A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Chen Wan drove an inconspicuous Volkswagen, slowly entering the elevated road leading to the airport.

On the first day of Typhoon Signal No. 8 landing in Haishi, the tropical pressure reached 117 hectopascals.

The palm trees and bauhinias on both sides of the airport boulevard were left battered by the passing typhoon. Chen Wan activated the windshield wipers a few times to clear the rain, barely maintaining a clear view ahead.

The weather was exceptionally harsh, and Terminal 2 repeatedly broadcasted weather updates.

“This year’s 7th typhoon, ‘Sinlu,’ made landfall on our city’s coastline today at 11:36 a.m., moving westward from the southeast.”

“Due to the influence of convective cloud clusters, the maximum wind force near the outer ring of the typhoon eye has reached Gale Force 8. Heavy rainfall, accompanied by strong lightning, is expected in the next six hours. An orange-level heavy rain warning has been issued to all relevant departments and personnel. Please take necessary precautions…”

The announcements repeated in Mandarin, English, and Cantonese.

Chen Wan glanced at his wristwatch as he took a wide turn, entered the B3 parking level, and parked in an unremarkable spot. Leaning back in his seat, one hand rested on the steering wheel while the other rested on the edge of the car window—a relaxed posture, though his eyes remained sharply focused on the scene ahead.

The stormy weather was far from ideal for flying. Occasionally, there were passengers either rushing to catch flights or arriving, but none of them were the person Chen Wan was waiting for.

He lit a cigarette to stay awake, having barely slept the previous night. Early this morning, he had rushed to the airport to avoid traffic before the typhoon made landfall.

The orange-red glow of the cigarette faintly illuminated the gloomy atmosphere with a trace of warmth.

The local radio station interjected with yesterday’s golden oldies, the sound of Cantonese songs blending hypnotically with the patter of rain outside.

Chen Wan switched to another channel.

“TNB brings you the latest news… Minglong recently completed… a merger and acquisition…”

“Trade Association… election updates… legislative council veto…”

His phone vibrated. Zhuo Zhixuan asked how the preparations for the welcome banquet were going.

The prodigal prince’s return was not an event to be taken lightly, even Zhuo Zhixuan dared not leave anything to chance.

Chen Wan sent a few photos back, responding, “A hillside villa restaurant in the Bay Area.”

Zhuo Zhixuan glanced at them and seemed satisfied. Chen Wan’s work had always been reliable, something people could count on.

After handling the formalities, Zhuo Zhixuan couldn’t resist gossiping, “I heard he’s coming back with Miss Xu.”

“No,” Chen Wan said, extinguishing his cigarette. Pulling the gearshift smoothly, he stepped on the gas pedal and corrected, “He’s coming back alone.”

“…” Zhuo Zhixuan was instantly wide awake, pushing away the warm and fragrant embrace beside him to sit up. “You went to tail him?”

Chen Wan stared intently at the tall figure emerging from the B3 exit until the man stepped into a black Maybach. Only then did Chen Wan respond, “It’s not tailing—it’s picking him up.”

One-sidedly, that is.

“…” Zhuo Zhixuan was silent for a while, then exhaled a light laugh, as though accustomed to this behavior. “Aren’t you afraid of getting yourself killed, Chen Wan?”

Chen Wan followed the Maybach at a safe distance. After a moment of silence, he said, “I’m worried.”

Haishi had been far from peaceful lately, with the Trade Association Council’s elections approaching and the factions from Zhudao, Halong, and Saigon plotting in secret.

Since last month, the islands had been plagued by hijackings and air accidents.

The man had recently caused a stir abroad with his aggressive and forceful series of acquisitions and mergers. Memories of the attack years ago were still vivid in Chen Wan’s mind, leaving him restless in recent days.

With Typhoon Signal No. 8 in effect and weather conditions exceptionally harsh for flying, he guessed the man had returned on a Dassault Falcon 900 private jet.

