A Letter from Keanu Reeves

On the day of the conference’s opening ceremony, Chen Wan did not see Zhao Shengge’s nameplate or seat on the podium.

In recent years, Zhao Shengge had become increasingly low-profile. Even when attending events, he followed three rules: no speaking, no appearing in media, and no interviews.

Finance journalists and media professionals understood this unspoken rule—no one dared to point their cameras or microphones at him even at events he attended.

The venue was designed in a Roman-style circular structure with thick carpets and warm-toned chandeliers, exuding grandeur.

This conference was exceptionally well-attended, with heightened security. Chen Wan was assigned to a relatively remote and inconspicuous seat in the back.

He scanned the room briefly, confirming that Zhao Shengge was not present.

A man of power and influence, Zhao Shengge avoided sitting in prominent places. He preferred to stay hidden among the crowd, like an omniscient eye overseeing from above, a hand orchestrating from behind the scenes.

The vice chairman of the chamber of commerce, speaking in slightly accented Mandarin, listed several preferential policies to be piloted in the Bay Area. He encouraged innovators to seize these opportunities and be the first to break new ground.

Chen Wan, always keen, quickly picked up on a few key terms and jotted them down in his notebook, planning to analyze them later with his partners.

The intermission lasted a full half-hour. Zhuo Zhixuan, traversing a large part of the venue, came to the back to chat with Chen Wan. Unlike Chen Wan, Zhuo Zhixuan had no substantial business ventures of his own and was attending the boring conference purely due to family obligations.

With no access to his phone due to signal blocking, Zhuo was nearly driven mad during the hours of forced disconnection.

“You’re actually taking notes?” Zhuo glanced at the few words in Chen Wan’s notebook and commented casually, “Waiting for this policy to be implemented? You’d be better off asking Shen Zongnian directly.”

Zhuo lowered his voice slightly. “When it comes to Jieyu, the chamber of commerce has no say—it’s Zhao’s territory.”

Directly approaching Zhao Shengge was out of the question, but Shen Zongnian could at least serve as a bridge.

“No need,” Chen Wan replied.

Zhuo said bluntly, “Don’t be naive.”

Policies might promote resource flow and fairness to some extent, but they were slow. The real benefits had long been seized by those at the top, leaving scraps for others to fight over.

Chen Wan took a sip of his tea but still shook his head.

Zhuo Zhixuan chuckled in frustration. “Why are you so stubborn, Chen Wan?”

At times, Zhuo found it impossible to understand Chen Wan. While Chen Wan appeared unambitious, he navigated social circles with finesse. Yet, for someone supposedly skilled in manipulation, he often avoided shortcuts and chose to make things unnecessarily difficult for himself.

Many others in their circle, after attending a few dinners with Tan Youming or Shen Zongnian, would leverage those connections to flaunt authority. But not Chen Wan.

Zhuo, annoyed by the thought of Chen Wan letting opportunities slip away, spoke with rising irritation: “Can you at least have a plan, Chen Wan?”

Chen Wan, always good-natured, merely smiled and stayed silent.

After quickly reviewing his notes to ensure no errors, he responded nonchalantly, “Don’t worry about me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Zhuo found it impossible to argue further. Chen Wan seemed easygoing but was deeply resolute, always sticking to his decisions once made.

Over the two-day conference, Zhao Shengge never made an appearance.

Perhaps human encounters are partially a matter of fate—but effort plays a larger role. Opportunities favor the prepared. Even if nine attempts lead to failure, the tenth will eventually bring success.

Chen Wan’s “tenth time” happened at an auction, though it was from afar.

Zhao Shengge remained as discreet as ever, never one to travel with an entourage. Today, he didn’t even have an assistant—just himself, sitting in the prime seat prepared by the organizers.

Each viewing seat was spaced far apart, ensuring privacy.

Chen Wan was seated in a dark and secluded corner, observing from a distance. Compared to the past, Zhao Shengge appeared more restrained.

Chen Wan had always enjoyed observing him. The way Zhao crossed his legs and leaned back against his chair, casually flipping through the catalog, reminded Chen Wan of a lion, seemingly indifferent yet commanding.

The dim lighting cast a serene outline on his profile, lending an air of quiet solitude and loftiness.

Zhao Shengge looked different from Chen Wan’s memories. Even lifelong friends like Tan Youming and Shen Zongnian might not notice the changes, but Chen Wan, attuned to every detail, came close to the truth:

Behind the increasingly authoritative demeanor and decisive actions, there lingered faint traces of weariness.

Power always comes with chains.

To Chen Wan, Zhao Shengge resembled a mountain—unyielding in the face of storms. But even the tiniest hint of fatigue, like a fallen leaf in a valley, went unnoticed by most. Only the birds circling the mountain daily could sense it.

Chen Wan, a bird ceaselessly circling for years, could not help but look up to this towering peak.

The auction hadn’t even started, but the murmurs of nearby guests carried over.

“He jumped from the 78th floor of the financial building. The pool in Huajing Park turned red with blood. A lot of people saw it.”

“The police came quickly and cleaned up. No media coverage allowed. Madam Mai cries every day and even protested at the Minglong building.”

“It wasn’t just the bad debt—it was Mai’s dishonesty, trying to con and collude with the Hua family. In the end… they lost patience. Even tougher than his old man.”

“…Unforgiving. Signing a donation for disabled children one moment and driving a rival to bankruptcy and suicide the next. Life and death at a whim.”

Though his name wasn’t mentioned, everyone instinctively knew who they were discussing.

A commotion arose nearby when a staff member spilled tea while serving Zhao Shengge’s table. Conversations around the room fell silent as people pretended not to notice.

Chen Wan saw Zhao raise his hand gently, calmly saying it was fine. His tone was polite and composed.

Even if those private criticisms earlier had reached his ears, Chen Wan thought, Zhao Shengge wouldn’t have been angered.

Despite his commanding aura, Zhao Shengge was approachable—warm yet stern, powerful yet not overbearing, respectful yet calm.

But his ruthlessness was another matter entirely.

Chen Wan didn’t pay much attention to what was being auctioned. All he knew was that Zhao Shengge purchased a Ming Dynasty Wanli blue lotus vase. No one dared to compete against him—one bid was all it took.

As the event concluded, Zhao Shengge left alongside a middle-aged man who was noticeably shorter in stature and presence despite being a well-known city official.

They conversed occasionally, with Zhao speaking little and listening more.

The auction’s guest list was highly exclusive. When passing Zhao, attendees would merely greet him with a respectful “Mr. Zhao” to show deference.

Chen Wan was among them.

He exited the exhibition hall alongside a peer, briefly brushing past Zhao Shengge without stopping or exchanging glances.

Unsurprisingly, Zhao neither noticed nor recognized him.

Even though Chen Wan had attended several dinners where Zhao was present, thanks to connections with Tan Youming and Zhuo Zhixuan, Zhao Shengge would never remember a peripheral figure like him.

Chen Wan was well aware of this and didn’t mind. After all, recognition was never his goal.