A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Zhao Shengge parked the car by a restaurant on Puye Street. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the night sea, with soft, subdued lighting.

It didn’t feel like a place for business entertainment. But then again, there were only the two of them—no team, no formal banquet, no strong liquor to be downed for the sake of socializing. Taking a client to such a place would have been odd.

The restaurant was small and sparsely populated but had an upscale ambiance. The square tables weren’t large, adorned with candles that added a touch of warmth—an intimate setting, suitable for friendly conversation.

Seated across from each other, Zhao Shengge’s long legs bent naturally under the table. Though they didn’t touch, Chen Wan felt as if he were caged beneath them, surrounded in the small space beneath the table. He didn’t dare move.

His counterpart remained completely unaware, as composed as ever.

It was his own guilty conscience, his own thoughts betraying him, making him overly sensitive.

Chen Wan calmed his heartbeat and turned his head to look out at the night sea. But in the reflection of the glass, he saw a pair of deep, quiet eyes—dark, steady, but unfathomably deep.

His heart skipped a beat.

Not a lion.

Zhao Shengge—

A wolf.

The alpha raised his glass in a gentlemanly manner. “To a successful collaboration.”

Chen Wan clinked glasses with him, ever the perfect socialite. “To a successful collaboration.”

—

Once the dishes were served, they ate and talked, easing into a more relaxed and familiar atmosphere.

They weren’t close enough to chat about anything and everything, but Chen Wan was skilled at keeping a conversation flowing, never letting it drop.

As always, Zhao Shengge listened more than he spoke. Yet the subtle probing and persuasive tactics he used so effectively in negotiations had little effect this time.

Chen Wan appeared warm and engaging, but he rarely initiated discussions about himself. He mentioned nothing about his interests, daily life, or personal preferences, nor did he pry into Zhao Shengge’s. Instead, his contributions to the conversation were mostly statements, well-wishes, and optimistic visions for the project’s future.

“…”

Zhao Shengge acknowledged his points and discussed the project’s next steps, exchanging opinions on its progression.

The flickering candlelight, the clinking of glasses, the unspoken thoughts masked by professional decorum—it was all perfectly measured, leaving no gaps.

—

By the time dinner ended, Chen Wan excused himself to the restroom.

Meanwhile, Shen Zongnian called Zhao Shengge, asking him to meet at the tea house.

Tan Youming was probably close enough to hear, as his laughter—along with the sound of his breathing—filtered through the line.

Zhao Shengge didn’t care if he was eavesdropping and responded bluntly, “Not done yet.”

Shen Zongnian paused, surprised that a contract—one not particularly complex—was taking this long. It was a major deal for Kexiang, yes, but in the grand scheme of the project, it was just a cog in the machine.

As an investor, he wasn’t too concerned about the specifics. As long as the people involved were reliable, that was enough.

Shen Zongnian patted Tan Youming on the shoulder, waiting for him to wander off before asking, “So, how is it?”

Zhao Shengge: “I don’t know.”

Shen Zongnian mused, “Uncertain.”

After a moment of silence, Zhao Shengge said, “He shelled crabs for me again.”

Shen Zongnian: “…That’s quite something.”

Zhao Shengge seemed genuinely puzzled. He tossed aside the white hot towel he had been using to wipe his hands, leaned back in his chair, and pressed on, “Is he always like this?”

He hadn’t known Chen Wan long enough to decipher his behavior. Shen Zongnian, on the other hand, had known him for much longer.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

Obedient. Accommodating. Seemingly without a temper.

Was he like this with everyone?

Shen Zongnian rarely saw Zhao Shengge this fixated on something, but he answered honestly, “Not exactly.”

He had seen Chen Wan politely but firmly reject inappropriate invitations. He had also seen him calmly and decisively avoid unwanted physical contact.

Chen Wan might appear easygoing, but he wasn’t servile, nor was he weak. That was precisely what made Tan Youming respect him.

“Oh,” Zhao Shengge said.

It was hard not to hear the satisfaction in his tone.

Shen Zongnian poured cold water on his enthusiasm. “Or maybe he’s just afraid of you. And—”

“You’re his client right now.”

Zhao Shengge fell silent, recalling what Chen Wan had said to Song Qingmiao at Jinglian Temple.

Shen Zongnian pressed on mercilessly. “Aren’t you worried he isn’t?”

Zhao Shengge, ever meticulous, stated, “I’m not either.”

Despite the rumors in their circle that he had no gender preference, Zhao Shengge himself wasn’t entirely certain. His life revolved around work, leaving little room for such matters.

Shen Zongnian fell into a rare moment of contemplation. After a long pause, he offered an uncharacteristically sincere piece of advice. “If he really isn’t, don’t mess around.”

Zhao Shengge thought about it seriously and replied politely, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“…”

Shen Zongnian, recalling some of his slightly unorthodox tendencies, gave him a friendly warning. “He’s not just anyone. Tan Youming and Zhuo Zhixuan won’t let you have your way.”

