The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 17: Wen Junhe, If You Want to Be With Me, We Have to Have Sex

He Ning stood still, watching Wen Junhe take a deep breath and walk toward him. He frowned, stepped back a few paces, turned around and left without saying a word.

Wen Junhe froze in place, his face looking terrible, as if he had been struck on the head.

Zhou Ji had arranged an easy job for He Ning, having him accompany professional managers to charity events and occasionally represent the Zhou family at public appearances. The work was leisurely and respectable. If it weren’t for having to remember so many complicated social relationships, He Ning would have thought it was practically perfect.

He stood in a corner holding a glass of champagne, watching those hypocritical exchanges of pleasantries, and occasionally the image of Wen Junhe’s devastated expression would suddenly flash through his mind.

But only rarely.

Zhou Chong’s last episode had been quite severe. Pang Rao couldn’t bear to send him to a sanatorium, so she kept him at home and cared for him personally. He Ning looked at Zhou Chong’s spoiled attitude and casually remarked, “It’s still better at home. How could an outsider’s care compare to family?” Pang Rao was deeply moved, and even Zhou Moufu praised him for being sensible.

Actually, He Ning knew full well that the Zhou family’s love for Zhou Chong was etched into their bones. Even if Zhou Ji was tough with his words, he could never truly be harsh with Zhou Chong. He was just afraid that once he crossed the brotherly line, there would be no going back.

Sometimes He Ning actually envied Zhou Chong a little.

He Ning didn’t want to figure out all the complicated entanglements between Zhou Chong and Zhou Ji, but Zhou Chong’s inexplicable hostility toward him was obvious.

But He Ning wasn’t someone to be pushed around. Every time Zhou Chong picked a fight, he could deflect it effortlessly. Even Zhou Ji sighed that the only one who could handle Zhou Chong was He Ning. He Ning simply said, “You guys are just too soft on him.”

He Ning walked downstairs in satin slippers, the soles making crisp sounds against the marble steps. Zhou Chong was sprawled on the living room sofa. Hearing the noise, he glared at He Ning with disgust before flopping back down again, like a boneless snake.

He Ning poured a glass of wine, walked to the sofa and looked down at him from above: “Why aren’t you rummaging through the trash can today?”

His voice carried obvious teasing.

Zhou Chong closed his eyes with a cold laugh: “You think I’d fall for your tricks again?”

He Ning suddenly bent down and pulled a cigarette pack from under the sofa cushion: “Want one?”

Inside lay a few crumpled cigarettes, clearly secretly hoarded. Zhou Chong shot up, his face red with anger: “He Ning, you fucking—!”

He couldn’t finish before bursting into violent coughing. He Ning shook the cigarette pack, grinning like a child who had pulled off a prank.

He Ning pulled out one cigarette, then tossed the pack onto Zhou Chong’s body. He lit it and held it in his mouth. After a moment, he moved slightly closer to Zhou Chong, though not too close, looking at him like a dying patient, and sighed: “These tricks of yours, I was playing them when I was eighteen. No, I was even more ruthless than you. You still stayed true to yourself. I kept a man by my side for five years, laid my heart bare for him to trample on as he pleased, gave almost everything I had, and forced myself to become a completely different person—gentle, obedient, someone he might like.”

After speaking, He Ning murmured something else, a trace of confusion appearing in his eyes: “I can barely remember those stupid things anymore.”

“But guess what I got in return.”

Zhou Chong looked at him and asked briefly: “What?”

He Ning took his last drag: “…Well, insults to my soul and body from every angle.”

Zhou Chong: “…You’re so annoying. Who would like you?”

He Ning laughed with a hollow sound, no real emotion detectable: “I realized that a long time ago, so I decided never to change for anyone again. Someone who doesn’t like you won’t like you even if you turn the world upside down.”

Zhou Chong said stubbornly: “What makes you say my brother doesn’t like me?”

He Ning looked at Zhou Chong: “Do you like your brother?”

Zhou Chong nodded: “How could you understand the things between my brother and me?”

“I don’t understand. I only know that if you insist on forcing it, what you might lose is your brother and your parents. Actually, I can tell you don’t really want the Zhou Corporation that much, do you? You just want to push Zhou Ji to face you, right? But Zhou Ji would rather run away for years than clash with you.”

Zhou Chong looked at He Ning and suddenly smiled: “You see things clearer than my brother. But I really don’t get it. We’re not related by blood, so why can’t we be together? He still cares more about what society thinks.”

Those involved can’t see clearly, but bystanders can.

How could a fragile romantic relationship possibly compare to the bond of family? Someone who lives each day as if it were their last naturally wouldn’t think about the future, but Zhou Ji had to consider his parents and their future.

