Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 25

Dong Junhao stood frozen on the spot, caught between advancing and retreating.

He tentatively gave a light shout: “Boss Xu?”

The sounds inside stopped abruptly. After a brief silence, the door was swung open. Xu Jun appeared at the entrance, his face flushed and his hair disheveled. His shirt was half-tucked into his waistband and half-hanging out, his collar open, and his entire being radiated a heavy displeasure at having been interrupted.

“What do you want?!” he snapped, the lingering, murky heat of passion still in his eyes.

Dong Junhao instantly understood the meaning behind Master Liu’s expression. There were no secrets in a bathhouse; he knew Xu Jun had remained single after his divorce. For a man in his prime who felt he was about to make it big, it wasn’t surprising for women to throw themselves at him. However, having broken in on the scene, the air between them was suddenly thick with awkwardness.

“Sor—sorry, Boss,” Dong Junhao instinctively took half a step back. “I… I’ll come back later.”

“Spit it out!” Xu Jun clearly had no desire to wait, impatiently tugging at his shirt. “Can’t you see I’m busy? I won’t have time to see you later either!”

Dong Junhao was taken aback by his bluntness, but the doubt was stuck in his chest; he couldn’t leave without saying it. He clenched his fists, raised his eyes, and asked the core question directly: “Boss, that person investing in us… who is it, exactly?”

Xu Jun’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, his prior annoyance covered by a layer of vague wariness. He cleared his throat, his voice dropping as he adopted a deliberate, official tone: “Commercial secret. How can I just say it now? When it’s time for you to know, you’ll know.”

The answer amounted to saying nothing at all.

Dong Junhao’s heart sank. He stared into Xu Jun’s darting eyes, stepped forward half a pace, and practically ground the name that made him uneasy out from between his teeth:

“Is it… Fang Mingxuan?”

Time seemed to stagnate for a few seconds. From within the room, a woman’s very faint cough drifted out. The muscles on Xu Jun’s face twitched slightly. He didn’t admit it, nor did he deny it; he merely pulled at the corner of his mouth into an enigmatic smile, his voice dropping lower like a snake slithering into Dong Junhao’s ear:

“What’s the rush? After a little time… you’ll naturally find out.”

With that, he gave Dong Junhao no further chance to ask questions. He stepped back and closed the heavy door without hesitation.

Thud.

The dull sound shut Dong Junhao out of the mystery. The corridor fell back into a dead silence, save for that sentence “you’ll naturally find out” which coiled around him like a cold curse, shredding the tiny shred of stability he had just gained.

Dong Junhao stood alone in the dim light of the corridor like a forgotten statue. That closed door, along with the icy “you’ll naturally find out,” built an invisible wall before him. The muffled sounds behind the door soon resumed, like a light yet cruel mockery. The lingering scent of intimacy in the air mixed coldly with the anxiety in his heart.

He suddenly felt that what was hidden behind the door might not just be the pleasure of a man and a woman, but a silent undercurrent slowly dragging him toward an unknown abyss. And the name he had already signed was the first sacrifice offered to this current.

No.

A thought cut through his chaotic mind. Since he couldn’t tear an opening through Xu Jun, he would go to the source. He would find Fang Mingxuan and ask him face-to-face. He wanted to see exactly what kind of game he was playing if this “custom-tailored” net was woven by his own hand.

But he didn’t even know which hospital Fang Mingxuan was in. Hesitation coiled around him like vines for a long time; his knuckles loosened and tightened repeatedly over the number he had almost never proactively dialed. Not until the sweat on his palms nearly made the phone slip did he finally press the call button.

The ringing lasted a long time, each tone hammering against his tensed nerves. Just as he thought no one would answer and prepared to hang up, the call connected.

“Hello, may I ask who is calling?” a young, efficient female voice answered with professional politeness.

Dong Junhao’s throat was dry. “Hel—hello. Is this… Fang Mingxuan’s phone?”

