Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 5

It wasn’t until a rainy night that a specific individual crashed into Dong Junhao’s increasingly thick and confusing quagmire in a completely unexpected way.

The rain had begun at dusk without warning. What started as scattered drops quickly transformed into a violent curtain of water. Massive droplets hammered against the giant glass dome of “Bihai Yuntian” with the intensity of a thousand galloping horses. The pitter-patter sound was as dense as beans popping in a pan, eventually merging into a chaotic, drowning white noise that seemed intent on washing the entire street into the sewers.

Inside the bath area, to combat the damp chill seeping through the cracks of the doors and windows, the heating was turned up higher than usual. The hot steam drifted even more freely, piling up in the high-ceilinged space and blurring the distant edges of the pools and the silhouettes of people. Even the lights were smeared into hazy, warm yellow orbs.

Perhaps deterred by the weather, there were far fewer customers than usual. The vast bath area took on a rare sense of emptiness and silence. Only the gurgling of the circulating water, the scattered whispers of distant patrons, and the roaring rain overhead intertwined to form a peculiar background hum.

Dong Junhao had just finished with a regular customer. He was bent over, using a large, dented aluminum ladle to scoop water from a hot bucket, ladle by ladle, washing away the residual white soap suds and gray skin flakes from the scrub table. The warm stream hit the smooth acrylic surface with a loud, monotonous rhythm, momentarily insulating him from the outside world. He liked these simple, repetitive tasks; they allowed him to move mechanically and briefly flush away the lingering gazes and inexplicable heat that usually stuck to his skin.

As he worked, his back muscles rippling slightly with every motion, he was entirely unaware that just outside the bathhouse, a sleek, low-profile yet undeniably luxurious black sedan was sliding to a halt in the torrential rain, its hazard lights blinking.

A moment later, the driver’s door opened. A lean young man in a black suit quickly unfurled a large umbrella, shielding the person in the back seat as they stepped out.

The man who emerged was tall, cold, and sharp-featured. He looked to be no more than twenty-five or twenty-six. The shoulders of his expensive light-gray trench coat were dampened by the sudden downpour. His expression was unpleasant; his thin lips pressed into a tight line of obvious irritation. It appeared his car had suffered a breakdown. Frowning, he raised a hand to brush away a few strands of wet black hair from his forehead. He looked up at the flickering neon sign of “Bihai Yuntian,” a flicker of resignation in his eyes as if yielding to the terrible weather. He stepped inside.

Dong Junhao finished rinsing the table and realized he was out of dry towels and disinfectant. He needed to head to the front desk to restock. Just as he pushed through the heavy, thick curtain connecting the bath area wearing only his light-blue work pants, his upper body bare, glistening with sweat and steam he collided head-on with the man entering from the other side.

“Ugh!”

The newcomer let out a muffled groan.

Dong Junhao felt as though he had slammed into a wall wrapped in soft silk. The recoil caused his muscles to tighten instinctively, but he didn’t budge an inch. The other man, however, wasn’t as stable. The force of the impact sent him stumbling backward, and he was on the verge of losing his balance and falling!

“Young Master!” the lean man in the black suit cried out, reaching out to help but moving a half-beat too late.

In that split second, Dong Junhao’s reflexes took over. His arms, like iron pincers, shot out and caught the man by the waist and back. His large, rough hands, damp with steam and water, firmly supported the body that had suddenly lost its center of gravity.

A crisp, cold fragrance mingled with the scent of rain and some expensive fabric—rushed into Junhao’s nose. The two of them froze in an incredibly close embrace.

Junhao looked down and met a pair of eyes wide with shock. A face was mere inches from his—pale and cold-toned, yet now flushed with a faint redness from the sudden impact and embarrassment. The brow bone was well-defined, the nose high and sharp like a peak, and the lips thin, pale, and tightly set. Every line of the face seemed carved with the finest precision—a beauty that was intensely aggressive and entirely unlike any face Junhao had ever seen. But currently, that face held a hint of sharp, unbridled displeasure typical of a superior being who had been disturbed.

Fang Mingxing was indeed stunned for a moment. In all his life, he had rarely been bumped into, let alone held tightly in the embrace of a half-naked stranger steaming with heat and water. The man’s arms felt like iron bands, his chest hard and warm. The wet skin pressed against his high-end trench coat with a texture so vivid it made his scalp prickle. He could clearly see the faint blue stubble on the man’s jaw, the hollow of his collarbone, and the bulging pectoral muscles that rose and fell with every breath, still slick with un-wiped water droplets.

Time seemed to freeze for two seconds, punctuated only by the roar of the rain outside and the faint sound of flowing water.

“Young, Young Master! Are you alright?” the bodyguard finally rushed forward, his voice tense and hesitant, trying to intervene in this overly “intimate” and inappropriate hold.

The voice was like a needle popping the stagnant air.

Dong Junhao was the first to react. He let go as if he had been burned. The sudden release of force caused Fang Mingxing to sway again before the bodyguard caught him. Junhao stepped back, his bronze face flushing deep red. He didn’t know where to put his hands or feet as he stammered an apology: “I-I’m sorry! Customer, are you okay? I. I didn’t see you, I was in such a hurry…”

His eyes were frantic. He instinctively used his wet arm to rub the tip of his nose, an action that only served to make the muscles of his arms and chest more defined.

Fang Mingxing steadied himself and quickly smoothed over his momentary lapse in composure. He raised a hand, slowly and methodically brushing the wrinkles and water spots from the lapel of his trench coat. His movements were elegant, yet they carried an invisible weight of pressure. His deep, unreadable gaze fell upon Dong Junhao on the damp, slightly tight light-blue work pants and the bare upper body.

“Are you staff here?” His voice was not loud, but it was clear and cold, like ice beads falling on a jade plate.

“Y-yes.” Junhao’s heart tightened, thinking the man was going to hold him responsible. He grew even more distressed, his tall frame subconsciously slouching a bit, like a giant waiting for a scolding.

At that moment, the owner, Xu Jun, arrived. Having heard the commotion, he rushed over with a face full of smiles and apologies. “Oh my, guest! I am so sorry! This silly kid is new, he’s all thumbs! He didn’t hurt you, did he? Quick, please come to the VIP section to rest and recover!”

As he spoke, he shot Junhao a look, gesturing for him to leave immediately.

Fang Mingxing didn’t respond to Xu Jun’s apology. He simply cast another faint glance at the figure standing there like a small mountain with a bowed head before following Xu Jun upstairs. His back was straight, his pace calm, as if the minor accident had never occurred. Only the slight dampness on the hem of his coat proved the brief contact with that burning chest.

Dong Junhao watched them disappear around the corner of the corridor and let out a long sigh of relief, his back now covered in a fresh layer of cold sweat. He shook his head, collected the towels and disinfectant from the front desk, and turned back to the bath area.

He counted himself lucky that the customer hadn’t made a scene. Otherwise, he would have been in big trouble! After all, this was the first time he had met someone actually addressed as “Young Master.” That man was definitely not from his world and definitely not someone he could afford to cross.