A Letter from Keanu Reeves

“…Yes.” Chen Wan wasn’t sure if Zhao Shengge was asking on purpose. He felt a little embarrassed, but deep inside, he was quite pleased.

He reminded himself to stay within boundaries.

The Da Hong Pao cigarette was nearly finished. Zhao Shengge stubbed it out, and suddenly, a hand reached out in front of him, palm up.

“?”

Chen Wan naturally said, “Give it to me, I’ll throw it away.” There wasn’t a trash can nearby, and holding onto it would be inconvenient.

“…” Zhao Shengge often marveled at Chen Wan’s instinct to serve. How did he manage to do these things so naturally and matter-of-factly?

Although the cigarette butt was almost burnt out and no longer hot, Zhao Shengge still, with slight helplessness, gently patted his hand away and said, “No need.”

Chen Wan’s heart skipped a beat, as if a dragonfly had brushed against his palm—just as he was about to grasp it, it flew away.

On their way back, they walked separately.

Chen Wan stayed behind to make a call.

Before he had left, Song Qingmiao had called him, and he hadn’t yet returned the call.

“Baby, has the doctor done their rounds?”

She wasn’t asking out of concern for his condition; she had something to say.

“Is it convenient for you to talk now?”

Chen Wan pressed his lips together, refraining from mentioning that he had been discharged for several days and was now attending a recovery celebration party. Instead, he simply said, “Yes, go ahead.”

Song Qingmiao lowered her voice and revealed a significant business secret: “Two days ago, scattered shares of Rongxin were acquired. Xie Jiajian said Fang Yang and a few small shareholders have been reaching out to him. Baby, how much cash can you free up right now—”

“You met with Xie Jiajian again?”

Song Qingmiao froze, seemingly not expecting Chen Wan to focus on that. Feeling both embarrassed and annoyed, she snapped, “Chen Wan, I am your mother! Do I have to report to you and get your approval for who I meet? Do you even respect your elders?”

Chen Wan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wanted to ask, “Do you respect yourself?” but he swallowed the words, took a deep breath, and softened his voice. It was both advice and warning: “You’re playing with fire. Xie Jiajian is a schemer with a silver tongue. You can’t outplay him.”

Song Qingmiao dismissed his concerns. “Fine, I won’t ask Xie Jiajian for help. Then you help me acquire Rongxin’s shares.”

Chen Wan was utterly baffled. “Why are you so fixated on Rongxin?” He took a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaling sharply. “If you want something else, I can help. But this—no.”

Failing to get money from her son, Song Qingmiao lashed out with insults before hanging up in anger.

Feeling uneasy, Chen Wan had someone secretly monitor her accounts and Xie Jiajian’s movements.

After adjusting his mood, he headed back. A new round of tea had been served, and Jiang Ying was talking about a red-tape project bid he had heard about from a clan elder.

He asked Zhao Shengge, “Minglong has no interest? The Li and Qin families are holding back, waiting for you to make a move. They’re prepared to wage a price war and injected foreign capital early. With the exchange rate rising, they’re determined to win.”

Zhao Shengge looked up at Chen Wan, who was just walking through the door, and said indifferently, “No rush.”

He disliked making reckless moves. He preferred his prey to walk toward him willingly.

If they didn’t know how, he would pave the road and build the steps, guiding them every step of the way.

But if they refused to come—Zhao Shengge leaned back in his chair, rotating his watch, his gaze tinged with regret and shadow.

He could teach. But if they were unwilling, he had his own ways.

You’d better be willing.

As Chen Wan sat down beside Zhao Shengge, he noticed the man looking at him. He smiled slightly and refilled Zhao Shengge’s tea.

Zhao Shengge returned a polite smile.

You’d better be willing, Zhao Shengge thought again.

At the end of the gathering, Zhuo Zhixuan rode with Chen Wan.

Everyone had been drinking, so their drivers handled the cars.

Zhuo Zhixuan said, “The people who hit you have been caught.”

“Oh?”

“Mm, they were arrested on a visa-free island.”

Chen Wan nodded. “That’s good.” At least he no longer had to constantly worry about Zhao Shengge’s safety.

Zhuo Zhixuan was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly turned to him. “Apparently, Zhao Shengge took them directly from the police.”

No one knew the specifics—whether they were alive, how they were handled, or anything else.

Chen Wan nodded again, not too concerned. As far as he was concerned, as long as they were caught, that was enough.

“…” Zhuo Zhixuan watched his lack of reaction, then bluntly said, “Chen Wan, I think something’s off.”

“What?”

“He has had ties with the police for years, but to take people away just like that—”

“That’s against the rules.”

“He rarely takes personal action. Those guys weren’t worth the effort. Going to such lengths over a few obvious hired guns would only stir the pot unnecessarily.” Zhuo Zhixuan watched him closely. “He had no reason to do that—unless…”

Chen Wan was busy checking his phone. He had sat next to Zhao Shengge all evening and hadn’t wanted to waste any time on his phone, so now he had a backlog of work messages from partners, subordinates, and collaborators, all waiting for replies.

Seeing that Chen Wan wasn’t responding, Zhuo Zhixuan had no choice but to finish his sentence. “Unless it was for you.”

Chen Wan, still looking at his phone and replying to messages quickly, told him, “No, it wasn’t.”

