A Letter from Keanu Reeves

“I just ran into someone from the Fang family and had a brief chat. Now I’m at the parking lot.”
“Alright, wait for me. I’ll come down.”

Amidst a lineup of luxury cars with fancy license plates, Zhuo Zhixuan found the Maybach, walked over, and knocked on the door.

The rear window rolled down. Zhao Shengge leaned against the seat, his hand resting casually on the window frame. He nodded toward him and asked, “What’s up?”

Zhuo Zhixuan bent slightly and handed over the item. “A server found this while cleaning. It should be yours.”

The cigarette case and lighter were neatly wrapped in brown paper, clean and orderly. It didn’t look like a piece of lost property picked up during cleaning—it resembled a gift.

Zhao Shengge took it, unwrapped it, and glanced at the contents. His eyes lifted suddenly, staring directly at Zhuo Zhixuan with a calm, deep gaze that seemed bottomless.

A sudden layer of sweat formed in Zhuo Zhixuan’s palms. Despite being the one standing, looking down from above, he inexplicably felt the pressure.

With his thick brows and dark eyes, Zhao Shengge could convey a sense of profound scrutiny and sharpness even when he didn’t mean to.

Zhuo Zhixuan’s mind drifted to childhood memories. Back then, they often played rugby together. When their team, led by Zhao Shengge, lost a match, he never got angry. Instead, he patiently coached everyone on adjusting their tactics, offering a few encouraging words—concise but impactful. Some people naturally exuded leadership and a sense of security, easily bringing others together.

Zhao Shengge was forgiving toward teammates who made mistakes, but if someone cheated by pretending to pass backward while offside, that person was never seen by his side again.

Strength could be excused, but deception was not something Zhao Shengge could tolerate.

Zhuo Zhixuan couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone in this world who could lie to Zhao Shengge without feeling guilty.

Oh, there was indeed one person.

Chen, the “Great Philanthropist.”

Zhuo Zhixuan sighed inwardly. He felt like he owed Chen Wan in his past life—and probably owed him a life in this one too.

Just as Zhuo Zhixuan was about to say something, Zhao Shengge gave him a faint smile. “Thanks for the trouble.”

“…No trouble.” Maintaining his bowed posture to speak, Zhuo Zhixuan handed over the item.

Zhao Shengge offered him a cigarette, patted him on the shoulder, and said, “The hotel’s nice. A promising start,” then left.

“…”

Unaware of the storm he narrowly avoided, Chen Wan continued helping Zhuo Zhixuan entertain guests at the hotel.

He always assumed Zhao Shengge wouldn’t remember him. What he didn’t know was that his face was one that tempted crime. Nor did he realize that while Zhao Shengge might deal with a hundred things in a day, the number of people he needed to meet in a week rarely exceeded ten.

Moreover, Zhao Shengge was an incredibly sharp, hyper-vigilant, and suspicious individual.

Sitting in the back seat of the car, legs crossed, Zhao Shengge fiddled with the lighter before tossing it aside.

The weather in Haishi was as unpredictable as ever. Rain had begun to fall outside the car window, streaking across the glass like broken threads. The wind howled fiercely, and the meteorological station would likely issue a red rainstorm warning again.

After the last typhoon signal was lifted, Zhao Shengge attended a video conference before heading to Tan Youming’s private club.

That evening, the lights, music, and even the temperature were exceptionally pleasant, subtly different from every other visit.

When the fruit platter was served, Shen Zongnian asked Tan Youming, “Did you upgrade your service here?”

Leaning back on the sofa, Zhao Shengge glanced at the platter, which was almost entirely filled with his favorite tropical fruits.

The mangosteen had already been scored lightly with a cross, making it easy to peel.

This delicate and troublesome fruit would stain your hands with purple juice when peeled, yet its flesh would oxidize within minutes if removed too soon. The light scoring made it easier to open while still keeping the fruit protected within its peel.

Another fruit, the ruby grapefruit, had been prepped as well—cut open, de-seeded. Even someone as picky as Zhao Shengge found himself eating a few extra pieces that night.

It wasn’t that Tan Youming’s club had upgraded its service. It was that an additional, attentive individual was there.

Hiding in the dim lighting, Chen Wan reduced his presence as much as possible, while Zhao Shengge scrutinized him openly under the spotlight.

This wasn’t the first time such a scenario played out.

After one dinner, in Shen Zongnian’s teahouse, several men sat around an antique table discussing business. Meanwhile, Chen Wan quietly carried a teapot to boil water and brew tea.

He rarely spoke. His hands were pale, and there was a small mole at the base of his right index and middle fingers that appeared and disappeared with the movement of his fingers.

He seemed gentle, modest, and refined, the type of person who would make an excellent partner.

Even the temperature for warming the cups was precisely calculated, leaving them just right in his hands.

Details like these pinned themselves into Zhao Shengge’s mind like meticulously crafted icons.

Wherever Chen Wan was, even the humidity in the air seemed perfectly comfortable.

It didn’t happen often, but it was enough.

Enough to raise Zhao Shengge’s guard.

To be fair, Chen Wan’s behavior was open and unassuming. His attentiveness and consideration were subtle and imperceptible, like silent rain nourishing everything without leaving a trace.

Most importantly, he treated everyone equally.

He showed no flattery toward people like Tan Youming and no impatience toward a server who accidentally spilled wine. Polite, composed, and impeccably proper.

He was clever, attempting to turn this refined social etiquette into an impartial approach to all. It wasn’t deliberate kindness toward anyone—it was a meticulous observation and accommodation of everyone’s preferences.

