When Huo Zongzhuo returned to the office and sat on the sofa reading the newspaper, Jiang Luo glanced over from behind his desk. There was no resentment left in him—if anything, there was a faint sense of release.
He thought: as long as Huo Zongzhuo is happy in the future, then his little bit of selfishness and feeling… letting it go is fine.
It’s nothing.
Being gay—this road was never an easy one to begin with.
He was just receiving the “retribution” that came with walking it.
Nothing more.
Jiang Luo withdrew his gaze.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ever since this trip to Shenzhen—starting from when I took you to the Silver Lake villa—I’ve felt like you haven’t really been happy.”
Huo Zongzhuo had noticed Jiang Luo’s oddness a long time ago. He’d just kept quiet.
At lunch, seeing Jiang Luo keep his head down shoveling food, Huo Zongzhuo finally asked.
“Is it that you don’t like people giving you things you consider expensive without warning?”
He genuinely cared about how Jiang Luo felt.
Jiang Luo shrugged, expression casual. “I like the house.”
“No need to overthink it. I definitely like it.”
“The factory, the house, the cars—you gave them to me. I like all of it.”
Huo Zongzhuo watched him. Everything Jiang Luo showed looked normal. For a moment, he wondered if he was just being oversensitive.
Still, his instincts told him something was off.
And even the slightest bit of wrongness in Jiang Luo—he cared about it deeply.
“You really like it?”
Jiang Luo nodded. “Really.”
Then he added, “Is it because I didn’t jump up and down screaming ‘thank you, Dad’ that you think I’m unhappy?”
“Thank you, Dad!”
Jiang Luo looked lively and sincere. “Really—thank you. For thinking so much for me, for being so good to me.”
“I’ll make sure this factory runs well and earns you a ton of dividends every year.”
Huo Zongzhuo smiled. They ate normally, talked normally.
“Want to take a walk?”
That night, it was late again when they left the factory. Jiang Luo told Lao Si and the others to drive ahead. He and Huo Zongzhuo strolled together.
The industrial zone was quiet at night. The sky wasn’t very dark; there were no stars to speak of, but the moon was full, hanging high.
He took a deep breath. The air was fresh, though hot and humid—thick in the nose, not very comfortable.
That was the one thing Jiang Luo didn’t really like about Shenzhen.
But walking beside Huo Zongzhuo, his heart calm and quietly filled with affection, that small dislike felt utterly trivial.
He walked at an unhurried pace, soaking in the stillness of the industrial zone at night—and the stillness deep inside himself.
He glanced at Huo Zongzhuo walking beside him and thought that after a long day, this kind of walk really was nice. Relaxing. Comfortable. Happy.
“Huo Zongzhuo.”
He called the man’s name. After walking quietly for a bit, he suddenly said, without preamble, “Have you ever thought about the future?”
“Hm?”
“What kind of future?”
Huo Zongzhuo asked, turning his head slightly as they walked.
“The future of… life, I guess?”
“Things outside of work.”
Jiang Luo gave examples. “Like whether you’ll pick up other hobbies.”
“Or whether you’ll meet a girl you like.”
Only after saying it did Jiang Luo realize what he really wanted to ask. Talking about the future—he wanted to know what plans Huo Zongzhuo had for his private life.
He wanted to know.
He was, after all, still a little unwilling to let go.
Huo Zongzhuo didn’t answer immediately. After thinking for a moment, he said, “Maybe I’ll find other ways to relax.”
He honestly didn’t care much about that.
“Hm?”
Jiang Luo pressed on. “What about girls?”
“What?”
Huo Zongzhuo looked at him.
Jiang Luo kept walking. “You’ll meet someone you like someday, right?”
“Why do you say that?”
Huo Zongzhuo didn’t follow his lead.
Jiang Luo said, “You will, won’t you? It’s possible, right?”
“Maybe.”
Huo Zongzhuo’s answer was vague.
Jiang Luo continued, “Have you thought about what your life will be like later? Getting married, settling down somewhere, how many kids?”
“No.”
Huo Zongzhuo answered firmly.
Jiang Luo heard that “no” clearly, but there was no secret joy in his heart.
He always felt that sooner or later, Huo Zongzhuo would get married. Even though in his previous life Huo Zongzhuo hadn’t, even close to forty—but that was the previous life. This life was different. Things might not turn out the same.
Jiang Luo wanted to talk about this, so he kept going. “You’d probably still live in Su City, right?”
“Your mom’s there. You wouldn’t go too far.”
Huo Zongzhuo didn’t respond.
Jiang Luo added, “I think you’d at least have a daughter. They say daughters take after their fathers.”
“Even though the policy only allows one child now—better births, better upbringing.”
“But having more isn’t a big deal. Just pay a fine.”
