The Shadows (Underworld 4) JH

10: You Don't Remember Me

Minghao left the hospital, his mind heavy with the image of Yulan lying on the bed, her face pale and fragile. The entire scene had shaken him more than he wanted to admit, and now, as he walked the darkened streets of Seoul, he felt a growing sense of unease. He needed a place to stay, somewhere he could clear his mind and wait for Yulan to recover. But as he tried hotel after hotel, he found they were all either fully booked or unsuitable.

After what felt like hours of wandering, Minghao's feet led him to the entrance of a towering five-star hotel, its sleek glass façade reflecting the city lights. The name of the hotel gleamed in gold letters, a symbol of luxury and exclusivity. Minghao hesitated at the entrance, knowing this place was far beyond what he could comfortably afford, even with his considerable wealth. This was a hotel for the city's elite, a place where billionaires and power brokers conducted their affairs, not where an artist like him usually found himself.

But with no other options and exhaustion weighing on him, Minghao steeled himself and walked inside. The lobby was opulent, adorned with crystal chandeliers and marble floors that gleamed under the soft lighting. The air was filled with a subtle, expensive fragrance, and the staff moved with the quiet efficiency that spoke of impeccable training.

As he approached the front desk, Minghao's nerves began to fray. He could feel the weight of the place pressing down on him, making him acutely aware of how out of place he was. The receptionist greeted him with a polite, professional smile, but there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, as if she wondered what someone like him was doing in a place like this.

"Good evening, sir. How may I assist you?" she asked, her tone smooth and practiced.

"I... I'd like to book a room for a few nights," Minghao replied, trying to sound as confident as possible.

The receptionist's smile didn't waver, but her eyes flicked to the computer screen in front of her as she began typing. "Of course, sir. We have several suites available. Would you prefer a city view or a garden view?"

Minghao swallowed hard. He hadn't even considered the price yet, and already the options sounded exorbitant. "A... a city view, please."

"Certainly. Our city view suites start at $2,000 per night. Will that be acceptable?" she asked, her tone still polite but with an underlying note that suggested she was used to dealing with much wealthier clients.

"Give this man our best suite for as many days as he wants, Sujin," the man said, his voice smooth and commanding, with a confidence that suggested he was no stranger to wielding power.

Minghao's heart skipped a beat as the familiar voice cut through the air. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as he saw the man standing beside him—the same man who had offered him an umbrella in the rain back in Shanghai. Minghao's mind raced, trying to piece together how this stranger could be here, at this exact moment, in this opulent hotel.

The receptionist, Sujin, didn't hesitate. She gave a small bow and began adjusting the booking, her demeanor shifting to one of utmost professionalism. "Of course, Mr. Wen. I'll take care of everything right away."

Minghao's thoughts were a whirlwind. Mr. Wen? The name didn't immediately ring a bell, but there was something unsettlingly familiar about the man's face. He stared at the stranger, trying to reconcile his vague sense of recognition with the unsettling realization that this person might have been following him.

"Why... why are you doing this?" Minghao managed to ask, his voice tinged with suspicion and confusion. "Do I know you?"

The man—Mr. Wen—smiled, a small, enigmatic curve of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't remember me, do you?" he asked softly, almost as if he were talking to himself. "But I remember you, Minghao. I've admired your work for a long time."