A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Chen Wan resembled her, but their temperaments were entirely different. Where hers was flamboyant and youthful, his transformed into something restrained and composed.

Chen Wan walked over to extinguish her cigarette and said, “How about moving out? If you don’t want to live with me, I can find you another place, maybe a duplex or a villa.”
“As for him… I’ll handle it.”

It wasn’t the first time Chen Wan had brought this up. Song Qingmiao’s emotions flared, her eyes filled with reproach and confusion. “Why should I leave? I won’t go. If I don’t get what’s ours, I’d rather die here.”

Chen Wan fell silent for a moment before calmly replying, “Even if you die, he won’t leave it to you.”

“Then we’ll take it ourselves,” Song Qingmiao said, grabbing Chen Wan’s hand. “Baby, Mom only has you now. You need to make me proud.”

Chen Wan opened his mouth but stopped short, staring at this perpetual “girl” in front of him without a word.

Song Qingmiao couldn’t swallow the bitterness of her defeat. She had been so radiant once, her prime in the millennium, celebrated and sought after, her name echoing throughout Haishi.

At that time, Haishi was filled with women of bold, striking beauty. Song Qingmiao was like a lotus petal floating on a southern lake, captivating men in the arena of fame and fortune like bees drawn to nectar.

But to those men, she was merely an accessory, a gem adorning their sleeves—a symbol of power and prestige. A toy to be flaunted, not a treasure to be cherished at home. She was chased, yet disdained.

Eventually, the game stopped with Chen Bingxin. Even the most exquisite beauty became a joke in the end.

Chen Wan, too, was an unacknowledged joke. It took three paternity tests to confirm his identity before he was brought back to the Chen residence from a run-down apartment in the outer third ring.

Chen Wan had been laying low, carefully building his position, all in the hope of one day escaping this prison—a hell on earth. He yearned to leave with dignity, to finally catch a glimpse of that other world.

Freedom and peace were luxuries. From a young age, Chen Wan had dreamed of them.

But Song Qingmiao wanted more—money, fame, power, and the glory of her golden days in the millennium.

Chen Wan knew he couldn’t achieve all that, but he also couldn’t bring himself to abandon Song Qingmiao entirely to pursue his freedom alone.

When he was eleven, during a feverish winter in the mental hospital, teetering on the brink of death, it was Song Qingmiao who stormed in with scissors and pulled him out.

Did Song Qingmiao love him?

Not deeply. But perhaps a little.

Not much, but for Chen Wan, it was the only love he had in this world. So it was precious, and he wanted to hold on to it.

After a long silence, Chen Wan asked, “How much money do you need? I can earn it.”

Song Qingmiao spoke softly, but her tone was laced with derision. “How much could you possibly earn?”

Suddenly, she leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Baby, recently Xie Jiajian has been asking me out.”

Chen Wan froze, his temple throbbing. He said sternly, “Don’t go!”

Song Qingmiao, clearly pleased with herself for still being desirable, dismissed his concerns.

Chen Wan frowned. “Don’t go. He has a family. He’s not genuinely pursuing you.”

Seeing her indifference, Chen Wan pressed on, “Lately, Rongxin’s board is going through a reshuffle. He’s only trying to get information from you and increase his shares.”

Xie Jiajian was a director at Rongxin, someone who had worked his way up under Chen Bingxin decades ago.

Song Qingmiao had always been foolishly vain. Beauty without matching intelligence often led to disaster. She pouted. “Who cares if it’s genuine? I’m not being genuine either.”

“I’m just having dinner with him to see if he has any way to help you get into Rongxin.”

“That’s even more unnecessary,” Chen Wan said firmly. “I’m not going into Rongxin. I have my own plans.”

Song Qingmiao became angry. “What plans? You’re wasting your life, aimless and complacent. Liao Zhihe just threw a party celebrating his promotion to general manager, and you—graduated for years—haven’t even stepped into a branch office. I’m so worried about you that I can’t sleep at night.”

Liao Zhihe was the nephew of Liao Liu from the second branch of the family. Rongxin had once been entirely controlled by Chen Bingxin. But after undergoing two heart bypass surgeries, his power waned, leaving the first branch, led by Cao Zhi, and the third branch, headed by Sui Yu, to divide the spoils.