He skillfully presented himself as a modest, subservient figure and consistently reinforced that impression.

It all made sense, flawless and seamless. Chen Wan’s mastery was near perfection.

But unfortunately, his opponent was Zhao Shengge—a man with more layers of insight than the holes in a pineapple.

Everyone else accepted Chen Wan’s kindness as a matter of course. Zhao Shengge did not.

Not because he was vain, but because Chen Wan made the mistake of rinsing the Da Hong Pao tea leaves twice before serving him that night.

In Haishi, there’s a saying: “The stronger the tea, the bigger the business.” People here all drink strong tea, but Zhao Shengge only switched to mild tea after his stomach was damaged during his years abroad due to his inability to adapt to foreign cuisine.

Occasionally, his secretary would forget to filter the tea leaves twice. Zhao Shengge could tell with the first sip but would never say anything.

He wasn’t one to be harsh with others. As long as it wasn’t a matter of principle, he didn’t mind.

But this was a very subtle and private personal habit.

Zhao Shengge didn’t like to explain things with coincidences. He preferred clues, dissecting the details, and uncovering objective patterns hidden in apparent randomness.

Coincidences were accidental; only patterns were eternal.

Chen Wan tried to brandish and disguise himself as “mundane” and “worldly,” but he missed one detail—he failed to hide his intentions from Zhao Shengge.

A person whose motives are unclear is dangerous.

Chen Wan was smart but unlucky to have met someone like Zhao Shengge.

A rose meeting a tiger doesn’t need a close sniff; its fragrance is already betrayed.

Throughout his life, Zhao Shengge had seen honeyed words with daggered hearts, double-dealers, and far too many instances of feigned resistance or calculated seduction.

The cigarette case and lighter were merely a small test that proved nothing.

Not climbing the ladder of opportunity only made Chen Wan tactful, not harmless.

He thought he was being discreet in giving them, but Zhao Shengge could be equally subtle in refusing to accept.

Chen Wan was quiet, like a misty haze that drifted over occasionally, only to be scattered by the wind.

Zhao Shengge disliked vagueness, the unknown, uncertainty, and especially others playing mind games with him.

That’s why BYD suffered collateral damage on the day of the auction.

The next day, Chen Wan went to the shop to retrieve his car.

After the BYD clashed with a Rolls-Royce and lost catastrophically, it developed a mechanical issue and was sent for repairs.

The shop owner, who was an acquaintance, asked how he managed to overheat the engine of a car known for its durability.

Chen Wan patted the hood of his car and sneered, “Ran into a lunatic.”

After the auction, he specifically looked into the matter but found no leads. That unassuming yet overbearing Rolls-Royce seemed to have vanished into thin air in Haishi.

Just like Zhao Shengge, who disappeared for almost two months after the opening banquet.

Even Tan Youming couldn’t locate him. As someone constantly busy and with a special status, Zhao Shengge had to be cautious—especially after surviving a dangerous shooting abroad a couple of years ago. Everyone understood this, or perhaps they had simply grown used to it.

Chen Wan never proactively asked questions, but Zhuo Zhixuan, knowing his curiosity, deliberately speculated during a group dinner that Zhao Shengge might have gone to Canada, where a significant economic industry meeting was taking place.

As the newly elected member of the Asia-Pacific Trade Association, it was highly likely for Zhao Shengge to attend.

Tan Youming interjected, saying it wasn’t Canada but Singapore, where Minglong was planning to establish a new batch of factories.

Ordinarily, setting up factories wouldn’t require Zhao Shengge’s personal involvement, but these were fully intelligent factories, and Minglong—or rather, Zhao Shengge—was always ahead of the industry. This was the first large-scale implementation of their new AI program. Still, Tan wasn’t entirely sure, so he glanced at Shen Zongnian.

Whether Shen Zongnian genuinely didn’t know or was simply tight-lipped, he remained silent.

He had always been reserved, which made Tan Youming squint suspiciously. “You’re not lying to me, are you?” Back in school, when Zhao Shengge worked on robotics and model aircraft, he always called on Shen Zongnian, disliking how Tan and Zhuo lacked the patience to see projects through.

Shen Zongnian shrugged, maintaining his usual indifferent demeanor. “I’m not lying.”

Chen Wan didn’t know who to believe. After the topic made a full circle, he couldn’t glean even a thread of useful information and felt somewhat disappointed.

He couldn’t help but think that being friends with someone like Zhao Shengge must be challenging. He wondered if the person who eventually stood by his side would also have to endure years of separation, with their partner’s whereabouts strictly confidential and untraceable.

Forever passively waiting, silently standing by.

But these thoughts had nothing to do with Chen Wan.

Willingness had never been his choice. He was already like the person waiting by the tree for the rabbit, not knowing how much longer he could keep waiting.

When that person finally appeared, he wouldn’t wait any longer.

Zhuo Zhixuan, noticing how quiet Chen Wan had become as he sipped his tea, felt a sudden jolt of worry. Before leaving, he pulled him aside and said sternly, “Don’t do anything reckless.”

“What?”

Zhuo Zhixuan studied him for a moment and said, “All of what we just said was just speculation. Don’t actually try to fly there. If Zhao Shengge wants to disappear, not even his old man can find him.”

“…” Chen Wan looked at him like he was an idiot. “Am I crazy?”

Zhuo Zhixuan, in turn, looked at him like he was a lunatic and replied earnestly, “You always have been.”

“…”