“Yes, I am Director Fang’s secretary. He is currently receiving physical therapy and cannot take calls. You may leave a message, and I will relay it for you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m his… friend.” Dong Junhao struggled to utter that unfamiliar title. “I wanted to ask which hospital he’s in. I’d like to… go see him.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, as if she were judging the authenticity of this “friend.” Very few people knew Fang Mingxuan was injured and hospitalized.

“Director Fang is at Jinghai Central Hospital. The VIP ward on the top floor.”

“Alright, thank you.”

After hanging up, Dong Junhao stood against the wall for a moment, only then realizing his heart was thundering. It felt as if the place he was about to enter was a battlefield one where he knew there might be a trap, yet he had to go regardless.

The next day, Dong Junhao pulled out his most decent set of clothes a light gray shirt that was relatively flat and a pair of faded trousers. He also carefully selected a fruit basket at a shop near the hospital; the bright red apples and oranges were arranged neatly, exuding a clumsy sense of gravity.

Jinghai Central Hospital was grand and imposing, its polished marble floors nearly reflecting one’s shadow. The uniformed medical staff moving in a hurry and the decently dressed family members or visitors talking in low voices made him feel entirely out of place. Clutching his fruit basket, he was like a drop of water that had accidentally fallen into oil abrupt and awkward.

The nurse at the information desk gave directions that were polite yet distant: “For the VIP ward, please take the Area A direct elevator. It requires a card or confirmation from above for access.”

The elevator was spacious and silent, running so smoothly he could barely feel the ascent. The mirrored walls reflected his tensed face and overly forced posture. With every floor they rose, the unease of a bottom-tier laborer entering “elite” territory deepened. The air was permeated with a faint scent of disinfectant and another scent he couldn’t name something like expensive fragrance; it was clean, but ice-cold.

The corridor on the top floor was exceptionally quiet. A lady who looked like a secretary in a well-fitted suit was already waiting at the elevator. Her gaze swept quickly over him and the fruit basket in his hands, her face wearing a practiced smile: “Mr. Dong, I presume? Director Fang is waiting for you. This way, please.”

He was led to a heavy solid-wood door. The secretary knocked lightly, and a familiar voice came from within: “Come in.”

Pushing the door open, the room looked more like a luxury hotel suite than a hospital room. It had a spacious layout, bright floor-to-ceiling windows, comfortable sofas, and even a small reception area. Fang Mingxuan was propped up against his raised hospital bed, wearing soft-textured light-colored hospital pajamas. He had gauze on his forehead, and though his face was a bit pale, his spirits seemed good.

Seeing him, Fang Mingxuan’s eyes seemed to light up, and he immediately offered a genuine smile. “I didn’t expect you to actually come. Quick, come in. Have a seat.”

He pointed to the armchair by the bed, his manner as natural as if no indignities or conflicts had ever occurred between them. Dong Junhao stiffly placed the fruit basket on a small side table and sat in the chair, his hands resting unconsciously on his knees. Fang Mingxuan’s peaceful warmth made his prepared questions stick in his throat, leaving him momentarily unsure of how to start.

“I…” He licked his dry lips and lowered his eyes, his voice tight. “I’m sorry. About that day… I’m actually not close with Liu Wei. I shouldn’t have been with him…”

“You don’t need to say it.” Fang Mingxuan interrupted him softly, his gaze landing gently on Dong’s lowered brow. “It’s fine. I know.”

Dong Junhao looked up in surprise. Fang Mingxuan smiled a smile that was part self-deprecation, part relief. “Lying here these last few days, I’ve thought a lot. Ultimately, it was my own past… youth and recklessness, and not handling things properly. I accept the harvest of what I sowed.”

He paused, his voice dropping slightly, carrying a rare sincerity. “I haven’t looked for you lately because the way Liu Wei blocked the gate and insulted you made me realize… it was too unfair to you. There’s really no reason to cause you more trouble and distress because of me.”

Dong Junhao’s heart shook slightly; he hadn’t expected those words. Fang Mingxuan continued, his gaze looking at him candidly: “I also wanted to take this chance to completely sever those uncleared relationships from my past. And then… clearly and cleanly, get to know you again.”

