Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 26

At that exact moment, a restrained yet clear knock at the door sounded, perfectly cutting through the almost suffocating deadlock in the hospital room.

The door was pushed open just a crack, and the well-trained secretary slid inside, her face wearing an impeccable professional apology. “Mr. Fang, Mr. Dong, so sorry to disturb you. The designated visiting time is up. Director Fang needs to prepare for his next round of treatment.”

The voice sounded like a decree of pardon.

Dong Junhao practically bolted upright. His movement was so fast he nearly knocked over the chair, which made a sharp screeching sound against the floor. He didn’t dare look at Fang Mingxuan again, only tossing a muffled sentence toward the hospital bed: “You… focus on your treatment. I won’t disturb you any longer.”

His voice was dry, as if squeezed out of his throat by force.

Then, he practically fled the room. His retreating figure was frantic, as if the room behind him weren’t a ward, but a predator’s trap slowly snapping shut.

Not until the cold metal doors of the elevator had completely closed sealing away that space filled with soft lighting, expensive scents, and complex psychological warfare did Dong Junhao lean heavily against the elevator wall as if his spine had been removed. He closed his eyes and let out a long, deep breath, but the heavy weight in his chest didn’t leave with it.

Everything Fang Mingxuan had just done that tone so gentle it was nearly indulgent, that posture of appearing to concede while actually gaining ground, and that logically airtight business rhetoric hadn’t dispelled his doubts. Instead, it chilled him more than Xu Jun’s blatant cover-ups.

It was a soft power wrapped in a sugar coating, making all his hard-edged questioning and final threats feel like a punch into cotton. All that remained was a deep, directionless fatigue and… unease. Why is he being so good to me? What is there about me that he could possibly want?

The unknown was the deepest fear.

He opened his hand; his palm was damp and cold, his fingertips white from the force of his grip. The money already in his account the money meant for his mother’s life no longer felt like a warm current of hope. It had become a red-hot iron, searing his conscience and his dignity.

The thread between him and Fang Mingxuan the one he had fought so hard to sever had not broken. Instead, it had been woven into a tougher, more secretive, and harder-to-escape net by the ropes of reality, careful calculation, and a “doing it for your own good” kind of tugging.

The elevator descended silently, the sensation of weightlessness pulling at his stomach. Dong Junhao kept his eyes closed. The darkness came, yet it allowed him to see his situation more clearly than the light of the room: the road ahead was shrouded in fog, and he had already slid, beyond his control, into the center of the vortex.

Back in the damp, crowded dormitory, the weight of reality truly began to crush him.

No matter who the boss behind the scenes is, I have to work hard for at least a year… at least until I “pay back” the advanced salary. He stared at the mottled ceiling, calculating mechanically in his mind.

But as soon as the thought rose, a larger shadow loomed over it. Simply burying his head in his old work scrubbing and massaging meant every cent he earned had already been categorized as “advanced” by the contract. This meant for an entire year, no new wages would enter his account.

His mother’s medication, potential follow-up treatments, daily household expenses, his brother’s tuition… These numbers were like a pack of hungry ghosts shrieking in his mind.

Cut back? The family was already living on a shoestring; there was nowhere left to save. New income? His meager tips and commissions were a drop in the ocean compared to the massive hole he had to fill.

Anxiety was like a vine, growing madly in the deep night, coiling until he could barely breathe. The exhaustion that usually led to instant sleep was gone; in its place was a wakefulness that lasted until dawn, listening to Master Liu’s snoring in the bunk above and feeling his heart beat heavily and hopelessly against his ribs.

“Young man, you need to be a bit more relaxed in your mindset.”

At some point, Master Liu had been woken by the sound of Dong tossing and turning. He poked his head out, looking at the dark circles under Dong’s eyes by the light of a streetlamp leaking through the window. “Hasn’t your mother’s medical fund been raised? As her son, you’ve done your absolute best. You’re already exhausted from work during the day; if you keep this up, you’ll collapse before you even earn the money. That would be worse, wouldn’t it?”

Dong Junhao stared blankly at the bedboards above. Dust floated in the faint light. Master Liu’s words sounded as if they were coming through a layer of water blurry and indistinct.

After a long while, he suddenly asked in a raspy voice, the topic shifting abruptly: “Master Liu, tell me… in our line of work, how can someone earn more money?”

Master Liu went silent for a moment, seemingly judging if he was serious or talking in his sleep. In the darkness, the red tip of a cigarette lit up.

