Deep in the Night - Chapter 20

The autopsy report for Lu Wenlei was released, citing acute heart failure triggered by a sudden heart attack.

Gu Yuan softly placed the report down, sitting behind his desk, his gaze penetrating the glass partition to the office across the hall where Fang Jin was situated.

Fang Jin sat quietly behind his own desk, facing away from Gu Yuan, who could only see the graceful, detached line of his profile. Since arriving that morning, Fang Jin had deliberately avoided him, neither leaving his office nor initiating any contact. He might have been trying to conceal his actions, but to Gu Yuan, the avoidance was starkly obvious, too pronounced to ignore.

Was he angry? This thought surfaced only to be instantly dismissed by Gu Yuan. Impossible. I’m not even angry; what right does he have to be upset?

Yet, Fang Jin’s avoidance of contact with Gu Yuan was absolute; he didn’t open his office door the entire morning. When Gu Yuan returned from a lunch meeting, the opposite office was empty. He pulled over the secretary standing nearby and asked, “—Where is Fang Jin?”

“Assistant Fang went to the employee cafeteria for lunch,” the secretary immediately replied. “He told us he’d be back in half an hour.”

Gu Yuan nodded, turned toward the elevator, and descended directly from the executive floor to the employee restaurant on the basement level.

The restaurant was already clearing out. Fang Jin was seated at an inconspicuous corner table, sipping soup while scrolling through work emails on his tablet. He was so absorbed that he didn’t react until Gu Yuan stood directly in front of him, looking up to collide, unprepared, with Gu Yuan’s deep, intense gaze.

The young CEO’s personal descent into the employee cafeteria drew excited, respectful, and curious glances from the few remaining staff.

Gu Yuan, however, was focused solely on Fang Jin, his gaze sharp and forceful, intent on seeing through those beautiful, clear eyes right into his mind.

“You didn’t answer my call last night.”

“…” Fang Jin was silent for a moment, then murmured, “I apologize.”

A tense, heart-stopping silence followed. Fang Jin kept his eyes lowered, staring at the half-finished bowl of soup. He spoke softly:

“If… if you have any reservations, I can resign…”

The “reservations” clearly did not refer to the missed phone call; its true, loaded meaning was known only to the two of them.

The air around the table abruptly fell into an oppressive low pressure. After what felt like dozens of seconds, or perhaps longer, Gu Yuan spoke without warning, entirely ignoring the offer of resignation. “—Was that your boyfriend?”

A fleeting look of inexpressible distress and humiliation crossed Fang Jin’s eyes, though it was barely visible beneath his thick lashes. “No.”

Gu Yuan stared steadily at him, then mused, “…Oh.”

Sleeping together but not being boyfriends would make any rational person think of less flattering terms like casual hookups or one-night stands. Yet, Gu Yuan did not press the matter, nor did his expression betray the slightest hint of judgment. Instead, he seemed lost in a complicated thought process.

“Then, are you still willing to be my assistant?” he suddenly asked a moment later.

Fang Jin was momentarily stunned. “…I… I have always been willing to be your assistant.”

I have always been willing to be your assistant. Gu Yuan found himself utterly speechless to describe the churning emotions inside. Rationally, he knew he should feel relieved, but emotionally, an ineffable sense of frustration and something akin to jealous envy surged into his throat.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple moving visibly.

“Then you don’t need to resign,” Gu Yuan said flatly, turning and walking out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

—

From that day forward, an invisible barrier seemed to divide Gu Yuan and Fang Jin. Although they continued to work together—coming and going, with Fang Jin still cooking for him on Mondays, managing his attire, and handling his personal finances—Gu Yuan could feel that something fundamental had changed.

Fang Jin had reverted to the state he was in when he first joined the company: deferential, meticulous, and cautiously guarded, his poise concealing an unruffled vigilance and distance.

Gu Yuan recognized that this might be the best possible scenario. Only distance could wall off the hidden desire and jealousy deep within him. Only time could restore them to the correct relationship of superior and subordinate, where they would forever remain mutually respectful and never cross the line.

