The Shadows (Underworld 4) JH

13: His Precious Possession

And now, all these years later, that man was Wen Junhui. The very same person who had made sure Minghao had a place to stay when he was at his most vulnerable, who had quietly taken care of him without asking for anything in return.

Minghao's thoughts swirled, the revelation both unsettling and intriguing. Why was Junhui doing this? Was it simply a gesture of kindness, or was there something more behind it? And why had he felt that strange sense of recognition when they first met again, in the rain outside his studio in Shanghai?

Sujin noticed the change in Minghao's expression, her smile softening. "Mr. Wen is a very generous man," she said gently, as if to reassure him. "He has a deep appreciation for art and those who create it."

Minghao nodded slowly, still processing the information. "I see. Thank you, Sujin."

As he left the hotel, Minghao's mind was a whirlwind of questions. The memory of Junhui at the exhibition, the quiet kindness he had shown, and the strange sense of connection that lingered between them—all of it pointed to something deeper, something that Minghao couldn't quite grasp yet.

But one thing was clear: Wen Junhui was not just a stranger, and their paths had crossed before, long before this recent encounter. Minghao's thoughts drifted back to Yulan, to the secrets she was keeping, and to the mysterious man who seemed to be watching over him from the shadows.

Minghao's footsteps echoed across the pristine marble floors as he marched toward the front desk, determination fueling each step. His thoughts were a chaotic whirl—images of Yulan in the hospital bed, the mysterious kindness from this stranger, and the unsettling feeling of being watched. Something wasn't right, and Minghao needed answers.

"Sujin," he said, his voice edged with frustration, "I need to speak with Wen Junhui. Now."

The receptionist, Sujin, looked up, her smile professional yet tinged with unease at the urgency in Minghao's voice. "Mr. Junhui isn't available at the moment, sir. Perhaps I can—"

"Don't give me that," Minghao snapped, his patience fraying. "Tell me where he is, or how I can reach him. I can't wait any longer."

Just as Sujin opened her mouth to respond, the large double doors of the hotel swung open with a slow creak, drawing Minghao's attention. Junhui entered, his presence commanding and his expression unreadable. His eyes, however, were unmistakable—dark, intense, and focused entirely on Minghao.

"Minghao," Junhui said, his voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an undercurrent of something far more sinister. "It's good to see you again. You're looking for me?"

Minghao swallowed hard, the calm facade he had tried to maintain beginning to crack under Junhui's unsettling gaze. "Yes, I am. I want to know why you've been doing all of this—paying for my stay, helping me in ways that no stranger would. What do you want from me?"

Junhui's lips curled into a smile, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down Minghao's spine. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them with an air of predatory grace.

"Want?" Junhui echoed, his voice almost a purr. "Minghao, this isn't about want. This is about need. A need that's grown inside me since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

Minghao's eyes widened, and he took an instinctive step back, but Junhui matched his retreat with a step forward, his movements smooth and unhurried, like a hunter closing in on his prey.

"You see," Junhui continued, his tone soft yet laced with an eerie intensity, "when I first saw you at that exhibition in Seoul, something clicked. It wasn't just your art that captivated me, though your talent is undeniable. It was you, Minghao. There's something about you... something that I can't resist."