Zhou Ji saw things too clearly, which was exactly why he couldn’t be with Zhou Chong.

“You should be grateful your brother married me. Do you think anyone else could put up with your tactics? If I were a woman, the first thing I would have done was bear him a child and then persuade him to leave. Right now everyone is at peace. Use fewer of your cheap tricks on me, and I’ll persuade A Ji to stay home more so you can see him more often.”

Zhou Chong ground his teeth but ultimately said nothing.

After Zhou Ji took back control of the company, he was busy from dawn till dusk, pushing forward with market expansion plans step by step. Zhou Moufu began intentionally delegating power, letting Zhou Ji chair important meetings while he just sat by and listened. He Ning watched Zhou Ji leave early and return late every day, dressed in suits.

One Friday evening, He Ning drove alone to an old residential area in the north of the city. He took off his jacket, wearing only a simple shirt, and walked into the dimly lit stairwell holding his phone.

The wall paint was peeling in places, and the air smelled of cooking.

The knock echoed clearly in the quiet hallway. There was silence inside for a moment before a low male voice came through: “Who is it?”

“Uncle Shao, it’s me.” He Ning’s voice was very soft.

The door opened a crack.

Fu Shao stood in the shadows, his figure still as straight as a pine tree. This man who had followed He Hongxing for over twenty years was the He family’s most secret line of defense. Back when He Hongxing held a high position, there were countless open attacks and hidden dangers He Ning had even been kidnapped twice.

Every time, it was Fu Shao who led people to quietly bring him back.

Fu Shao was like He Ning’s shadow, protecting him from elementary school through university. When He Hongxing was imprisoned, so many people wanted to take revenge while they could. Fu Shao was able to walk away clean only because he had stayed by He Ning’s side all these years and hadn’t gotten involved in the He family’s dirty business.

Every few months, He Ning would receive Fu Shao’s new address. The address for this old residential area had arrived just last week.

The door opened a crack. Fu Shao stood in the shadows. He sized He Ning up for a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in: “Come in.”

The living room had just one wooden table and two chairs. Fu Shao poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward He Ning. When he sat down, his back was ramrod straight, like an unsheathed knife: “I heard you got married. Did you tell your father?”

He Ning’s fingers gently traced the rim of the glass. This marriage was just a formality, so telling or not telling made no difference. He looked up: “Uncle Shao, I want to look into someone.”

“Who?”

“Han Qing. Wen Junhe is back, and he found out that the surgical accident I had back then was Han Qing’s doing.”

Fu Shao’s expression suddenly changed: “He dared to do that to you?”

When He Ning mentioned wanting to investigate Han Qing’s high school years, Fu Shao’s eyebrows furrowed almost imperceptibly: “Why look into that?”

“Prison is too easy for him.” He Ning laughed coldly. “The Han family has plenty of ways to pull him out. That fake noble act of his makes me sick. I want him completely disgraced, never able to make a comeback.”

Fu Shao nodded in agreement, saying he would contact him once he found anything, and told him not to come here personally again.

“Ningning,” his voice was unusually gentle, “you just focus on living your life well. Those who hurt you none of them will get away.”

He Ning hugged Fu Shao when he left, a smile on his lips: “Got it.”

He turned and went downstairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.

As soon as he turned out of the building entrance, He Ning saw Wen Junhe.

The man was leaning against the wall by the stairwell, a cigarette between his fingers, the ash grown long without being tapped off. The sunset hit him from the side, outlining his features with unusual clarity his tall nose bridge, his tightly pressed lips, and his lowered eyelashes casting a small shadow on his face.

Wen Junhe was bathed in orange-red light. It should have been a warm scene, yet it somehow exuded a sense of decay. The cigarette was almost burning his fingers, but he seemed oblivious, just staring blankly at the exit until He Ning’s footsteps startled him.

Wen Junhe probably hadn’t expected him to come down so quickly, and for a moment he was completely stunned.

He Ning walked past him. Wen Junhe instinctively grabbed him: “He Ning…”

He Ning violently shook off Wen Junhe’s hand, his gaze cold as ice: “Are you stalking me?”

Wen Junhe’s Adam’s apple moved, his voice tight: “…I’m afraid Han Qing will hurt you again. Ningning, I can help you.”

This sentence made He Ning laugh.

The corner of his mouth pulled into a sarcastic curve: “How interesting.”

His fingers lightly brushed the sleeve Wen Junhe had touched: “I got along just fine all these years without you.”

He turned and left. Wen Junhe stood still. Suddenly there came the sound of a door opening behind him. Wen Junhe turned around and met Fu Shao’s sharp, hawk-like gaze. In the old stairwell, the two men stared at each other in silence, the air seeming to freeze.