—If this situation could have persisted, perhaps one day Gu Yuan truly would have found peace, even managing to smile and offer his best wishes if Fang Jin found a boyfriend. However, this tightrope walk, both precarious and fragile, lasted only a brief while before it was shattered by an unexpected event.

Two weeks later, the Asia-Pacific Financial Summit was scheduled in Hong Kong, and Gu Yuan was invited to attend.

If Gu Yuan were merely the general manager of the shipping group, he would never have qualified for such a high-level business forum. His high-profile invitation was due to his status as the heir to the Gu family’s powerful financial empire. Consequently, his entourage included a formidable team of thirty strategists and security personnel, who made a grand entrance at the host-arranged five-star luxury hotel, the Golden Swallow Court. Fang Jin, as his primary assistant, was part of the group.

Upon arrival, Fang Jin followed routine. He took his room card but first went to prepare all the materials and documents for Gu Yuan’s meeting the following day, neatly filing them in specialized folders.

Gu Yuan stood in the massive master bedroom of the presidential suite, changing clothes unselfconsciously in front of the mirror. He stripped off his shirt, tossed it onto the bed, and, bare-chested and muscular, rummaged through the wardrobe. His eyes then caught Fang Jin’s reflection through the full-length mirror, watching him bent over, organizing files in the study across the hall.

The doors to both the master bedroom and the study were wide open; his position offered a direct view.

If Fang Jin so much as turned his head, he would see Gu Yuan, yet he didn’t.

From Gu Yuan’s vantage point, he could see Fang Jin’s side profile. Because he was leaning over, his hair feathered over his snow-white ear tip, and his eyelashes formed a beautiful curve in the light. The finely tailored, pure black suit enveloped him tightly and precisely. His shirt cuffs were buttoned immaculately; save for his hands, no skin was exposed below his neck. Only when he bent or reached up could one glimpse the subtle lines of his body beneath the jacket.

He had been like this since the last incident, not exposing an inch of skin he didn’t have to. He was rigid, cautious, and ascetic, like a medieval penitent.

—Gu Yuan knew it was to avoid suspicion. Fang Jin was using silent action to convey: I am your subordinate. I have no physical interest in you whatsoever.

Gu Yuan pulled his gaze away, threw on a casual T-shirt and jeans. No sooner had he finished changing than a knock came on the door. Fang Jin stood there, stating calmly, “It’s all set, CEO Gu. Everything you need for the morning meeting is on your desk.”

Gu Yuan acknowledged him with a sound and, scrutinizing him from head to toe, suddenly asked, “You’ve lost weight?”

Fang Jin had indeed become thinner, but his consistent, proper attire made it difficult to notice. However, his face was visibly growing more drawn each day. Standing in the doorway with the light behind him, his cheek was a faintly bluish-grey shade of pale.

“The weather has been hot, so I haven’t been sleeping well,” Fang Jin said with a brief smile. “It should be better in a while.”

Gu Yuan wanted to ask how he couldn’t sleep when there was air conditioning, what exactly he was doing, and if he had any regard for his own health. But the words caught in his throat. He remained silent for a long moment, finally settling on: “Then be careful.”

“I will.” Fang Jin gave a polite nod. “If that’s all, CEO Gu, I’ll take my leave.”

Gu Yuan watched him turn, his steps measured and resolute. He quickly opened the door and disappeared.

—

That night, Fang Jin slept in the room right next to Gu Yuan’s.

It wasn’t for any special reason; it was standard procedure for the assistant’s room to be adjacent to the master suite, ensuring assistance was quickly available. However, Gu Yuan was not the type of boss to make unreasonable demands and rarely summoned his assistant for a sudden midnight meeting.

Fang Jin lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the lavish guest room. The night was late, but he had no trace of sleepiness.

For the past two weeks, his dreams had been constant and disturbing. Sometimes they depicted his parents’ suicide in his childhood, the house engulfed in raging fire, the beams crashing down with a roar and smoke. Other times, he was pinned down, struggling desperately to escape, his body weighed down by lead, only for the bedroom door behind him to open, revealing Gu Yuan’s face, etched with a mix of shock, disgust, and contempt.

These chaotic, jumbled nightmares frequently jolted him awake, sometimes five or six times a night.