While the Falcon was a sturdy model capable of withstanding a 500-hectopascal storm, landings could be rough, raising the possibility of a forced landing.

Zhuo Zhixuan was dumbfounded, then laughed in frustration. “You’re worried? Worry about yourself instead.”

Chen Wan smiled gently, saying nothing.

Having known each other for over a decade, Zhuo Zhixuan was well aware that Chen Wan was usually calm, poised, and well-mannered. Any deviation from this demeanor signified something serious.

“What makes you think you know where his flight landed?” Zhuo Zhixuan asked, confused.

The Aoyu Airport served as a transfer hub for many international flights, and its newly added secret pathways allowed dignitaries or VIPs to exit from various undisclosed gates.

Chen Wan paused briefly before replying vaguely, “I have my ways.”

“…”

As someone standing on the edge of a storm, Zhuo Zhixuan refrained from offering more advice, simply stating, “If you cross the line again, even I might not be able to save you.”

Chen Wan’s voice was calm and warm. “I won’t. I have no intention of doing anything.”

That was the truth.

His companion grew impatient, so Zhuo Zhixuan hung up after reminding Chen Wan of a few key points for the upcoming banquet.

Chen Wan continued following the black Maybach until it safely exited the undersea tunnel. Only then did he sharply turn the wheel, overtaking the vehicle and speeding off.

The sky grew even darker. The radio played “Move the Mountain,” but Chen Wan turned it off, leaving only the white noise of rain beating against the windshield. The rows of palms and bauhinias lining the Bay Area Boulevard stood crooked and battered.

A few days later, at the hillside villa restaurant in the Bay Area.

Xiaotan Mountain is surrounded by the sea on three sides. On a typhoon night with no moonlight, the lighthouse shines brightly, while the waves roar and crash against the foot of the mountain in a deep, furious rhythm.

Outside, the gloomy wind and rain raged, but inside, glasses clinked and laughter echoed.

What appeared to be a glamorous banquet was, in reality, as treacherous and unpredictable as the stormy sea outside, hiding undercurrents beneath its surface.

Zhao Shengge arrived neither too early nor too late, with Shen Zongnian and Tan Youming following closely behind. Even Zhuo Zhixuan had to stand further back, as the group ahead consisted of a rising stock market tycoon and the grandson of a former Justice Department head. As a mere playboy from a family in the offshore oil business, Zhuo Zhixuan knew better than to push forward.

Chen Wan had arrived much earlier, standing quietly in an inconspicuous corner. He was speaking softly with the restaurant manager, confirming details about the evening’s menu and wine selection. He gave careful instructions: adjust the temperature lower, move the orchids under the crystal chandelier slightly, and don’t decant the wine fully—70% would do. Like a meticulous director, he ensured every detail was finalized.

The guest list wasn’t extensive, mostly consisting of young heirs from Haishi’s prominent families. However, Chen Wan knew all too well that this group wasn’t the core of Zhao Shengge’s circle.

In recent years, Zhao Shengge had grown increasingly low-profile and mysterious. He was like a dragon whose full form was never seen. His inner circle was tight and guarded, the very pinnacle of the social pyramid. From childhood to adulthood, only a few people occupied that rarefied space. As an illegitimate child of a second-rate businessman and his fourth mistress, Chen Wan was nothing more than someone staring up at high towers from the depths of the gutter, unable to touch even the edges of such a world.

The only exception was Zhuo Zhixuan, a classmate of over a decade. In any clique of playboys, there was always someone tasked with organizing food, drinks, and errands.

Chen Wan’s resourcefulness, reliability, and composed demeanor earned him some recognition from the group. He was the kind of person who could navigate social situations with ease, leaving everyone around him feeling comfortable. People found him agreeable and treated him as a half-friend.

Despite his outward calm, Chen Wan was busy. It wasn’t until he finally sat down at the banquet that he had a chance to properly look at the man in the seat of honor.

