’t wait for a reaction. He turned and strode with resolute steps toward the exit of the racetrack. His silhouette stretched long on the empty track; every step seemed to tread over filth and hypocrisy, leaving them far behind. He threw himself into his own world one that might still be difficult, but was at least clean and real.

Liu Wei stood on the spot, watching him leave. The faked embarrassment and smile faded from his face, leaving behind a dark, unreadable gloom. He raised a hand, slowly stroking his chin, and whispered to himself, his voice neither angry nor amused:

“Heh… I misjudged him. He’s not a solid piece of wood; he’s a stone wrapped in a hard shell. Interesting…”

Dong Junhao walked despondently back to the crowded, sweltering dormitory of the bathhouse. His body felt as if it had been crushed by a heavy hammer; every muscle ached with fatigue, and his heart was more like a wasteland in the aftermath of a storm. He collapsed onto his creaking hard bed like a piece of rotted wood, not even bothering to take off his dusty clothes.

His mind was a mess of voices and images crashing into each other. On one hand, he felt extreme disgust and rage toward the world represented by Fang Mingxuan and Liu Wei the world that viewed feelings as a game and hearts as pawns; he wanted to turn all his frustration into the crudest curses. But on the other hand, the heart-stopping image of the black car crashing into the barrier, the brilliant blood on Fang Mingxuan’s forehead as he stumbled out, and his pale, lost profile as he was lifted into the ambulance… these invaded his mind like stubborn ghosts. Every flash brought a sharp, jabbing pain that made his very soul spasm.

He tossed and turned on the narrow bunk before finally burying his face in his pillow a pillow that smelled of sweat, dust, and cheap laundry soap, familiar yet suffocating.

He… shouldn’t be entirely that kind of person, right? Back at the villa, those words, those looks… they couldn’t have all been an act, could they?

A faint but stubborn voice struggled in a corner of his heart, only for him to ruthlessly crush it with a stronger willpower, almost with a self-torturing pleasure.

Enough! Stop thinking! From now on, he is the high-and-mighty Chairman Fang, and I am Master Dong the back-scrubber! Our paths don’t cross! This was all… a ridiculous nightmare that should be forgotten upon waking!

Exhausted to the limit, his consciousness finally blurred amidst the self-hypnotic repetition, sinking into a vast, murky darkness. In his dreams, the wreckage of the car and the steam of the bathhouse intertwined; Fang Mingxuan’s bottomless eyes and Liu Wei’s mocking lips overlapped; and the golden waves of wheat from his hometown burned and distorted under a piercing sun… Everything was bizarre, pressing down on him until he could barely breathe.

Just as he was struggling in the abyss of nothingness, a sharp, stubborn, almost violent ringtone from his phone pierced the heavy darkness and silence like a blade!

Dong Junhao bolted upright in bed, his heart thundering against his ribs and a layer of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. The dormitory was dark, with only the distant neon lights outside casting a faint glow through the grimy glass. His roommates hadn’t returned; only his own heavy breathing was audible.

He stiffly turned his neck and fumbled for the old phone with a cracked screen by his pillow. The blue backlight lit up in the dark. The moment he saw the caller ID, his heart seized as if gripped by an invisible hand.

It was his younger brother, Dong Xiaogang.

A premonition of disaster, like a cold snake, raced up his spine and coiled around his neck, bringing a shudder. He swallowed hard, trying to moisten a throat as dry as sandpaper, before pressing the answer button. His voice was husky from sleep and held a suppressed tremble. “Hello? Xiaogang? Why are you calling so late…”

“BROTHER!!!”

On the other end of the line, his brother’s voice was like someone reaching for a final straw sharp, terrified, and filled with uncontrollable sobbing. It instantly froze Dong Junhao’s lingering sleepiness and chaotic thoughts into ice.

“Brother! Something’s happened! It’s bad! Mom… Mom she…”