“…Aren’t you being a little prejudiced? I’m serious.”

He felt that something was off about Zhao Shengge, and it wasn’t just this one thing. But he couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly. Zhao Shengge was never someone one could see through.

Zhuo Zhixuan had no idea about the intricate undercurrents between the two of them. In public, Zhao Shengge and Chen Wan always maintained a polite and distant demeanor, as if they were mere acquaintances.

Even tonight, when Chen Wan ladled soup for Zhao Shengge and lit his cigarette, he did it with such respectful decorum that it seemed like he was serving an unfamiliar superior.

When they stepped out to the open-air terrace for a conversation, they even left and returned separately, with Chen Wan intentionally trailing half a step behind Zhao Shengge.

Most people wouldn’t even notice that they had gone out together, let alone suspect anything beyond professional interactions.

Zhuo Zhixuan only felt that ever since that day in the hospital room, Zhao Shengge had become somewhat more human—at least now, Chen Wan could engage in direct conversations with him.

Zhuo Zhixuan kept urging Chen Wan with his gaze, prompting him to finally put down his phone and explain, “He’s looking for clues and leverage against Hong Qi. This is crucial for the offshore oil project that Minglong is taking over. Baihe Hall operates under a vast network, involving many figures and confidential business dealings.”

Zhuo Zhixuan eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

Chen Wan briefly outlined how Zhao Shengge had advised him to participate in the bidding process and concluded, “Zhao Shengge values this project greatly. Every lead matters. If those gunmen managed to track Miss Xu’s whereabouts, it means they have an inside source. These hired guns are hardened criminals; they’ve been through the system more times than one could count. If the police handle the interrogation, without resorting to extreme measures, they’d never crack.”

But with Zhao Shengge’s methods, he could always extract at least seventy to eighty percent of the truth.

Zhuo Zhixuan widened his eyes. A flood of thoughts surged through his mind, but in the end, they all condensed into a single question: “Chen Wan, are you really not going to give it a shot?”

“Give what a sh—” Chen Wan realized what he meant and immediately cut him off. “No.”

Zhuo Zhixuan insisted, “He trusts you—at the very least, he doesn’t reject you.”

Chen Wan nodded, picking up his phone again. “So don’t betray that trust.”

The greater the trust, the stricter the self-discipline.

“…” Zhuo Zhixuan nearly had a heart attack from his stubbornness. “I just mean… You two can at least talk now…”

Chen Wan was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve already gained far more than I ever expected.”

But none of it was truly his to have.

It felt stolen.

He had never even dared to dream of having the opportunity to be Zhao Shengge’s business partner.

And besides, Zhao Shengge was not someone he could afford to gamble on.

Chen Wan told Zhuo Zhixuan, but more importantly, he was reminding himself: “Getting involved with him wouldn’t be good for him.”

They were worlds apart, separated by an unbridgeable chasm. Zhao Shengge lived in a world governed by different standards and surrounded by brilliance.

Chen Wan was covered in mud, clawing his way up a precarious ladder—not to drag Zhao Shengge down with him.

Zhuo Zhixuan didn’t know what to say. Still unwilling to dismiss his gut feeling, he asked, “And what if he makes a move on you first?”

“…”

“…You really don’t need to comfort me like this.” Chen Wan chuckled, rubbing his brow. Clearly, he didn’t take such an outlandish idea seriously. He patted his good friend on the shoulder. “If something like that ever happens, I’ll buy you a drink first.”

“…”

Chen Wan was a democratic business partner. After returning, he immediately held a meeting with his co-founder and technical team regarding the offshore oil project. Everyone was thrilled upon hearing the news.

Chen Wan sighed with a helpless smile. “It’s definitely an opportunity, but the challenges are just as great. If we do this, you all better not curse me when we have to work overtime.”

“No cursing, boss! This is Minglong we’re talking about!”

Participating in a project of this caliber was like gilding one’s résumé with gold.

Minglong’s bid selection targeted highly specialized small companies because large enterprises were harder to control, while small firms and research studios had simpler structures and personnel relationships. This ensured that Minglong could maintain absolute control over the technology.

Kexiang met the bidding criteria, but if not for Zhao Shengge’s suggestion, Chen Wan wouldn’t have considered competing.

But since Zhao Shengge had brought it up, it meant he truly needed a reliable and trustworthy partner.

Chen Wan was willing to do anything Zhao Shengge needed. There was no one in the world more loyal to Zhao Shengge than him.

If he set his mind on something, he would see it through—by any means necessary.

That familiar number, memorized to perfection, remained undialed. Chen Wan was so busy that he once again disappeared from the usual gatherings of the young elites for an extended period.

Yet, Zhao Shengge never called to ask—not Zhixuan, not Tan Youming. He didn’t need to.

He already knew that Chen Wan had accepted his proposal.

Zhao Shengge’s suggestion that Chen Wan bid for the project wasn’t entirely out of personal interest.

The profits involved were immense, and the network of relationships was intricate. Compared to funding, technology, reserves, and experience, Zhao Shengge valued loyalty above all else.

He trusted Chen Wan’s integrity. But when he said he wouldn’t interfere, he meant it.

If Kexiang couldn’t pass the evaluation by the third-party assessment team, Zhao Shengge wouldn’t play favorites.

It would be handled as it should be.

And if not this time, there would always be another chance to collaborate.