A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Zhao Shengge had actually been standing upstairs for quite some time. Watching Chen Wan standing alone amidst the dazzling crowd, he knew the latter was probably waiting for Tan Youming and the others. However, seeing him stand there for so long, Zhao Shengge finally spoke up.

The lanterns were bright, one man lowered his eyes while the other raised his gaze. Their eyes met, and neither looked away.

Zhao Shengge’s expression seemed gentle, but against the backlight, Chen Wan couldn’t be certain. He was more inclined to believe that the beckoning gesture was merely his imagination.

Until Zhao Shengge mouthed again, silently: “Come up.”

Chen Wan snapped out of his daze and immediately stepped onto the spiral staircase.

Zhao Shengge introduced him to Felipe: “This is Chen Wan.” He did not mention his profession or identity, only his name.

Fortunately, foreigners had a different way of thinking. Felipe, lacking any royal pretensions, enthusiastically extended his hand to Chen Wan and complimented how the East produced beautiful people.

Chen Wan’s appearance indeed aligned with the traditional Oriental aesthetic that foreigners admired—gentle, elegant, and refined.

Though he didn’t quite understand why Zhao Shengge was introducing him, he responded with a polite smile.

Before long, Tan Youming arrived with a large group of people—old friends from their study-abroad days. Chen Wan instinctively made room for them.

Zhao Shengge had not come for the wine reception but primarily to meet Felipe. Back when they studied abroad, Felipe had been a gracious host to them, and Zhao Shengge was particularly interested in the Nordic energy market and shipping routes.

Haishi had always embraced the trend of studying abroad, but even among overseas students, there were hierarchies and factions.

In those days, Zhao Shengge was not the reclusive figure he was now—only heard of but rarely seen. While abroad, fellow countrymen naturally formed tight-knit communities. Zhao Shengge had been the most distinguished among the Chinese students, a natural leader and a reliable core figure. Back then, his relationships were far closer than they were now.

But time changes many things.

The young masters who had studied abroad together were now reminiscing about their youth—spring regattas on the Rhine, gap-year skiing in the Greater Caucasus, winter expeditions in the Baltic, fishing, and watching the Northern Lights.

Chen Wan stood quietly on the outskirts of the group, listening with some envy.

His university years had been dull and exhausting. He had raced through his credits, built a business from scratch, and endured the harsh realities of the market long before his peers. He had spent the best years of his life, the years meant for indulging in youth, drinking himself into gastritis and fevers at countless business banquets.

He never thought of it as suffering, nor did he regret it. Yet, he felt a tinge of regret—regret for the gilded Top 2 university offer he never used, regret that he had never witnessed the spirited, athletic university student that Zhao Shengge once was.

As the group enthusiastically recalled old times, Yao Jianan said, “Back then, those white students from King’s College looked down on us during the skiing competition. But in the final round, when our captain led us to victory and took the gold, their faces were priceless.”

The “captain” he referred to, of course, was Zhao Shengge.

Laughter erupted among them as they relived the past. It had been a golden era—youthful, passionate, nothing like their present, where they were all too busy chasing ambitions to even catch their breath.

Zhao Shengge smiled faintly but did not respond. Instead, he turned to speak to Felipe in English.

Felipe, despite his noble lineage, had often mingled with these students back in the day, so he kept the conversation lively.

A wine connoisseur, he had frequently taken Tan Youming and his group to the royal wine cellar for tastings. He now asked Zhao Shengge, “We’ve gone through two rounds of wine. Which one is your favorite?”

All eyes turned to Zhao Shengge, who replied, “The wines haven’t all been served yet; I can’t make a decision prematurely.”

“Haha, you’re still as meticulous as ever,” Felipe chuckled, lifting a bottle of dry red tied with a lovers’ knot. “This one tastes like butterflies dancing on the tongue. I never expected Chinese winemaking to have reached such heights.”