Liao Liu, from the second branch, clung to Cao Zhi to grab his share. All branches despised Song Qingmiao for her beauty and questionable origins, uniting to suppress her.

The legitimate heirs and the illegitimate ones like Chen Wan fought fiercely within Rongxin. Chen Wan, however, always stayed out of it.

But he couldn’t tell Song Qingmiao the specifics of his plans; otherwise, she would squander the assets in casinos or at the card table.

Chen Wan quietly tidied the disordered jewelry boxes and covered them, then cleaned out the overflowing ashtray and opened the window for fresh air.

“You don’t need to worry about me. Just take care of yourself—that’s what’s most important.”

There was a knock at the door. “Fourth Madam, the master invites you to dinner.”

Song Qingmiao and Chen Wan exchanged glances and fell silent. Chen Wan lowered his voice. “Understood.”

When the two went downstairs, the others had already started the appetizers.

Chen Wan sat at an inconspicuous seat at the far end. When he saw the servants bringing out iced mung bean jelly and lotus root duck soup, he suddenly remembered it was Zhongyuan Festival today.

The fourteenth day of the seventh lunar month, also known as Ghost Festival.

People in Haishi loved their soups, and duck soup was a must for its homonym “ya,” meaning to suppress evil.

In this city, this traditional festival was taken more seriously than even Mid-Autumn Festival.

In the world of business, many people hold a slight belief in feng shui.
On the wall hung offerings to Ba Mian Shen and Mazu, with incense burning continuously. The room’s decor—walnut cabinets, heavy floral carpets, and green vines creeping up the windows—made the dining area feel oppressively dim, taking away any appetite.

The family members gathered around the dining table resembled a scene from The Last Supper, the ambiance shadowy and somber. Lightning flashes and thunder at the tail end of the typhoon illuminated every detail of their expressions.
Each harbored their own thoughts, yet their laughter and conversation filled the room, revolving around Hai City’s politics, economics, stocks, and horse racing. Flattering each other on the surface, they secretly compared themselves against one another.

The younger generation, most of whom had studied abroad before seamlessly joining Rongxin upon their return, conversed confidently before Chen Bingxin. Back in the day, the offers Chen Wan received were better than most of theirs. However, he never got the chance to leave. Instead, he stayed in Hai City and attended the University of Science and Technology.
Later, he was even offered a spot for graduate school, but he didn’t pursue it. Chen Wan didn’t have the luxury of time. He needed to transition from the ivory tower to the ruthless battlefield of the corporate world as quickly as possible.

While his peers impressed Chen Bingxin with their eloquent discussions about Rongxin’s various projects, Chen Wan remained a quiet observer. His cousins all presented themselves as rising stars, much to the delight of the second and third wives, while Song Qingmiao looked visibly upset. She toyed with her bracelet and sipped her bird’s nest soup.

Chen Wan, on the other hand, calmly ate his salad, unruffled.
He had no interest in Rongxin’s metaphorical cake. In fact, he was wary of getting involved in the slightest.

The current economic climate was weak, with Hai City’s urban expansion stalling. Land policies were far less generous than before. The once-booming real estate market was nearing saturation. Rongxin, reliant on traditional industries for profits, continued to expand its land holdings recklessly, a strategy akin to drinking poison to quench thirst. Its family-style management was outdated, never once considering restructuring its industrial portfolio. Those so-called projects were already on the brink of collapse, surviving purely on divine intervention.

After graduating from the University of Science and Technology, Chen Wan set his sights on the emerging field of energy technology, an area that few had ventured into. With rapid economic changes, he believed the future would be defined by resource wars.
And time proved him right.

Many of the highly-educated elites who had graduated from top-tier schools and returned to work for investment banks or real estate companies were now facing layoffs. In contrast, Chen Wan, who had stayed in Hai City, founded Kexiang Technology, now valued at a significant amount.

Despite its modest size, Kexiang was highly profitable. Chen Wan insisted on registering as a silent partner. His co-founder, a senior from university, teased him for “playing the fool while quietly striking gold.”
Chen Wan merely smiled and said, “Isn’t it good enough that I’m making money for you?”

But money wasn’t his primary goal. What mattered most was that he had managed to carve out a small opening into that world—the world of that person.
The gap wasn’t large, but it was a ladder painstakingly built with his own two hands, brick by brick.

