Worlds Apart | Chapter 70 | The Unmasking of a Hypocrite | Novela.app

Chapter 70 - The Unmasking of a Hypocrite The contacts stored within his phone spanned every conceivable time zone, a digital map of a life lived in the service of ambition. To these people, he was many things: a respected "Senior Brother," a brilliant "Professor," a formidable "Boss," or a reliable "Old Friend." They looked at him through a lens of professional admiration, seeing only the polished exterior of a man who had successfully navigated the treacherous waters of academia and the high-stakes world of biotech startups. Yet, Jiang Tong knew with a chilling certainty that if he were to ever truly reveal his current thoughts—not even the core secrets of his heart, but merely his fleeting doubts, his exhaustion, or the occasional dark impulse—the carefully constructed image they held of him would shatter like glass. He was a man living behind a series of masks, each one more refined than the last. But there was one exception. Only one person had been a witness to the ugliest, most wretched moments of his life. Only one person had seen him when the veneer of the "sanctimonious scholar" had been stripped away, leaving behind nothing but the raw, unsightly desires and the profound weakness he worked so hard to hide. As this realization struck him, a sudden flash of insight—a moment of *fu zhi xin ling*—washed over him. He finally understood why he found himself repeatedly drawn back into the orbit of Xiao Fengtai. He understood why he continued to maintain this absurd, tangled sexual relationship with his former student. It was because, in the presence of Xiao Fengtai, the masks were useless. He couldn't pretend, and more importantly, he lacked the strength to even try. Whether they were locked in a sharp-tongued battle of wits, or when he was caught under the younger man’s piercing, judgmental gaze, or even in those frantic moments where their bodies intertwined in a desperate union of flesh and soul, Jiang Tong felt a sensation he found nowhere else: a profound, soul-deep relaxation. It was the relief of a man who had finally stopped holding his breath, a loosening of the internal knots that had been tightened over years of playing the part of the "perfect" success story. Jiang Tong let out a laugh, a sound tinged with a deep, lingering bitterness. He was under no illusions about how he appeared in Xiao Fengtai’s eyes. He knew he was a failure, a calculated emotional predator, a hypocrite, and a "gold digger" who had lacked the conviction to even see his own greed through to the end. He was the man who had traded his integrity for a chance at a different life, only to find himself haunted by the ghosts of what he had left behind. And yet, did any of that truly matter? Transcending the labels and the mutual resentment, there was one undeniable truth: in Xiao Fengtai’s world, Jiang Tong was not a title, a reputation, or a success metric. He was a creature of flesh and blood—real, flawed, and complete. To be seen so clearly, even if the view was unflattering, was a luxury Jiang Tong could no longer live without. Before his habitual hesitation could override the sudden surge of impulse, Jiang Tong snatched up his phone. His fingers, usually so steady with a micropipette or a surgical blade, trembled slightly as he opened WeChat. He typed rapidly, pouring out several messages to Xiao Fengtai in a single, frantic burst. He didn't stop to edit or second-guess the vulnerability of his words. As soon as the messages were sent, he shoved the phone into the back of his desk drawer with a muffled *thud*. He sat there in the silence of his office, listening to the dull, rhythmic vibration of the device against the wood—a sound that seemed to echo the frantic thumping of his own heart. He had overstepped. He knew it with every fiber of his being. He had crossed a red line he had sworn to respect, and he was fully prepared for the fallout. He could already hear Xiao Fengtai’s voice in his head, dripping with the sharp, Beijing-accented mockery he knew so well, followed by a cold, final rejection. But in that moment, the consequences felt secondary. A madness had taken hold of him, a primal need that bypassed logic and self-preservation. He wanted to see him. He needed to see him with a desperation that felt like a physical ache, a hunger that no amount of professional success or academic prestige could ever hope to satisfy. *** **GLOSSARY OF NEW TERMS**