But Zhao Shengge had never concerned himself with such things. In the same friendly tone, he responded, “Then he’d better be willing.”

“…”

—

After dinner, Chen Wan had no intention of letting his soon-to-be client drive him home. He was about to call his driver when Zhao Shengge spoke first.

“In a hurry to leave?”

Chen Wan assumed he wanted to discuss the project further and replied, “Not really.”

Zhao Shengge said, “Want to take a walk? I still owe you a gift, remember?”

Chen Wan was momentarily startled.

He remembered. He had always remembered.

But he had thought Zhao Shengge had forgotten.

“Let’s go to Sogo Department Store, or if you have somewhere else in mind, we can go there too.”

Chen Wan shook his head. Anywhere was fine. He was just a bit concerned. “Is it okay for you to go out like this?”

Although public safety in China was undoubtedly much better than abroad, Zhao Shengge’s special status made Chen Wan cautious. He still couldn’t forget the reports of the shooting incident Zhao Shengge had encountered in Italy years ago.

Zhao Shengge glanced at him and gave a faint smile. Twirling his car keys, he walked outside. “They won’t recognize me.”

Just like that, Chen Wan was convinced by a simple smile—or rather, he was bewildered by it.

On the way there, he had been too preoccupied with his excitement and nervousness. Now, he belatedly realized that Zhao Shengge’s driving was exceptionally skillful and aggressive.

Perhaps worried that the mall might close soon, Zhao Shengge’s driving was even… fierce.

The acceleration, the overtaking—everything felt strangely familiar.

Chen Wan couldn’t immediately recall where he’d experienced this before. Logically, he shouldn’t have ever seen Zhao Shengge drive personally, let alone sat in his passenger seat.

At a red light, Zhao Shengge drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then turned to him. “Am I driving too fast?”

Chen Wan snapped out of his thoughts, smiled, and said no.

Zhao Shengge stared at his upturned lips for two seconds before looking away. He reached for a bottle of water just as the light turned green.

“I’ll do it,” Chen Wan quickly offered.

Zhao Shengge handed him the bottle. As the car smoothly merged onto a broader road, Chen Wan twisted the cap open and passed the water back to him.

He deliberately held the bottle lower to leave enough space for Zhao Shengge to grab it—a thoughtful gesture.

Yet, perhaps due to Zhao Shengge’s focus on the road, their hands still brushed against each other.

Zhao Shengge’s hands were those of a man who handled guns—calloused, with distinct knuckles, broad and strong.

The instant his fingers grazed the back of Chen Wan’s hand, heat flared across the skin, spreading like wildfire up his arm and into his mind.

But Zhao Shengge quickly withdrew his hand. The contact had lasted no more than a fraction of a second.

Whether he didn’t notice or simply didn’t care, he took a sip of water and said naturally, “Thanks.”

Chen Wan, just as composed, replied, “You’re welcome.”

Even late at night, Times Square’s duty-free stores and boutiques were still bustling with tourists. Only inside the department store did the crowd thin out a little.

Passing by a watch counter, Chen Wan’s eyes were immediately drawn to a particular timepiece.

It suited Zhao Shengge perfectly—subtle yet elegant.

A moon-phase dial resting against those sharply defined hands could easily become his new favorite dream material.

Chen Wan almost wanted to say, “Forget about buying me a gift—how about letting me buy one for you instead?”

But he only thought about it and decided to secretly purchase the watch later.

Following his gaze, Zhao Shengge glanced at the display, his expression turning slightly subtle.

That watch was clearly from the same collection as the pair of Wuji series cufflinks from last time.

He stepped in front of Chen Wan, blocking his view of the display case.

Chen Wan looked up.

Zhao Shengge tilted his chin slightly. “Let’s go check over there.”

They strolled through the store, walking neither too close nor too far apart.

Chen Wan rarely shopped with others.

But Zhao Shengge walked unhurriedly, examining items with great focus, as if choosing a gift for Chen Wan was an important task.

“Come here.”

Chen Wan approached. “Mr. Zhao, are you planning to gift me cufflinks?”

Zhao Shengge raised an eyebrow slightly. “You can give them to me, but I can’t give them to you?”

“…”

Chen Wan chuckled. “Of course not.”

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—was Zhao Shengge still hung up on those cufflinks that he’d beaten him to purchasing?

Lowering his gaze, he examined the collection carefully before pointing to a pair. “This one looks nice.”

The sales associate, keenly observant, took out the cufflinks for them to try.

Zhao Shengge said, “Give them to me.”

Chen Wan hesitated slightly.

The sales associate, still smiling, handed the cufflinks to Zhao Shengge.

Zhao Shengge said, “Chen Wan.”

“Your hand.”

His expression remained calm, his movements entirely gentlemanly—devoid of any suggestiveness.

Chen Wan stiffly lifted his arm.

Zhao Shengge leaned in slightly, head tilted, fastening the cufflinks for him with quiet concentration.

His fingers brushed against the delicate blue veins on Chen Wan’s wrist.