Chen Wan took a sip of soup, his movements calm and deliberate. Song Qingmiao, unhappy with his lack of presence, gave him a meaningful glance, but he continued to eat in silence.
Song Qingmiao felt like even the bird’s nest soup was hard to swallow.

Someone mentioned Zhao Shengge, whose return to China was a major event in Hai City. Chen Wan’s spoon paused mid-air at the mention of the name.
Chen Yu, the eldest son of the main branch, brought up the fact that despite the numerous welcome banquets hosted by Zhao’s family and his friends and partners, Rongxin had yet to receive an invitation. He asked his father, Chen Bingxin, if they should try to pull some strings.

Chen Bingxin’s expression darkened. He was a veteran figure in Hai City, one whose name commanded respect. Despite being several decades older than Zhao Shengge, he dared not suggest that the Zhao family had slighted them. Instead, he vented his displeasure at his eldest son. “Do I have to teach you how to handle such matters?”

Chen Yu immediately apologized, though he felt aggrieved. How could they simply “pull some strings” with someone like Zhao Shengge?
Out of the ten-plus events hosted in Zhao Shengge’s honor, the man himself had attended fewer than a tenth of them.

Chen Jin, from the second branch, who was adept at reading the old man’s mood, chuckled and said, “The young master has spent years dealing with the U.S. dollar. Perhaps he no longer sees Hai City as significant.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t be putting on such airs.

Chen Bingxin tapped his cane against the floor in a feigned act of reprimand. “Watch your mouth!”
Chen Jin wasn’t fazed and merely quieted down. His mother, the second wife, smiled as she ladled another half-bowl of soup for her son.

The second wife’s brother—Chen Jin’s uncle, Liao Quan—was a master at defusing tension. With a hearty laugh, he remarked, “Regardless of what he’s been dealing with, the young master will still have to settle down and establish roots in Hai City. I’ve caught wind of some rumors from the Minglong side. I think it’s not just Rongxin that should seize this opportunity. The young ladies should also put in some effort. If they hit the jackpot, this won’t just be about ‘pulling strings.’”

At this, the daughters of the various branches blushed and lowered their heads, though the spark of hope and anticipation was evident in their eyes.
It wasn’t necessarily Zhao’s wealth they coveted; Zhao Shengge’s face alone was enough to make every young woman in the city swoon.

Chen Bingxin’s expression softened, likely comforted by the thought that among his many beautiful daughters, at least one had a chance.

The eldest wife’s brother, however, couldn’t bear to see Liao Quan bask in the limelight and interjected, “A bit premature, don’t you think? Let’s not forget the Xu family is still in the picture.”
A reference to Miss Xu, rumored to be Zhao Shengge’s fiancée.

Not wanting to hear more bickering, Chen Bingxin waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense! No man ever has just one option.”

No one at the table found this statement unusual.

Chen Wan set down his spoon, the clink of its handle against the porcelain bowl echoing softly. He dabbed his lips with a napkin, his movements unhurried.
The half-bowl of duck soup he drank left him feeling acidic. He sipped several mouthfuls of tea to no avail, yet he couldn’t leave the table. Otherwise, the family’s idle gossip would inevitably turn toward Song Qingmiao.

Using Song Qingmiao to control Chen Wan was a well-known pastime in this household, one that everyone enjoyed thoroughly.

Hearing Chen Bingxin’s statement, the mood at the table lightened considerably. Men and women, young and old, felt invigorated. Laughter and lively conversation filled the air as they resumed eating and drinking with renewed enthusiasm.

Notes：

Feng Shui (pronounced “fung shway”) is a traditional Chinese practice that focuses on harmonizing individuals with their surrounding environment. The term translates to “wind” (风) and “water” (水), which are elements associated with good health and fortune in Chinese culture.

At its core, feng shui is about arranging spaces—such as homes, offices, or even entire cities—in a way that promotes the flow of positive energy, known as “qi” (气), while minimizing negative energy. It incorporates principles related to spatial orientation, balance, and the five elements (wood, fire, earth, metal, and water), as well as the use of colors, shapes, and symbols.

For example, feng shui might influence decisions like the placement of furniture, the direction a building faces, or the use of certain decorative objects (e.g., mirrors, plants, or fountains) to improve luck, health, or prosperity. While some view it as a cultural tradition or form of interior design, others treat it as a spiritual or metaphysical practice.