A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Chen Wan’s heart sank rapidly. He had no time to react. He only heard a loud bang as the photoelectric bullet whistled through the air, hitting the moving target that had somehow ended up behind him.

Chen Wan stood frozen in place, his mind blank.
The targets on the wall were mobile, and one had just drifted to his rear by chance.

Zhao Shengge reloaded his gun. His face was obscured by protective goggles, making it impossible to read his expression. He shifted direction and fired another shot without hesitation.

The sound of the shot was crisp and decisive, resonating with unshakable authority.

A robotic female voice announced, “Ten rings,” echoing through the hall.

The interval between the two shots was less than a second, and the blasts exploded in Chen Wan’s ears on either side. A whirlwind of fragmented memories flashed through his mind.

Although Chen Wan’s face remained expressionless, he was drenched in cold sweat.

Zhao Shengge glanced at the bullseye to confirm his score. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, a fleeting moment heavy with indecipherable meaning.

Chen Wan’s already startled heart sank further.

He was almost certain that this was a warning from Zhao Shengge.

It probably wasn’t that his unspeakable feelings had been exposed, but Zhao Shengge must have found something about him unsettling or inappropriate.

Chen Wan’s mind raced as he reviewed his actions, trying to figure out what Zhao Shengge’s warning meant.

He had always thought he had hidden his feelings well. Even Zhuo Zhixuan often teased, “I’m beginning to wonder if you actually like him at all,” which meant his “performance” shouldn’t have been that unconvincing.

So, where had he slipped up?

Chen Wan couldn’t figure it out.

Not that he particularly cared about how Zhao Shengge viewed him.

To Chen Wan, what Zhao Shengge thought of him didn’t matter much. After all, there had never been any expectations to begin with. In Zhao Shengge’s eyes, he would ideally be just an inconspicuous nobody, a mere passerby.

That would make it easier for Chen Wan to do what he needed to do—quietly, without drawing attention or alerting Zhao Shengge himself.

Chen Wan stood rooted to the spot, thinking deeply. Had his presence already begun to trouble Zhao Shengge?

If so, he had gone entirely off course.

Everything he had done so far was intended to make Zhao Shengge’s life a little easier. If Chen Wan himself had become an annoyance, then it was utterly unnecessary.

He would just be adding to the man’s burdens.

Unrequited love has its rules. Unrequited love has a code of conduct.

The baseline is not to disturb the other party. Silence is the principle.

There’s no reason—and no right—to make Zhao Shengge bear even the slightest impact of his feelings.

He had made a mistake. Chen Wan pressed his lips into a thin line as his heart sank to the depths of the ocean.

When the event ended, Chen Wan changed his clothes and stepped outside early, waiting near the lawn for the others.

The weather in Haishi was unpredictable. One moment the sun was blazing in full glory; the next, a cloud floated in, casting everything in a gloomy shadow.

Chen Wan glanced at his phone for a while, then walked to the roadside, following behind a young boy carrying a sack made of woven plastic. A few empty bottles tumbled out of the bag, and Chen Wan bent down to help pick them up.

The boy jumped in surprise and turned around to thank him.

The boy’s face was flushed from the sun, his sweat-drenched body looking thin and frail. Only his eyes were particularly dark and bright. His timid gaze revealed unease—this area didn’t allow scavengers, for fear of offending the wealthy. He must’ve sneaked in, crossing the road cautiously because he couldn’t compete for scraps in the designated scavenging zones.

The boy, worried about being caught by security, hoisted the sack onto his back and quickly prepared to leave.

“Wait.”

Chen Wan unscrewed the cap from his bottle of iced tea, finished the drink in one go, and handed the empty bottle to the boy.

The boy hesitated, scanning Chen Wan, before shyly taking the bottle and whispering another thank-you.

Chen Wan, fully aware of the boy’s fear, watched him quietly. His voice was calm and reassuring. “It’s fine. They won’t come here.”

The boy hesitated but finally relaxed a little, though he still seemed embarrassed. Chen Wan glanced at the boy’s overfilled sack and suggested, “If you crush the bottles, wouldn’t the bag hold more?”

“What?”

The boy didn’t speak Mandarin well, so Chen Wan switched to Cantonese. He pulled a bottle from the sack and demonstrated, crushing it, stacking it, and tying it neatly in one smooth motion.

The boy stared in astonishment.

“Shall we?” Chen Wan said.

The boy hesitated but joined in, helping to crush and organize the rest of the bottles.

Chen Wan struck up a casual conversation. “Where do you usually look for bottles?”

The boy murmured softly, “Dongyang Street.”

Chen Wan tied the bottles into a compact bundle and said, “It’s not easy to find anything there, is it?”

“No,” the boy replied, clearly dejected.

