A Letter from Keanu Reeves

The cruise ship followed the new route for two days and one night, docking at Bay Island on the return trip.

Due to its geographically favorable location and policy support, Bay Island had expanded significantly through land reclamation in recent years, becoming a new shopping paradise.

Chen Wan had always been indifferent to material desires. He was not particularly demanding about his food, clothing, or lifestyle and generally had no major expenses. However, at the duty-free shop, he chose a jade watch and a set of gold jewelry for Song Qingmiao.

Seeing the large sums deducted from the secondary card over several consecutive days, Chen Wan knew Song Qingmiao had visited the casino again and sighed quietly to himself.

After the clerk swiped his card, Chen Wan suddenly noticed a pair of cufflinks displayed in the center of the Alfred Dunhill counter. Though not part of the latest collection, they were meticulously crafted and substantial in weight.

Chen Wan asked the clerk to take them out for him to see. One glance was all it took for him to decide. “Could you please wrap these up for me? Thank you.”

The clerk had been prepared to introduce the item but stopped herself. She had wanted to suggest enamel or pearl cufflinks, thinking they would suit this handsome customer better. However, Chen Wan’s decision was so firm that she simply smiled and replied, “Of course. Please wait a moment.”

Qin Zhaoting noticed and walked over, asking, “You like heavier designs?”

The Eternity series “Boundless Longevity” design might seem a bit too bold and imposing. Considering Chen Wan’s youthful appearance, gentle demeanor, and softer aura, it might not suit him entirely.

“No,” Chen Wan replied as he signed the receipt. “It’s for a friend.”

Qin Zhaoting knew Chen Wan was naturally good at caring for others, almost as if he was born with the ability to love. Still, he was a bit surprised. Even on a duty-free island, such a gift wasn’t cheap. With a hint of envy, he smiled and said, “Whoever’s your friend is really lucky. I wonder who that fortunate person might be.”

Chen Wan merely smiled without answering.

The truth was, he didn’t really have friends. His only close companion was Zhuo Zhixuan, and Zhuo Zhixuan had no shortage of such things.

Even the clerk might have realized that these cufflinks didn’t suit Chen Wan himself. They were meant for Zhao Shengge.

Perhaps when one likes someone, they instinctively want to give them everything that seems fitting.

Chen Wan had a separate cabinet at home for items he thought suited Zhao Shengge.

Handmade neckties from a trip to Scandinavia, silk scarves from a local market while attending a forum inland… Ties, watches, lighters—he had imagined dressing Zhao Shengge in various outfits countless times in his mind.

The gifts, piling up like ornaments, were never intended to be given away. They would never see the light of day. Their sole purpose was to serve as materials for Chen Wan’s imagination—hidden entries in his personal “stamp collection journal,” perhaps even fodder for his dreams on certain nights.

Chen Wan happily accepted the clerk’s carefully wrapped gift box, only to look up and lock eyes with the true, albeit unspoken, owner of those cufflinks.

Zhao Shengge was nearby. He had overheard their conversation and wasn’t particularly surprised. Chen Wan gave off the impression of being a well-connected, popular individual—attentive and considerate toward acquaintances and absolutely meticulous with friends.

Those cufflinks, with their particular design and style, made it easy to guess the type of person they might be for.

So, he has such a friend? Zhao Shengge mused, hands in his pockets, the lighting at the counter accentuating his luxurious and stoic demeanor.

Noticing Zhao Shengge’s gaze lingering on the cufflinks, Chen Wan felt a twinge of guilt and instinctively pulled the gift bag closer to his chest, as if afraid Zhao Shengge might take a liking to them as well.

“…”

Zhao Shengge simply watched him. Chen Wan nodded politely and smiled slightly before walking off toward another counter.

The Whale Ship No. 17 docked at Little Polaris Pier.

Chen Wan spent a day making calls to arrange for Song Qingmiao to pick up the jade and gold jewelry he had purchased for her at the duty-free port. Unless absolutely necessary, he would avoid visiting the Chen residence.

Since the last time Chen Wan returned to the Chen family estate during Ghost Festival, he and Song Qingmiao had not seen each other again. Chen Wan had been busy, and Song Qingmiao was even busier—shopping, gambling, buying bags, and enjoying tea-filled days of excitement.

Chen Wan would check in with her by phone regularly. During one such call, Song Qingmiao mentioned that she hadn’t been feeling well lately. The family doctor had said her condition was due to emotional stagnation damaging the liver and excessive dampness. She then asked Chen Wan to accompany her to the Queen of Heaven Temple after he returned from his trip to offer incense and greet Mazu.

Chen Wan agreed and refrained from questioning the large sums she had recently charged to the secondary card.

Whatever Song Qingmiao needed—money or affection—Chen Wan did his best to provide.

The Queen of Heaven Temple was bustling with activity. In Haishi, people didn’t worship Guanyin or Buddha—they worshipped Mazu. Whether sick, taking exams, or conducting business, people of all ages sought blessings from her.

With her flowing black hair, an elegant cheongsam, a youthful face, and a playful demeanor, Song Qingmiao looked like a young girl. Walking beside Chen Wan, she could have passed for either his sister or his girlfriend.

Song Qingmiao mentioned wanting to enter the inner courtyard to pray to the Dragon Maiden of the Heavenly Concubine. Today was an auspicious day she had calculated in advance—the 24th day of the lunar month, when the divine maiden descends to hear prayers.