After that, Meng Xuan also loved hanging around He Ning.

He Ning only put up with him because he had agreed to be a witness.

Wen Junhe also kept showing up uninvited. He Ning asked him wearily what exactly he wanted to do.

Wen Junhe said he wanted to help him.

He Ning asked him: “In what capacity are you helping me?”

“…As a friend.”

He Ning: “Who told you we’re friends?”

Wen Junhe was silent for a moment: “I decided that myself.”

He Ning: “…”

He Ning stood in front of the glass window of the visitation room, watching He Hongxing being brought in by the prison guard.

Even in a standard prison uniform, this man still held his back straight and walked with steady steps, his gaze sharp as an eagle’s. Years and prison life had worn away his outward edge, but made that innate commanding presence more restrained and intimidating.

“Dad, I’m married. This marriage is my own choice, and I’m very satisfied with it.” He Ning spoke into the receiver, his voice especially clear in the empty visitation room.

He Hongxing’s gaze fell on the ring on his son’s ring finger, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly: “Dad is happy for you.”

His voice came through the glass, low and gentle: “But I thought you would wait for that Wen boy for the rest of your life.”

He Ning’s fingers unconsciously traced the ring, the coolness of the metal seeping through his skin. He looked up and met his father’s deep, ocean-like eyes. He Ning laughed helplessly: “Dad, do you really think that little of me?”

He Hongxing leaned back in his chair. The prison uniform sleeve revealed a few faint scars on his forearm. When he smiled, the lines at the corners of his eyes were much deeper than in his memory, and his tone held undisguised pride and indulgence: “My little prince deserves the best this world has to offer.” Then his gaze suddenly turned cold: “But Wen Junhe doesn’t deserve him.”

He Ning spoke objectively: “It’s not his fault.”

When He Ning and Zhou Ji had been married for half a year, two things happened at once: the first trial verdict in Han Qing’s case, and his birthday. Fu Shao told He Ning that too much time had passed and he couldn’t find the person related to Han Qing back then. He Ning had no choice but to let it go.

Zhou Ji had wanted to throw a proper birthday party, but He Ning waved it off saying it wasn’t necessary. In the end, they just had a simple meal with the Zhou family.

Before they had even put down their chopsticks, Meng Xuan’s call came in.

That guy was shouting on the other end of the line that the party was all set up and they were just missing the birthday boy. Zhou Ji said “Go ahead,” and Zhou Chong immediately dropped his bowl saying he wanted to go too.

“You just recovered from your illness,” Zhou Ji started to frown, but Pang Rao interrupted: “Take him with you. It’s not good for him to always be cooped up at home.”

Zhou Ji glanced at Zhou Chong’s bright eyes and thought that this sickly kid had indeed been quite well-behaved lately.

Zhou Chong immediately ran off to change clothes, his footsteps thumping on the stairs.

Zhou Ji reluctantly agreed, but before they left, he specifically told He Ning to keep an eye on Zhou Chong and not let him touch alcohol.

The two of them walked through the hotel corridor one after another. He Ning told Zhou Chong to behave himself tonight. The colorful lights by the pool reflected off the water’s surface, and a faint scent of perfume floated in the air.

The server led them around the final corner when suddenly there was a loud “pop”—Meng Xuan had opened a champagne bottle, foam spraying high into the air.

“The birthday boy has arrived!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, the collar of his floral shirt soaked through.

He Ning’s gaze swept over the crowd, and he immediately spotted Wen Junhe in the corner. The man was sitting on a bar stool in a black shirt. The moment their eyes met, Wen Junhe lowered his head, and the light cast a shadow across the side of his face.

“Why did you invite him?” He Ning grabbed Meng Xuan by the collar.

Meng Xuan grinned wickedly, his earring glinting under the neon lights: “I just love seeing how you ignore him now. Feels great.”

He Ning said he was crazy.

If Meng Xuan weren’t still useful, He Ning really wouldn’t want to deal with him.

The party atmosphere was heating up. He Ning casually swiped open Meng Xuan’s phone that had been tossed on the sofa. He knew Meng Xuan’s passcode. After looking at it for a few moments, he tossed it back.

Later, He Ning had long forgotten Zhou Ji’s instructions, let alone keeping an eye on Zhou Chong.

Wen Junhe somehow came over and pressed down on his hand that was reaching for more wine: “He Ning, you’re allergic to alcohol.”

His voice was very low.

He Ning pushed him away, his cheeks flushed with an abnormal redness: “Who are you? What business is it of yours?”

He tipped his head back and downed half a glass of whiskey, mixed with the cloying sweetness of fruit wine. As his Adam’s apple moved, liquor trickled down his chin.

