A Letter from Keanu Reeves

He arrived early; the client hadn’t yet shown up. The appointed dealer fetched the keys and guided him into the private room.

This time, the client was from Shenzhen. Chen Wan had learned that the client enjoyed card games, so he hosted the event at the Pulley Hotel and booked a private suite for the occasion.

The dealer was a tall, young Ukrainian woman with fair skin. Fluent in English and Chinese, her Cantonese was also impressively polished. She led Chen Wan up via a side elevator.

Chen Wan asked if there was an event happening at the hotel that evening. Normally, he used the main elevator, which offered a scenic view of the hotel garden’s water features.

Smiling, the dealer confirmed there was indeed a VIP event that night but didn’t elaborate further.

Chen Wan didn’t press further, instead giving her some tips about the client’s habits for the evening.

The dealer was very professional. That night, the client thoroughly enjoyed himself. During a break, Chen Wan asked someone to open a bottle from his personal collection stored at the hotel, sharing a drink with the client. Fortunately, the project discussions progressed more smoothly than expected.

After a few rounds, the client resumed his high-stakes gambling. Chen Wan, feeling a bit queasy, stepped out to the restroom to wash his face.

“…Wasn’t delivered upstairs… gone…”

Chen Wan’s hand paused under the running water.

“…Didn’t come… not certain… wasn’t clear…”

It turned out that the third floor had been booked by the Minglong group tonight.

“This is weird… Zhao… in the car… clearly…”

“Wine cellar… remote surveillance… next time…”

“Can’t believe…”

Chen Wan raised his head and saw his emotionless face in the mirror. After drying his hands, he walked to the stall where the voices originated. Using a mop, he wedged the handle horizontally across the door from the outside, locking it. Then he picked up a bucket of mop water and dumped it over the top of the stall door.

“What the hell!!”

“Who the f*** did that?!”

“Who’s out there? Open the door! Open this f***ing door!”

“Just wait till I find you, you son of a b****!”

Chen Wan put down the bucket, leaned against the door, lit a cigarette, and listened to the string of expletives with an impassive face. Once the yelling began to tire out, he flicked the cigarette butt inside. A pained yelp from within confirmed someone had been burned.

Amid the deafening pounding on the door, Chen Wan calmly washed his hands again. He squeezed out a bit of soap, meticulously cleaning each finger, rinsed off, and dried his hands slowly. Without haste, he walked out of the restroom, leaving the furious shouts behind him.

Before re-entering the suite, he adjusted the corners of his mouth into a polite smile. Facing the client, he appeared every bit the refined and composed gentleman, showing no trace of the weariness or dark mood from earlier.

The typhoon signal No. 8 had passed as scheduled, and Haishi finally enjoyed some rare, pleasant weather.

Bored young masters started stirring again. Chen Wan, always available when summoned, accompanied them in their indulgent pursuits of fine dining, entertainment, and debauchery.

What he told Zhuo Zhixuan about not wanting to do anything was true. But wanting to catch a glimpse of that person was also true.

Feelings, if they could be entirely restrained and regulated without overflow, would only prove they were not deep enough to matter.

The demon that had lingered in his heart for years clawed and bared its teeth. Rationality struggled to keep it chained, maintaining a semblance of normalcy on the surface.

As long as it didn’t disturb the other party, seeing them from afar was a battle between his heart and mind—and the only outlet he allowed himself.

However, the reality was different from what he’d envisioned. Even if he stayed with Tan Youming and his circle twenty-four hours a day, it was still rare to see Zhao Shengge.

In fact, spotting him once in ten attempts was considered lucky.

He used to think claims that meeting Zhao Shengge was harder than ascending to heaven were exaggerations. Even members of the Zhao family had to go through assistants and secretaries to arrange a meeting. But now, it didn’t seem like idle talk.

Still, patience and persistence were Chen Wan’s specialties. If the opportunity arose, he seized it. If it didn’t, he focused on living his own life well.

Yet, it would’ve been easier if there was no hope at all. As long as there was the slightest possibility, he would spare no effort or expense to grasp it.

Chen Wan wasn’t a young master and didn’t have much freedom.

Hearing that Zhao Shengge might attend a rowing competition, he worked through the night to free up an entire day, only for Zhao Shengge to not show up in the end.

When Zhuo Zhixuan mentioned that Shen Zongnian had invited Zhao Shengge to a horse race, Chen Wan was on a business trip in Macao. After a moment of silence, he booked the earliest flight back the next morning and drove four hours alone to the estate. But by then, he learned Zhao Shengge had left halfway through the race.

During a royal kayaking demonstration in Xiangjie, Chen Wan rushed over straight from a critical negotiation, still in his suit. Unfortunately, his car crossed paths with Zhao Shengge’s departing Maybach, which sped off, kicking up a cloud of dust and leaving him standing there covered in dirt.

Exhausted from the lack of rest and mental strain, Chen Wan leaned on the railing, watching the horses leap over hurdles with lightning speed, and thought his luck might really be that bad.

Still, he wasn’t too disappointed.

Do your best, then accept it with a calm heart.

In the end, he lived in a world without Zhao Shengge. If he appeared, it was an unexpected gift. But Chen Wan had to accept that his absence was the norm.

Zhao Shengge didn’t particularly enjoy outings or social events. When he did show up, it was usually to reacquaint himself with domestic social norms and customs.

He didn’t have many hobbies either. While other young masters golfed, swam, or hit the gym after work, he preferred catching up on sleep—his nerves had been tightly wound since his school days.

He was, indeed, very busy, too preoccupied to remember unimportant people or events that merely occupied the fringes of his life.

In an airport during a grueling schedule, with a sudden itinerary change that left him unable to request a private flight or VIP lounge, Zhao Shengge rested briefly in the regular waiting area but was woken up by a child crying in the luxury boutique next door.

The curly-haired boy was sobbing, begging his mother to buy him an expensive toy gun model.

After enduring ten minutes of the noise, Zhao Shengge opened his eyes, still half-asleep, observed for a moment, then walked over and bought the last remaining toy gun in the store.

Carrying the gift box, he walked away with an unapologetic smirk, leaving the stunned child behind.

Finally, peace returned.

In June, Haishi hosted a business association conference.

With the Bay Area trade exchanges becoming increasingly active in recent years, several high-ranking mainland officials had come for discussions. The event’s scale was more grandiose than usual.

Chen Wan heard from Zhuo Zhixuan—who had, in turn, heard from Tan Youming—that Zhao Shengge would likely attend.

Having just returned to the country, Zhao would give them this bit of face. Moreover, the conference would touch on Haishi’s economic prospects and future trade policies with the mainland, subjects that involved Minglong—or more precisely, Zhao Shengge.