He had tried increasing his medication dosage to alleviate the constant dreaming but only triggered mild insomnia. For several nights, he had only managed to doze off briefly around dawn.

This lack of sleep was taking a significant toll on his body. Fang Jin knew he was visibly deteriorating, and he’d experienced the warning signs of low blood sugar several times during the day.

He told himself he must close his eyes and sleep; a crucial financial summit awaited him tomorrow. But he simply couldn’t. His consciousness was both depressed and strangely excited, like a person exhausted to the extreme who has been forcibly injected with a stimulant: his body was overwhelmingly fatigued, but his mind remained abnormally, painfully clear.

Fang Jin closed his eyes for a while, then gave up and opened them again. He turned on the light, got out of bed, and walked to the suite’s small bar area. He pulled out a high stool and opened a bottle of red wine for himself.

Perhaps due to his natural constitution, he rarely got drunk; a little alcohol often made him more sober. He needed a massive, quick intake to feel any genuine dizziness or drowsiness. Since he was drinking alone, Fang Jin didn’t bother with a glass, sipping straight from the bottle while habitually pulling out his phone to check his photo album.

The most recent picture was the old photograph of the five people.

Before putting the photo back into the frame’s lining that night, Fang Jin had taken a picture of it with his phone and often looked at it. He was certain this photo held the key to all the mysteries: over twenty years ago, just before Gu Yuan’s birth, Gu Yuan’s parents, a man who looked exactly like Gu Mingzong, and Fang Jin’s own parents posed together at the entrance of a maternity hospital. Why were his parents there? If there wasn’t a profound, extraordinary reason, why would they travel specifically to a maternity hospital to await Gu Yuan’s arrival?

And who was the man named Mingda? Could he be Gu Mingzong’s twin brother?

—But that was absurd. The Gu family lineage had been single-heir for generations; everyone knew Gu Mingzong was the elder Gu’s only son.

There had always been whispers that Gu Mingzong wasn’t born to the legal wife but was the son of an outside mistress, adopted into the main family after his birth. Whether the mistress was eliminated after the son was secured was impossible to know. However, the rumor was too old and likely distorted. The Gu family had never acknowledged anyone named Gu Mingda, and there was no way to find out his whereabouts now.

Fang Jin rotated the chair casually, musing: If Gu Yuan isn’t Gu Mingzong’s biological son, could he be Gu Mingda’s? In that case, wouldn’t Gu Yuan’s mother have cheated on Gu Mingzong? And was her alleged death from “difficult labor” actually related to this affair?

The thought alone sent a chill down Fang Jin’s spine. He put his phone away, unconsciously swirling the wine bottle.

Hypothesizing that Gu Yuan was the product of an affair between his mother and Gu Mingda, which Gu Mingzong discovered—leading to Gu Mingda’s disappearance and the mother’s “death in childbirth”—this series of events seemed plausible and logically connected. Yet, it involved many complex machinations, and it was unlikely that after only two decades, not a single whisper of the truth would remain.

Most importantly: As the product of an affair, why was Gu Yuan not only raised but also groomed to his current position as the unofficial heir apparent? Given Fang Jin’s understanding of Gu Mingzong, it would be merciful if he didn’t personally smother the infant; how could he possibly elevate Gu Yuan to his current position?

A flood of questions and contradictions overwhelmed him. Fang Jin irritably massaged his temples, realizing the wine bottle was almost empty.

He poured out the remaining contents into a half-cup, then found vodka and beer from the suite’s liquor cabinet, mixing them in equal measure. Finally, he pulled milk from the fridge and added a splash to the white-and-red wine mixture.

Mixing red wine, white liquor, and beer makes one susceptible to quick intoxication, and milk hinders alcohol metabolism, ensuring a faster, deeper drunkenness. While preparing the concoction, Fang Jin was already swaying slightly. After adding the milk, he steadied himself, lifted the cup, and downed it in one go. As expected, a wave of dizziness and overpowering drowsiness swept over him a few minutes later, completely submerging his senses.

Fang Jin staggered toward the large bed, but as he turned, he accidentally tripped. “Thump!” He crashed to the floor.