Meng Xuan cheered from the side: “Mr. Wen, her husband’s surname is Zhou.”

He deliberately bit down hard on the word “husband.”

“Exactly right!” He Ning slurred, hugging the wine bottle, his fingertip poking at Wen Junhe’s chest, “My, my husband is Zhou Ji…”

He Ning hiccuped, his trailing voice floating upward, his eyes misted over with a layer of moisture that couldn’t hide his stubbornness: “Who do you think you are?”

Wen Junhe’s hand froze in mid-air for a moment before slowly withdrawing. The party raged until the middle of the night. Among the people sprawled every which way across the room, he was the only one who remained sober. He propped up the stumbling drunk He Ning and navigated around the bottles on the floor toward the second floor.

Zhou Chong, lying in a corner, suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze meaningful as he stared at the two of them leaving together.

In the lounge, He Ning’s skin had broken out in large red rashes from his alcohol allergy.

He fought the urge not to scratch. When Wen Junhe laid him on the bed, he curled up, the corners of his eyes red. His beautiful face paired with slightly reddened eye corners made him look like some kind of wary feline: “Wen Junhe, I’ve already let you go. Can’t you let me go too?”

Wen Junhe stood by the bed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his solid forearms. He looked down at He Ning’s neck, red from scratching, his brows furrowed tight enough to crush a mosquito, yet he didn’t say a word.

Wen Junhe suddenly leaned down close, so close that Wen Junhe was the only thing left in He Ning’s field of vision. Warm breath blew against the side of his neck. Wen Junhe buried his head in the hollow of He Ning’s shoulder, his voice muffled: “When I couldn’t see you abroad, I could still endure it. But now I really can’t take it anymore…”

“You can smile at other people, but you won’t even look at me.”

He Ning stared blankly at the ceiling chandelier, the light stinging his eyes until they ached. Wen Junhe’s lips pressed against the back of his neck, his voice trembling uncontrollably: “I really can change anything. Don’t abandon me.”

“I’m already married. Can you not be so shameless?” He Ning spoke slowly.

Wen Junhe’s kiss landed on his cheek: “You don’t love him. We had our wedding first. Zhou Ji came later.”

He Ning suddenly laughed, a dry sound: “You know my brain is broken, I can’t remember.”

He Ning wasn’t lying. Those diaries that had been thrown away, photo albums, letters—they were all things he had deliberately chosen to forget. After the medical accident, the doctor had said that anything you don’t repeatedly recall will slowly fade from memory.

He used to be afraid of forgetting, so he wrote important things down in notebooks: Wen Junhe’s habits, what they wore on their first date, even what they said during arguments.

Now those notebooks have probably turned to ash long ago.

Wen Junhe’s lips pressed against his cheek, trembling badly. His palm pressed against He Ning’s back, the heat passing through his shirt: “It doesn’t matter. I remember everything. I’ll tell you piece by piece. He Ning, please, don’t push me away.”

Wen Junhe had never spoken in such a submissive tone before, nor would he ever have the word “please” on his lips.

He Ning hadn’t expected Wen Junhe to cling on so persistently, so he had no choice but to play his trump card: “Wen Junhe, if you want to be with me, we have to have sex… You’d better think this through. If you won’t do it… then get lost…”

Wen Junhe slowly sat up.

He Ning thought he still couldn’t get past his mental block and was about to leave, when suddenly Wen Junhe lowered his head, pinched his chin, and then He Ning’s lips were taken into his mouth.

Wen Junhe pressed him completely into the soft bedding.

In the dim lighting, Wen Junhe’s expression was hidden. His breathing was ragged, no longer carrying his usual calm, his whole body radiating restless energy.

He Ning only felt his shirt buttons being roughly torn open, his pants pulled down.

He Ning’s legs were well-proportioned, the tops of his feet white as jade, with clearly visible blue veins.

And Wen Junhe held his legs, then lowered his head to kiss his inner thighs, his tall, straight nose pressing into that smooth skin.

When Wen Junhe leaned in close, He Ning’s entire body tensed up.

Wen Junhe was far too much stronger than him. This absolute physical dominance left He Ning without even the strength to break free.

He cursed and screamed in shame, finally gasping for breath, but it was completely useless. He Ning was so humiliated he wanted to die, his whole body flushed red and trembling.

Tears streamed down He Ning’s cheeks, the corners of his eyes wet and red: “You fucking… who did you learn this from!”

He didn’t used to have so many moves. He Ning’s face looked terrible—could it be that Wen Junhe had been fooling around abroad and was now using those tricks on him?

Wen Junhe raised his head and said matter-of-factly:

“I learned it from watching porn. I watched it many times over. However you want to do it, I can cooperate with you.”