“Then try heading a few hundred meters toward Wong Tai Sin Park. There’s a small alley behind Temple Street with a little doorway you can squeeze through. The security guards at Shao Mansion won’t patrol there.”

The boy gave him a skeptical look, finding it odd that someone as polished and refined as Chen Wan would know scavenging tricks. “How do you know?”

Chen Wan smiled faintly. “Go see for yourself, and you’ll find out if I’m right.”

“Oh.”

“Are you still in school?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it tiring, going to school and scavenging at the same time?”

The boy nodded.

Chen Wan brushed some dust off his pant leg, squatting down so he was at eye level with the boy. “Why not think of it as a treasure hunt on the side?”

“A treasure hunt? What can I find?”

Chen Wan gazed at him, though his eyes seemed to look through him, his voice soft. “I don’t know. That’s for you to discover. Everyone finds something different.”

The boy seemed intrigued and said, “Okay.”

Chen Wan tied the sack’s opening deftly, his movements practiced, as if he had done it countless times. “This is enough to make a trip to the recycling station. Don’t hoard too much at once, and never go after dark.”

At night, prices would be slashed, and seasoned scavengers might lurk, waiting to steal or snatch the fruits of someone else’s labor.

The main doors of the club opened, and someone walked out. Startled, the boy looked nervously at Chen Wan, then quickly hoisted his heavy sack and hurried off. He glanced back twice, his lips moving as if to say something, but in the end, he remained silent.

The person who had come out was Qin Zhaoting. He approached Chen Wan and asked, “Was that a beggar kid?” He explained, “I’ve already instructed more patrols, but it’s hard to prevent entirely.”

Chen Wan didn’t comment, instead steering the conversation in a different direction.

On the second floor, in the innermost changing room, Zhao Shengge stood by the window, removing his wrist guards as he glanced down at the scene below.

Qin Zhaoting seemed to be saying something amusing to Chen Wan, his face full of laughter, even patting him on the shoulder.

Chen Wan was also smiling, though there was a subtle difference between his smile at Qin Zhaoting and the one he had shown the scavenging boy.

From the second floor, the details were hard to discern, but Zhao Shengge’s sharp observational skills made up for it.

After changing clothes, the group gradually gathered and chatted as they headed toward the parking lot. Halfway there, Chen Wan suddenly stopped and said he had forgotten something, telling them to go ahead without him.

Walking back with his head lowered, his hand was clenched tightly.

He had already resolved not to interfere in things he shouldn’t.

There were too many people in the world who needed saving, and he, Chen Wan, barely scraped by himself. He couldn’t be anyone’s savior.

But.

The boy, dragging an overloaded woven sack, moved slowly, so Chen Wan quickly caught up to him.

The boy turned back, full of wariness. Chen Wan smiled and said, “It’s me.”

The boy’s eyes lit up briefly. Chen Wan glanced at his bloodied toes and asked, “Do you have a phone at home? Or, how can I get in touch with you usually?”

The boy shook his head and gave an address near Wong Tai Sin Park, a small spot he used that no one else knew about.

Chen Wan didn’t say much more. He simply nodded and replied, “Wrap up your foot when you get back. I’ll see you next time.”

The boy kept watching his retreating figure, the setting sun casting a golden, sacred glow over the young man, making him appear like a descending deity who gradually faded into the distance.

When Chen Wan returned, the only available seat was next to the host.

This group of affluent young men, having indulged in too many delicacies, had Qin Zhaoting specifically prepare some authentic Cantonese comfort dishes for a change.

Even the dessert was bo zai gao (steamed rice pudding), a snack usually sold by street vendors in Luochang Bay.

There were many flavors—red bean, coconut, pineapple.

For these men, bo zai gao was all about nostalgia, a childhood treat once popular across Haishi.

Surprisingly, the refreshing dessert was well-received before the main course of lavish meats, and when only one piece was left on the plate, both Zhao Shengge and Qin Zhaoting simultaneously reached for it with their chopsticks.

The atmosphere became a little tense.

Tan Youming, slouched beside Shen Zongnian, had a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly anticipating some drama.

It wasn’t about getting another plate; it was about the moment itself.

He thrived on seeing others in awkward situations. Whether it was Qin Zhaoting or Zhao Shengge being embarrassed, it would be quite the sight. After all, in all his life, he’d never seen Zhao Shengge in an uncomfortable situation.

Unfortunately for him, nothing awkward happened when Chen Wan was around.

Chen Wan asked Qin Zhaoting if he wanted his portion.

Each bo zai gao was individually wrapped, and the one in front of Chen Wan had been untouched since it was served.

Qin Zhaoting, easygoing by nature, turned to Chen Wan, who was seated next to him, and casually asked since it wouldn’t make sense for Zhao Shengge to eat someone else’s share.

