A Letter from Keanu Reeves

When He Shengyuan delivered his speech, everyone returned to the main banquet hall. Only Zhao Shengge and Philippe remained upstairs, as their identities were not suited for casual exposure to the media. The VIP lounge had been specially arranged for them.

He Shengyuan was not one for unnecessary words, and his entire speech lasted only a few minutes.

But when figures of his stature spoke, even the briefest words carried weight.

Everyone listening had their own interpretations.

“If Minglong and Baisheng truly plan to expand into Northern Europe, this could be a huge opportunity for the Yao family.”

Though the Yao family was not among the most prominent in Haishi, they had been one of the earliest to establish deep roots in Europe. If they could align with both Zhao and He’s powerhouses, restoring their former glory in Haishi would be just a matter of time.

“Baisheng generally isn’t opposed to third-party investments. Minglong, on the other hand… is a different story.”

At the end of the day, it all depended on Zhao Shengge.

“Ah—Mr. Zhao and Xiaonan were once teammates, you know. Back when they competed, Zhao always took Xiaonan with him on every expedition.”

Someone eager to form ties with the Yao family chimed in, “I remember Zhao even taught Xiaonan how to ski, right?”

—If you counted the two-day group training that Zhao Shengge, as president of the ski club, provided to all freshmen, then yes.

Yao Jianan, a little embarrassed, responded, “Captain took care of me.”

Chen Wan set down his wine glass, answered a work call, and after a brief word with Zhuo Zhixuan, left early.

He had been drinking, so his driver was already waiting in the parking lot behind the villa.

As he stepped outside, a beautiful young woman passed by him.

“Chen Wan?”

Chen Wan paused mid-step, nodding slightly. Politely, he inquired about the woman whose bold outfit and striking accessories stood out even among the well-dressed crowd. “And you are?”

The woman smiled and extended her hand. “Xu Enyi. Perhaps your mother has mentioned me.”

“…Hello.” Chen Wan recalled the name but maintained his composure as he shook hands with her, the gesture polite but not intimate. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Xu Enyi was bright and cheerful. “Mingzai was my classmate in German class. We were also schoolmates abroad.”

They had never met before. Chen Wan wasn’t sure how she recognized him, but he offered a faint smile. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

Xu Enyi, uninterested in the dull banquet, was also heading to the parking lot, so she walked alongside him. “I’ve seen your photos, Mr. Chen. You’re easy to recognize.”

Chen Wan had no idea how much information Song Qingmiao had shared about him. Internally sighing, he replied politely, “You have sharp eyes, Miss Xu.”

Xu Enyi burst into laughter.

After He Shengyuan’s speech, Zhao Shengge accompanied Philippe for a brief business discussion—an unspoken favor to He Shengyuan.

Once the conversation concluded, Zhao returned alone to the quieter second floor, where Zhuo Zhixuan had already changed conversation partners.

Zhao walked over to the railing and glanced down at the crowd before heading back to the VIP lounge for his drink.

Queen of Palma.

His wine was not subject to the event’s exchange rules. He had no interest in leaving its fate to a mere one-percent chance encounter. Who he chose to share it with was entirely his own decision.

A waiter knocked on the door and entered to report, “Mr. Zhao, there’s a gentleman outside asking if you have a moment to meet him.”

Zhao Shengge was examining the wine label and didn’t even lift his head. His tone was indifferent. “Don’t let him in.”

“Understood,” the waiter replied.

Zhao closed the wine fridge and prepared to head downstairs.

The VIP lounge connected to an open-air terrace. From the large floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor, Zhao saw Chen Wan walking toward the parking lot with a young woman, engaged in a pleasant conversation.

Her outfit was bold, her gown long, and her high heels difficult to walk in. When she tripped slightly, Chen Wan chivalrously offered his arm for support as she adjusted her dress.

They shared a laugh over something.

The two figures, a perfectly matched pair, disappeared into the night.

Zhao Shengge placed the Queen of Palma back into the wine fridge. Cold condensation from the bottle dampened his hands, forming droplets that fell onto the carpet.

The door knocked again—it was the waiter. “Mr. Zhao, the wine marker you requested has arrived. Where would you like me to place it?”

This ribbon, meant to claim the bottle of Chardonnay under the glow of a thousand watchful eyes, now seemed drained of significance under artificial light.

Zhao Shengge quietly said, “I don’t need it anymore. Take it back. Thank you.”

The waiter, accustomed to guests who changed their minds on a whim, smoothly replied, “Understood. Then I’ll place it—”

“…Forget it. Give it to me.”

The day after the banquet was Chen Wan’s follow-up appointment. He had postponed work to attend Monica’s clinic as scheduled.

During this time, he had diligently followed his prescribed medication and taken proper rest—aside from the unavoidable overtime and social engagements.

Monica noted that his condition had remained relatively stable. However, during his emotional assessment, she observed that Zhao Shengge’s impact on him was significant.

Hearing this for the first time, Chen Wan found it somewhat amusing. “He’s not a drug.”

He had never regarded Zhao Shengge as a treatment or a means of therapy.