Chen Wan glanced toward the temple gate and paused slightly. In a soft voice, he said, “Should I wait for you outside?”

“No,” Song Qingmiao insisted on going together, saying that skipping prayers after arriving might anger Mazu.

Chen Wan recalled seeing a Maybach parked when they arrived. With a subtle tone, he persuaded her, “I heard that the Heavenly Concubine prefers to be visited no more than once every three months. Otherwise, Mazu may see it as greed.”

There were five Mazu statues in the temple. Chen Wan only recognized two: Great Mazu, Lin Mo, and Third Mazu, Zhuang Jingyun—one presiding over peace and blessings, the other over wisdom and virtue.

“You visited Lin Mo just last month. Perhaps this time, you can have a good conversation with Jingyun Mazu,” he suggested.

Song Qingmiao found his reasoning convincing, though she was still somewhat displeased. It seemed that if she couldn’t see Lin Mo Mazu today, her luck in the near future would surely decline.

To reassure her, Chen Wan promised to install a jade statue of the goddess at home.

In the inner courtyard, the abbot ordered a young monk to serve tea to Zhao Shengge, who was the epitome of a benefactor—a true living “God of Wealth.”

Haishi had no shortage of wealthy individuals, but not everyone was as generous as Zhao Shengge, who donated a substantial sum for incense offerings each year. If the gods were partial to anyone, it would be to him.

Zhao Shengge was there to calculate an auspicious date for the groundbreaking of a new pier project and to offer incense. He didn’t believe in deities or spirits—he only believed in himself.

But Zhao Maozheng insisted on him making this visit.

It wasn’t out of superstition or rigidity but rather an attempt to temper his successor’s character.

Though Zhao Shengge appeared composed and decisive, he was inherently arrogant and sharp-edged—lacking empathy and humanity, qualities necessary for achieving greater accomplishments.

Zhao Maozheng finally admitted to himself that his rigorous upbringing of his grandson might have gone too far.

From a young age, Zhao Shengge had been subjected to excessive severity. Zhao Maozheng had burned many of his models and even ordered the execution of a stray dog Zhao Shengge had rescued. Whether or not Zhao Shengge remembered those events was uncertain.

As a child, Zhao Shengge had watched it all unfold without shedding a single tear.

Reflecting on such incidents, Zhao Maozheng acknowledged his overreaction, realizing that his frustrations with his son’s inadequacies had unfairly spilled over onto his grandson.

Now, however, he could no longer control Zhao Shengge. “The pier and the new route need the blessings of the gods,” he said.

Indifferently, Zhao Shengge replied, “I can spare half an hour between 4:30 and 5:00 to make an appearance.”

He was busy. It wasn’t him seeking the Buddha; it was the Buddha waiting for him.

Zhao Shengge regretted stepping into the temple within five minutes.If he had this time to spare, he could have finalized the blueprints for his new project.

The abbot’s speech sounded like a scripture recital, and Zhao didn’t listen to a single word. Yet, for the sake of fostering goodwill for the project, he politely exchanged a few minutes of superficial conversation.

Even before the deity’s statue, Zhao Shengge maintained his usual demeanor—calm, composed, and indifferent. His politeness was impeccable, but not even the gods could guess what he was thinking.

Occasionally, he nodded slightly at the abbot’s words, but his thoughts had already wandered through the lattice windows, out toward the outer courtyard.

The hands of his watch pointed to 5:30. He didn’t believe that someone as sharp-eyed and sharp-eared as that person hadn’t noticed his car.

The man today wore a soft, linen-blend shirt that gave him a gentle, relaxed appearance.

This temple had originally been built by immigrants from Southeast Asia. Later, locals converted it into a temple dedicated to Mazu. Yet, some traces of the original golden statues and ornate eaves remained.

As Chen Wan passed by, he resembled the purple water lily blooming in a courtyard water vat—pure, serene. And yet, amid the temple’s gilded details and glazed tiles, there was an indescribable undertone that complicated his image.

He held the bag for the woman by his side with an expression of quiet patience.

Zhao Shengge raised an eyebrow with faint mockery. Chen Wan might appear innocent and reserved, but to be discussing romance in a holy place like this? Such a preference was hardly admirable.

The abbot, sensing Zhao Shengge’s cold indifference, refrained from rambling further. Instead, he simply conveyed his regards to Zhao’s grandfather, wishing him good health.

Zhao Shengge glanced toward the western hall, raising his chin slightly as he asked, “What’s being worshipped over there?”

Seeing a rare flicker of interest from Zhao, the abbot explained in detail, “That’s the Western Hall, where Jingyun Mazu resides. She’s the left-hand celestial attendant of the Heavenly Palace, specializing in wisdom.”

“Oh.”

Chen Wan was seeking wisdom? Could anyone be craftier than him?

Zhao Shengge questioned with the precision of a boardroom discussion, “When was the goddess statue built?”

The abbot’s eyes shifted subtly as he seized the opportunity. “It’s been several decades. The golden body and the painted details have begun to fade, and we’re currently raising funds for its restoration. If Zhao Benefactor is interested, you could light an incense stick with me—it’s said to bring good fortune.”

Though Zhao Shengge had sworn he’d leave within thirty minutes, he glanced at his watch and said, “I suppose that’s fine.”