“Not going to eat it?” Qin Zhaoting asked.

Zhao Shengge caught those slightly curved eyes looking at Qin Zhaoting and politely said, “I’m full. If Mr. Qin would like to help finish it, that would be wonderful. It’d be a shame to waste it.”

Chen Wan didn’t like bo zai gao. For these young masters accustomed to exotic delicacies, it was a fun novelty to cleanse their palates. But for Chen Wan, it was far from a good memory.

Back when Song Qingmiao hid him in a tiny ten-square-meter apartment in a tong lau, no one looked after him. Living in the slums, surrounded by chaos, bullying was a daily occurrence.

Older kids would throw the bo zai gao Song Qingmiao left for him into a dog hole, forcing Chen Wan to fight with dogs for food. Or worse, they’d stomp on the snack and shove his head down to eat it off the ground…

No matter how sweet bo zai gao was, it always tasted bitter in Chen Wan’s mouth.

Tan Youming, disappointed by the lack of drama, started fiddling with Shen Zongnian’s phone.

The last piece of bo zai gao eventually ended up in Zhao Shengge’s bowl, though he only took a single bite.

Caring for Zhao Shengge was ingrained in Chen Wan’s bones. Seeing that he hadn’t eaten much, Chen Wan instinctively reached for some honey-glazed osmanthus seeds, thinking to suggest adding them. But midway, he remembered he shouldn’t do such things anymore, so he stopped himself.

Tan Youming, noticing, quipped, “What now?”

Zhao Shengge glanced at Qin Zhaoting, then leaned back in his chair and commented, “It’s just okay.”

Chen Wan froze for a moment, lowered his eyes, and set the osmanthus seeds down. Qin Zhaoting, however, took them directly from his hand and asked, “What’s this?”

Chen Wan flashed a flawless smile that betrayed nothing. “Honey-glazed osmanthus seeds. They’re sprinkled on bo zai gao for flavor.”

“Just sprinkle them on? How much? Can you do it for me?” Qin Zhaoting asked.

Chen Wan mechanically took his untouched bo zai gao, added a small amount, and placed it in front of Qin Zhaoting.

After taking a bite, Qin Zhaoting smiled and said to everyone, “I quite like it.”

During the tea break, the servers brought in materials for rolling tea cigarettes, a trendy luxury in Haishi. These were regular cigarettes infused with tea leaves, blending nicotine with a subtle tea aroma.

The wealthy often prided themselves on rolling their own instead of using pre-made ones, so restaurants started offering tools at their tea lounges.

Chen Wan, avoiding the limelight and connections, quietly sat in a corner rolling cigarettes. When he finished, he realized he’d rolled one with Da Hong Pao tea leaves.

Feeling it inappropriate, he immediately tried to dispose of it, but Qin Zhaoting noticed and exclaimed, “Chen Wan, is there anything you can’t do?”

Chen Wan shook his head with a light laugh. “Just messing around.”

“What did you roll?” Qin Zhaoting asked.

Before Chen Wan could respond, Qin Zhaoting identified it himself. “Da Hong Pao.”

“Can I try it?”

Chen Wan hesitated, unwilling to give it away. He knew exactly who it was intended for, and even if Zhao Shengge didn’t care, he didn’t want to hand it to anyone else.

“That one fell on the floor and got dirty. Let me roll another for you,” Chen Wan said.

With nothing else to do, he rolled a few more for fun. Zhuo Zhixuan liked Tie Guan Yin, Tan Youming preferred sweet Silver Needle, and he prepared a variety for anyone interested.

“Sure,” Qin Zhaoting agreed, placing the previous one aside. “Go ahead. I’ll learn by watching.”

When Tan Youming noticed, he yelled in mock complaint, “You two are hogging all the good stuff!”

With that, everyone came over to pick from the selection—Bai Hao, Dan Cong, Zheng Shan Xiao Zhong.

Zhao Shengge’s gaze swept across the spread, spotting the Da Hong Pao cigarette discarded in the trash. Its scattered tea leaves were mixed with fruit peels and scraps of paper.

He stood silently for a moment. No one noticed.

Someone needed a lighter, and Chen Wan, ever the gentleman, offered his.

It wasn’t Cartier but a Zorro.

Chen Wan used to have many beautiful lighters.

Expensive yet, in truth, cheap.

The lighter was returned to Chen Wan, who casually slipped it into his pocket.

Since returning from sea, he had swapped out his lighters for the newest and most extravagant ones.

But he would no longer need them.

Everything was starting to lose its meaning.

Chen Wan once believed that as long as he didn’t disturb or affect Zhao Shengge, he could continue living his quiet dream.

But it seemed the dream was coming to an end.