The sound was loud, but the thick carpet prevented any pain. In his deep state of intoxication, Fang Jin felt nothing anyway. In his haze, he actually found the soft, white wool rug comfortable and lay there for a while before slowly attempting to sit up.

A knock came at the bedroom door: “Fang Jin? Fang Jin, what happened to you?”

Disoriented, Fang Jin paid no attention. He gripped the edge of the bar table with one hand, pulling himself upright.

At that exact moment, the empty wine bottle resting on the table’s edge was knocked by his hand, crashing to the floor with several loud “Clang” sounds!

“Fang Jin!” Gu Yuan’s voice commanded from outside the door, “What are you doing in there? Open the door!”

Fang Jin desperately grabbed the back of the high stool to maintain his balance. Overwhelmed by dizziness, he half-knelt on the floor, breathing heavily, his mind a muddy blur. He didn’t even notice the door being forcefully pushed open with a sharp click.

“Fang… Jin?!”

Gu Yuan strode quickly into the room, instantly pulling Fang Jin to his feet. Frowning, he demanded, “What in the world happened to you?”

Fang Jin leaned against Gu Yuan, staring at him with a bewildered, blank expression.

In the warm, orange light, Fang Jin’s snow-white cheeks were flushed pink, his lips slightly parted. Without touching him, one could imagine the delicate softness. He seemed utterly lost, his eyes confused yet glistening with moisture. For a moment, he was absolutely captivating, almost enough to make a person drown in his gaze.

Gu Yuan’s throat tightened. He instinctively averted his eyes. “Are you drunk? Why are you drinking so much alone?”

Fang Jin blinked dazedly, seemingly not comprehending anything Gu Yuan said. After a long pause, he suddenly reached out and clung to Gu Yuan’s solid arm, then comfortably turned and nestled into his embrace.

Gu Yuan: “…”

Fang Jin had changed into loose, white T-shirt pajamas. The pure cotton texture made his exposed skin look even softer and smoother. Compounded by the warmth from his elevated body temperature due to the alcohol, his skin felt pleasantly warm. For a fraction of a second, Gu Yuan felt an intense urge to gently rub and caress him, as if he wanted his palm to melt into that skin.

The lust arrived so quickly and violently that he couldn’t control it.

“I—I’ll help you to bed,” Gu Yuan forced himself to look away, his voice strained. “Don’t… don’t cause trouble.”

But a deeply drunk person is heavy and prone to collapse. Unable to cover the few meters from the bar to the bed, Gu Yuan was forced to half-support, half-drag him. Large areas of their skin rubbed tightly against each other, igniting Gu Yuan’s desire.

Finally reaching the bedside, Gu Yuan simply lifted Fang Jin in his arms, carried him the last few steps, and gently placed him on the bed, carefully supporting his head to slide a pillow underneath.

“Sleep now. Get some rest. Stop this… Fang Jin!”

Gu Yuan’s hand was caught in a flustered grip. Fang Jin had been trying to grab his hand all along, seemingly finding endless fascination in the moving object. He finally succeeded when Gu Yuan was adjusting his pillow. Even so, he didn’t seem to recognize what he was holding, simply rubbing Gu Yuan’s hand against his flushed cheek, squinting his eyes with a look of feline contentment.

Gu Yuan stared at him, the heat consuming his entire being, threatening to burn away his willpower. His lower body was throbbing with painful hardness. When he spoke, his voice was so husky it was barely recognizable: “Let go of me, Fang Jin. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t even know who I am right now…”

“Gu Yuan,” Fang Jin interrupted him indistinctly.

Gu Yuan thought for a moment he had misheard, but then Fang Jin repeated, in a soft, firm whisper:

“—Gu Yuan.”

The night shrouded the closed bedroom like a mist. The bedside lamp illuminated Fang Jin’s cheek, the side of his neck, and the deep recess of his collarbone and shoulder. Every inch of exposed skin seemed to glow with an ambiguous, seductive sheen.

Gu Yuan’s last shred of reason screamed that he should leave immediately, but he couldn’t even tear his gaze away.

He leaned down, staring intently at Fang Jin’s hazy face, his breath thick and hot, utterly beyond his control. After a prolonged moment, he finally brought his mouth down upon those slightly parted lips and kissed him.