Monica, however, did not share his amusement. She sighed and assured him she would help him find a sustainable alternative before he decided to let go.

They both knew his current stability was not sustainable in the long term.

Chen Wan nodded, then shook his head. Zhao Shengge was irreplaceable. And, perhaps, he didn’t need a replacement.

Even now, he stubbornly believed he could fully control his own emotions.

Monica sighed inwardly but didn’t argue. Instead, she adjusted his prescription.

In early August, the exchange rate surged, and Haishi’s second-quarter economic outlook improved overall.

In times of turmoil, it was always the small fish that bore the brunt, while the great ships remained unaffected.

TCB ran extensive reports on He Shengyuan’s banquet from the previous night—solidifying the Zhao-He alliance as an undeniable fact.

Having secured He Shengyuan, Minglong Group was quick to follow suit, taking advantage of the momentum. They announced that the press conference and groundbreaking ceremony for Poliwan Wharf would be scheduled soon.

Chen Wan was a bit surprised when he received the invitation.

His small company was flattered to be called a rising tech star, but in the eyes of these old-money elites, it was practically nameless.

However, upon noticing that the invitation was not issued by Minglong Group itself but rather under the name of one of its obscure subsidiaries, he didn’t think much of it.

Kexiang did have some business dealings with this company, but Tianqing was a little-known subsidiary. Its contracts never bore the Minglong name, so few people realized it was backed by them.

Even Minglong itself probably didn’t often remember the existence of this forgotten “child.”

Zhuo Zhixuan stared at the gold-embossed invitation and eyed him sideways. “You’re not thinking of skipping it, are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I go?” Chen Wan asked, puzzled.

“…” Zhuo Zhixuan had completely given up trying to predict his thoughts and actions. “Who knows with you.” After all, he had turned down most invitations issued under Zhao Shengge’s name.

“I’m going.” Chen Wan carefully put away the invitation.

Strictly speaking, this was a business matter. Tianqing was their partner, and Kexiang was not solely his personal endeavor. He wouldn’t mix business with personal matters—he had a company to be responsible for.

The banquet was held at Baoli Bay.

Since the area was still under development, the coastal road in the suburban mountains was pitch-dark, illuminated only by the headlights of arriving cars.

At the banquet, the one overseeing the event and giving the main speech was a senior member of the Zhao family—a rare young talent among the Zhao clan who also served as a director at Minglong.

On such occasions, Zhao Shengge rarely spoke publicly. At most, he made an appearance.

He and Shen Zongnian, who also disliked socializing, sat upstairs in an inconspicuous corner by the curtains, drinking and watching the scene below—gowns fluttering, glasses clinking, small talk filling the air.

From this vantage point, everything was in clear view—who was networking with whom, whose gazes met across the room.

Zhao Shengge idly spun the metal ring on his finger.

Shen Zongnian took a sip of his drink and asked, “Why are you suddenly wearing that?”

The ring bore the Zhao family crest, a symbol of the highest authority in Minglong. Zhao Shengge had never used it to assert his background in business dealings—he found it unnecessary and distasteful, even when he was just starting out.

Zhao Shengge replied, “It’s bad luck to send someone to the hospital on a night like this.”

“…” That explanation made Shen Zongnian instantly understand.

It was Zhao Maozheng who had told him to wear it.

This was Minglong’s biggest project in the past decade. Not only was it a collaboration between the Shen, Tan, and Xu families, but it also involved high-level government contracts.

On such a grand occasion, family honor had to be upheld.

If Zhao Shengge refused to wear the “crown,” the elders might throw a fit and summon a doctor, and then the ever-snooping paparazzi would start weaving their own narratives.

The two of them overlooked the bustling crowd below. Everyone wore masks of civility, exchanged the same polite smiles, and engaged in endless small talk—busy, yet empty.

Despite the grandeur of the event, Zhao Shengge and Shen Zongnian sat relaxed.

To passersby, they might seem to be discussing billion-dollar deals. In reality, they were exchanging gossip about the guests below.

Before long, Tan Youming and Zhuo Zhixuan arrived, each with a drink in hand.

“Has anyone seen Chen Wan?” Zhuo Zhixuan asked.

Tan Youming didn’t think much of it, but Shen Zongnian retrieved his phone from Tan’s hand and flatly asked Zhao Shengge, “Did you invite Chen Wan?”

This wasn’t one of their usual private gatherings.

Although Shen Zongnian acknowledged Chen Wan’s capabilities, to put it bluntly, Kexiang was still far from being on Minglong’s guest list.

Zhao Shengge remained expressionless. “I have no idea.”

“Since when did I start managing Minglong’s guest list?”

“…”

Zhuo Zhixuan stepped in to explain, “No, it was a business invitation from Tianqing. They previously worked together on the Tingquan Bay project.”

Shen Zongnian had nearly forgotten that Minglong even had a subsidiary called Tianqing. He glanced at Zhao Shengge but said nothing more.

Tan Youming said, “Try calling him again. See where he is.”

“No answer. He said he left two hours ago.”

The city was, at most, an hour and a half away from here.