“That depends on the person,” Master Liu’s voice carried a smoke-tinged rasp. “For an old stick like me, there are no tricks left except staying for more hours. But for you… you actually have a choice.”

Dong Junhao’s heart gave a violent leap. He immediately propped himself up, his arms gripping the edge of the upper bunk as he looked up. In the dimness, his eyes were frighteningly bright. “What choice?”

Seeing him like this, Master Liu knew the man had truly been backed into a corner by money. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and let it out slowly.

“First, with your build and looks, if you went to a bar or nightclub to work as a ‘host,’ the money would definitely come fast.”

Dong Junhao pulled back as if he had been burned, his voice muffled. “Master Liu, stop joking with me. I’m just a rustic guy, and I’m a clutz with words… how could I possibly do that…”

“I’m not joking,” Master Liu’s voice was flat. “As long as you can throw away your shame and your body, there’s nothing you can’t do. But…” He paused. “You’re too green right now, too honest. Your mind is too straight, and you’re a complete novice when it comes to feelings… too many shortcomings! If you went now, you wouldn’t be earning money; people would play you to death and you’d end up paying them.”

Dong Junhao’s face burned.

“Then there’s only one road left.” Master Liu took another deep drag. The cigarette burned bright red, illuminating half of his wrinkled face. His tone became slightly strange. “You know the VIP section on the second floor, right? Aside from the public massages and treatments, for the truly wealthy ‘VIPs,’ there are some… hidden, specialized services. You must know a bit about that, surely?”

Dong Junhao’s throat went dry. He nodded in the dark, then realized Master Liu couldn’t see and gave a low “Mm.”

“In there, it’s not all female guests, nor is it all female technicians.” Master Liu’s voice dropped even lower, like he was telling a forbidden secret. “Some wealthy women, or… some male guests with specific needs, they like to book male technicians. The money is really good. If you serve one well, the commission is enough to cover months of your usual work. But the ‘top talent’ we had before the one with the best skills who knew how to please people got sent away because he was stealing from a guest. Now… there’s a vacancy, and the demand hasn’t stopped.”

Master Liu paused, letting the words ferment in the silence.

“It just depends on you,” his tone was neither encouraging nor warning, “if you want to step up, if you want to wade into this muddy water.”

Dong Junhao didn’t answer. He sat silently on his bunk, his back stiff and his hands tightly clutching the coarse sheets. In the darkness, only his heavy breathing was audible, rising and falling.

Master Liu poked his head out again, this time with a playful scrutiny. “If a kid like you really wants to do it, your hardware is sufficient the face and frame are top-notch. But the software those specialized techniques, the talk, the skill to coax people, the eye for reading a room, and the most critical thing, your heart… you’re a long way off. If you really want to get in, you’ll need guidance from a ‘master.’ You’ve got a lot of training ahead!”

“Also,” Master Liu’s tone became serious, “don’t say I didn’t warn you. Those guests, especially the wealthy and powerful ones, are not kind souls. Playing wild is the least of it; some are purely looking for thrills or a way to vent. The methods… they’re filthy to even hear about. And in the VIP section, the proportion of men is not small at all these days.”

“So,” Master Liu said finally, as if summarizing, or perhaps lamenting as he lay back down, his voice fading, “In this day and age, which bowl of rice is easy to eat? High income always corresponds to high output, and… high risk. Weigh it for yourself.”

Master Liu’s words were like a stone dropped into dead water. At first, it was just ripples, but soon it created a heaven-shaking storm in Dong Junhao’s heart.

In the past, he would have felt his ears were dirtied just by hearing about such things, let alone considering them. He would rather hold on to his poverty, suffering day after day for meager wages, than touch that vat of muddy water. His morals, his persistence, and his meager pride had been the entire spine supporting his struggle at the bottom.

But what about now?

His mother’s respirator was wheezing, the numbers on the medical bills were jumping, and his brother’s hesitant phone calls were filled with the crushing weight of life. Fang Mingxuan’s net—the one he couldn’t understand but could feel tightening—was closing in silently. And he himself, by signing that contract, had already put a price on a year of his freedom and time.

Survive. Let the family survive.

When survival becomes the only question, do the things once held as treasures “morality,” “persistence,” “purity” still matter that much? Once the thought took root, it coiled around him like a poisonous vine. He lay in bed, eyes wide in the thick darkness, for the first time clearly and painfully examining his own collapsing bottom line.

The cold night air pierced through his thin blanket, yet he felt a heat rising from within the desperate, scorched heat of someone who has decided to burn their bridges.