“You can afford it. Have as many as you want.”
Deep down, Huo Zongzhuo resisted this topic. Marriage and children were impossible for him.
But since Jiang Luo brought it up—and since he never wanted Jiang Luo to sense anything amiss in him—he didn’t interrupt.
Only after Jiang Luo finished did Huo Zongzhuo ask, “What about you?”
At this point, he couldn’t help thinking about Jiang Luo’s future too. Even though in his plans, Jiang Luo’s future was meant to stay by his side—life always had its what-ifs.
What if things didn’t unfold the way he envisioned?
Jiang Luo walked on and looked at him. “Me? As for me…”
He thought for a moment, looked away, and lied. “Maybe I’ll have a daughter too.”
“People from Haicheng don’t like having many kids. One is enough—a single daughter, precious beyond measure.”
Huo Zongzhuo didn’t respond.
Jiang Luo turned back, tone light and natural. “Then they can play together, be good friends, like sisters—close like we are.”
Still, Huo Zongzhuo said nothing.
Jiang Luo’s heart felt swollen and sore, but his face stayed relaxed. He went on, “The next generation, the one after that—staying this close forever. That’d be great.”
“And your kids would call me Dad too. I’d be their godfather.”
They stopped walking at the same time.
Moonlight and streetlamps illuminated their shadows, but not the feelings hidden in their hearts.
Facing each other, Jiang Luo looked into the man’s dark eyes and smiled faintly. “Huo Zongzhuo, you’ll definitely be happy someday.”
“No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I hope you’re happy.”
“My feelings for you are just like how good you’ve been to me—genuine.”
Huo Zongzhuo quietly met his gaze.
Jiang Luo’s heart was aching, yet unobstructed. Saying these words, making the decision to let go, didn’t hurt as much as he’d imagined. Instead, it felt like his feelings were breaking through the soil, sprouting and growing—
So this was another way love could exist.
So love didn’t have to be selfish possession. It could be letting go. It could be blessing.
Huo Zongzhuo, I bless you.
Jiang Luo looked at him.
I wish you a smooth life and career. I wish you a happy, complete future—a peaceful, joyful family.
I’ll stay by your side, watching from nearby, cheering you on quietly.
If that’s the case, I think I’ll be happy too.
Jiang Luo looked at Huo Zongzhuo and smiled silently.
Huo Zongzhuo looked back at him, revealing nothing, saying nothing.
Later, when Jiang Luo started acting like a mischievous monkey again and jumped onto him during their walk, Huo Zongzhuo simply carried him on his back.
Jiang Luo called out, “Huo Zongzhuo, why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Hm?”
Huo Zongzhuo still said nothing.
His heart and his intentions were hidden deep—like how people see moonlight, but never the dark side of the moon.
On that hidden side lay feelings he couldn’t easily speak of.
He believed those feelings would seem insidious, even shameful, to Jiang Luo.
He didn’t feel trapped by them, nor did he despise himself—but when Jiang Luo said, “The next generation, the one after that—staying this close forever,” he understood something clearly.
The love Jiang Luo needed from him was not the same as the love he wanted to give.
Huo Zongzhuo carried Jiang Luo forward.
The road ahead was open. His heart was not.
What he saw wasn’t the road—it was Jiang Luo’s future. A future where Jiang Luo would fall in love with a woman, get married, have children. Just like he said: a treasured only daughter, a pearl in the palm.
Huo Zongzhuo thought that daughter would be his treasure too. He would love her as fiercely as he cherished Jiang Luo.
“Huo Zongzhuo.”
“Hm?”
“You’ll be happy in the future.”
“I will.”
At the Silver Lake villa, their rooms were next to each other.
After showering, Jiang Luo didn’t go to Huo Zongzhuo’s room. He behaved himself, wearing summer pajamas.
Huo Zongzhuo stood on the large balcony of his bedroom, smoking—one cigarette after another, embers flaring and dying.
When he finally stopped, returned to the bedroom, showered, and lay down, Jiang Luo came in, climbed onto the bed, and snuggled over as usual, wrapping himself around Huo Zongzhuo.
Huo Zongzhuo looked down at him and held him too.
At least in this moment, they only had each other.
“Dad,” Jiang Luo said with his eyes closed. “Read me a poem.”
Lull me to sleep.
“Okay.”
Huo Zongzhuo was about to begin when Jiang Luo changed his mind. “Actually… I’ll sing you a song instead.”
Jiang Luo sang a tune that wouldn’t exist until many years later. He didn’t sing the lyrics—just hummed the melody.
It was a song Jiang Luo had listened to over and over in his previous life, alone in a hospital bed in Beijing, bored and ill—
Moonlight Caused the Trouble.