He spoke the last few words slowly, with a hint of cautious testing. This nearly blunt “show of favor” was like a small stone dropped into the already chaotic pond of Dong Junhao’s heart. He hurriedly looked away, his nails digging into his palms as he forced his voice to turn cold: “Actually, you don’t have to do that. Though there were misunderstandings… Liu Wei wasn’t wrong about one thing: we aren’t from the same world.”

He raised his eyes, trying to make his gaze appear firm and distant. “I came today specifically to tell you clearly. I live my own ordinary life. Please… be merciful and stop disturbing me.” He took a deep breath and finally asked the most critical question of the trip: “Additionally, I want to confirm something. The investment in our bathhouse does it have anything to do with you? Was it… your doing?”

The air in the ward seemed to stagnate for a moment. The smile on Fang Mingxuan’s face faded a bit, but it didn’t disappear. He tilted his head slightly, using the calm tone of someone discussing business to ask a question in return: “Does it matter? The primary goal of any investment is profit, not charity. The contract didn’t just give everyone money for free, did it?”

He tapped his fingers lightly against the duvet. “Even if it was an investment my company participated in, it was based on market research. We saw the growth potential in this industry; it’s a move in the group’s diversification. Perfectly normal business behavior.”

“Fine. Who you invest in is none of my business,” Dong Junhao’s voice was hard. “But if it’s because of me… there’s absolutely no need. I’ll find my own way. I don’t want to accept this favor from you, and I don’t want any more connection with you!” He stood up abruptly, as if to draw a line. “Otherwise… I’ll resign and leave tomorrow. Whatever money was advanced, I’ll find a way to pay it back!”

“Why go that far?” Fang Mingxuan looked at him and sighed, a sigh that seemed to hold a trace of helplessness and a trace of tolerance. “I did indeed hear from Boss Xu about some of the difficulties at your home.”

He admitted that part but immediately pivoted back to a rational explanation. “But I had been in contact with him before that, talking about the possibility of investment; the details were only finalized recently. As for the timing, it’s mostly just a coincidence.”

He slowed his tone, every word like a patiently laid-out stepping stone: “Besides, I didn’t give you money directly. Second, the contract is in black and white; it only stipulates work content and compensation, with no clauses exceeding an employment relationship. Essentially, it is a legitimate labor contract. Every cent you receive is earned through hard work!”

He looked at Dong Junhao’s tensed profile, his voice becoming even softer, carrying a sense of concession: “You and I can limit ourselves to the relationship of boss and employee. When the contract term is up, whether you stay or leave is entirely your choice. And…”

“I personally do not participate in the daily management of the bathhouse. If you truly don’t want to see me,” he paused, his gaze grazing over Dong Junhao’s face, “then at worst… I simply won’t go to the bathhouse anymore.”

Those final words were like a feather, brushing extremely lightly against Dong Junhao’s fortified mental defenses. It wasn’t a forceful advance, but a retreat filled with restraint and respect a “solution” tailored for him that seemed feasible.

Dong Junhao fell silent. He sat back down in the chair, his shoulders slumping. Fang Mingxuan’s words were logically flawless. Coincidence, business behavior, normal employment… every sentence was reasonable and pushed back his violent questioning and final threats with a soft resistance.

Most critically, he had struck Dong Junhao’s most lethal weakness his mother’s treatment fees. Poverty stifles ambition. Those words were like a cold weight, pressing down on all his attempts to hold his head high. This salary advance was, at its core, compensation for his future work it was what he had traded three years of his freedom for.

Refusal meant placing his mother’s life in unknowable danger. Acceptance meant tacitly allowing this tangled, inseparable connection to continue. He felt as though he were standing on quicksand; the harder he struggled, the deeper he sank. Fang Mingxuan’s favor was like an invisible, incredibly soft net that had already descended. He was in debt; this “connection” had probably been impossible to sever the moment he signed his name and accepted the money.