Zhao Shengge’s appearance was even more striking now. His sharp, handsome features exuded a fierce, commanding charm, but his demeanor was more relaxed than before.

In truth, Zhao Shengge had never deliberately acted superior. He could even be described as approachable.

Perhaps true power and strength didn’t need to be emphasized through aloofness or arrogance. Beneath his mild and reserved exterior lay an aura and authority that were unattainable for most.

Zhao Shengge’s whereabouts were notoriously difficult to predict. Catching even a glimpse of him on an ordinary day was harder than ascending to heaven. Naturally, many people took the opportunity tonight to propose toasts.

Men and women alike approached him with respectful, eager, and even nakedly admiring gazes.

Even during his school days, Zhao Shengge had been a shining star, the target of admiration from heirs and heiresses alike.

While his peers were still indulging in yachts, gold, and luxury goods, Zhao Shengge had already become the only financial player capable of attracting foreign investment in the past two years. In Haishi’s stagnant financial landscape and struggling industrial market, he had turned the tide.

In recent years, he had been invited by authorities to attend various high-level political conferences in the mainland.

In Haishi’s declining foreign trade and economic market, Zhao Shengge’s name symbolized hope and confidence.

He wasn’t just Zhao Shengge of the Zhao family or of Minglong—he was Zhao Shengge of Haishi.

Leaning back in his chair, Zhao Shengge responded to polite small talk with the occasional nod, his expression unreadable.

He had little interest in socializing, but this wasn’t like being abroad; here, social etiquette and relationships still mattered. After years away, he knew he had to make an appearance at certain events.

In recent days, hosting a welcome banquet for Zhao Shengge had become a source of pride for various factions. He declined some invitations but attended others, though none had been as comfortable as tonight’s.

The music, seating arrangement, and ambiance were all inexplicably soothing. Even the air’s humidity seemed perfect. After days of back-to-back engagements since returning to Haishi, Zhao Shengge hadn’t expected to feel a moment of relaxation at such a gathering.

Tan Youming, noticing that Zhao Shengge’s chopsticks reached for the dishes more often and his wine glass was empty, asked, “The food’s to your liking?”

Tan Youming knew Zhao Shengge better than most.

The young master never seriously ate at such occasions. He was notoriously picky—if the ingredients were stale, the heat wasn’t right, or even the plating displeased him, he wouldn’t take another bite.

But Zhao Shengge never said anything. He wouldn’t make requests or complain. He’d simply put down his chopsticks, his likes and dislikes hidden from view, leaving others unable to tell what he truly enjoyed.

Having endured too much junk food abroad, Zhao Shengge found even average Chinese dishes a comfort. He gave a faint “Mm.”

Tan Youming: “…”

Zhuo Zhixuan, seated three places down from the host, couldn’t hear their conversation. Tan Youming had grown up with Zhao Shengge and was closer to him than Zhuo Zhixuan ever could be.

But noticing that Zhao Shengge seemed to be in a good mood, Zhuo Zhixuan gave a discreet signal to Chen Wan, who was sitting in a corner.

The gesture was clear: go propose a toast. Don’t let all your hard work tonight benefit someone else entirely.

While Zhuo Zhixuan disapproved of Chen Wan’s underhanded tactics like tailing and surveillance, he still believed that any chance to forge a proper connection with the young master shouldn’t be wasted.

The round table was large. Chen Wan’s seat was far from Zhuo Zhixuan and even farther from Zhao Shengge. The table was filled with fine wine, exquisite dishes, and lively conversation. If it wasn’t a literal vacuum of space, it might as well have been a galaxy separating them.

Chen Wan smiled reassuringly at Zhuo Zhixuan but didn’t move. He lowered his head, sipped his tea, and continued listening to others discuss rumors of Victoria Harbour and secrets from The Peak.

When Chen Wan had said, “I don’t intend to do anything,” he had meant it sincerely.

It was just that Zhuo Zhixuan never seemed to believe him.