Zhao Shengge’s gaze lingered briefly on the knot around the bottle’s neck before he nodded in agreement. “It’s quite good. I like it.”

He rarely expressed personal preferences so openly in public. Immediately, the guests’ expressions became intrigued, tinged with admiration and curiosity, all wondering whose wine had the honor of earning Zhao Shengge’s approval.

Then someone said, “Jianan, you picked a great wine!”

Chen Wan looked over, bewildered. The bottle of Molando he had painstakingly selected had somehow been marked with Yao Jianan’s wine tag.

Zhao Shengge also hesitated, his gaze returning to the bottle, a faint hint of doubt in his eyes.

Frowning slightly, Chen Wan softly called over a passing sommelier and asked if he could check the location of the two wines he had brought.

The sommelier quickly accessed the system records and found that the Molando had been placed in the blind draw selection, while the Chardonnay had been displayed for open tasting.

They had been switched.

Placed in the blind draw, the wine now belonged to whoever had drawn it.

Whether this mix-up was an honest mistake by the sommelier or an intentional swap by someone else remained unclear. Chen Wan could only blame himself for not personally ensuring his wines had been placed where they were supposed to be.

He should never have left it in someone else’s hands.

For several long seconds, his mind went blank, as if his heart had been soaked in the ice of the wine trough.

The crowd engaged in lively discussions, showering praise upon the rare and exceptional wine, lauding its passionate richness and aromatic depth.
The red berries, black plums, and fermented red fruits were full-bodied and robust, like Chen Wan’s heart—soft, overripe, and tinged with bitterness.

Yao Jianan never expected that the blind pick he casually chose would win Zhao Shengge’s favor. Overjoyed, he felt as if even fate was on his side. His eyes curved into a smile. “Back when we defeated the Polytechnic team and won the championship, the captain brought a dry red with notes of blackcurrant to the victory celebration.”

With those words, it suddenly seemed as if he had carefully selected this wine as a tribute to Zhao Shengge, reviving memories of their youthful days of triumphant indulgence.

Standing quietly at the back of the crowd, Chen Wan lowered his head, unaware of the subtle gaze pressing upon him from the center of the gathering.

A gift he had meticulously prepared now bore another’s name. It left him with a sense of regret.

To find this bottle of Mulan Duo, he had scoured every wine cellar in Haishi, personally tasting nearly a hundred similar wines. His tongue had gone numb for days, unable to discern flavors, and even his skin seemed to have absorbed the scent of fermented grapes.

But Yao Jianan’s seamless appropriation of the wine wasn’t entirely wrong either. After all, such was the nature of the blind selection at the event—whoever drew the bottle owned it. That bottle now belonged to Yao Jianan.

In the world of business, the right tea, wine, or cigarettes could serve as the perfect key to opening doors.

Yao Jianan had no reason to reject a gift that had fallen so effortlessly into his lap.

Chen Wan had no proof that the wines had been deliberately swapped. It might have been an honest mistake. And even if he had proof, he would never stand up and claim ownership in such an undignified manner.

He could only blame himself for not being meticulous enough.

But then he thought—if Zhao Shengge truly liked the wine, then it wasn’t wasted. After all, his intention had been simple from the start: to let Zhao Shengge taste a good glass of wine.

When you like someone, you naturally want to give them the best of everything. Chen Wan was no exception.

As for who the giver was, perhaps it didn’t matter that much. After all, he had never expected anything in return.

Philippe asked, “Zhao, considering placing your marker?”

At the event, every guest had a marker they could attach to their favorite wine. Later, the wine’s owner could choose whom to gift it to—mutual selection dictated the final exchange.

Zhao Shengge glanced at the corner of the room and repeated the same line: “The wine hasn’t finished being served. I won’t decide prematurely.”

With that, Yao Jianan was slightly disappointed, and Chen Wan felt a tinge of regret.

It seemed that even after all his effort in finding this rare treasure, it still wasn’t enough to completely capture Zhao Shengge’s heart.