A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Zhao Shengge gave a slight nod, his gaze meeting hers briefly out of courtesy before returning to the surveillance footage, watching frame by frame.

The security team had just sent over footage from the entrances leading to Baoli Bay.

There were a total of seven entry points.

Zhuo Zhixuan mentioned that he hadn’t seen or been able to contact Chen Wan. Bored, he had casually browsed through the footage.

Zhao Shengge kept his eyes fixed on the screen and didn’t look at Xu Zhiying again.

“Go on.”

“…”

Xu Zhiying briefly recounted what had happened on the road. Suddenly, Zhao Shengge, who had been silent, asked, “What car?”

“A Jeep, no license plate—”

“Not that one,” Zhao Shengge interrupted her. “The one later.”

“A Volkswagen.”

Since Chen Wan had maintained an entirely selfless, unsung-hero attitude throughout the incident—going so far as to not even exchange full names with her—Xu Zhiying had deliberately memorized his license plate number.

There was no need to check the footage anymore. Zhao Shengge shut his laptop, stood up directly, his expression unchanged, but the sheer intensity in his eyes made Xu Zhiying pause for a second.

“You said he watched you leave and then parked by the roadside?”

“Yes.”

He wasn’t planning on coming back.

Xu Zhiying didn’t know Chen Wan, but the chances that Chen Wan didn’t know who she was? Very slim.

She sensed a subtle shift in Zhao Shengge’s emotions. She didn’t understand why he was so fixated on a seemingly insignificant detail in the whole situation. Worried that he might be suspecting Chen Wan, she carefully added, “It’s a coincidence, I suppose. But I really think it’s just that—a coincidence. They weren’t together.”

Zhao Shengge was no longer listening. He turned away, grabbing his coat and car keys as he asked, “What’s his condition?”

Xu Zhiying couldn’t quite grasp what he was getting at but answered honestly, “Injured, lost quite a bit of blood. I asked him, and he said he was fine. Seemed like he didn’t want people to know—”

“Got it.”

Zhao Shengge strode out of the VIP lounge without looking back. “Miss Xu, suit yourself.”

“…”

Renji Hospital.

Under the nurse’s guidance, Chen Wan underwent a series of examinations.

The final diagnosis: soft tissue contusion of the hand joint and mild concussion. The doctor advised hospitalization.

“…”

“Doctor,” Chen Wan tried to decline politely, “I don’t think it’s that serious—”

“Young man, take care of your body.” The doctor looked at him sternly. “Just because you don’t feel it now doesn’t mean there’s no problem. Many injuries don’t show symptoms immediately. You’ve hurt areas around your brain and eyes—absolutely nothing to take lightly.”

Chen Wan had no choice but to agree.

“You need to complete the admission process. No one came with you?”

“No.” Chen Wan reached out. “Doctor, just give me the paperwork. I’ll take care of it.”

The doctor glanced at him, softened his tone, and said, “You can pay by card. I’ll have a nurse bring the paperwork to your ward for you to sign.”

Chen Wan obediently replied, “Thank you, doctor.”

Renji was a private hospital. Chen Wan opted for a single room.

After an exhausting night, both his body and mind were at their limit.

He understood the look in the doctor’s eyes, but he didn’t think much of it. He had long been accustomed to handling life’s hardships and the relentless grind of fate on his own. Compared to what he had endured as a child, this level of injury was nothing.

He was starving. He was exhausted.

He figured he’d just sleep it off.

But even in this state of utter exhaustion, the deep-seated sense of responsibility in his bones reminded him that he had forgotten to inform Zhuo Zhixuan.

He hadn’t shown up as scheduled.

No one would have noticed—except for Zhuo Zhixuan.

So, with the last bit of battery left in his phone, he dialed Zhuo Zhixuan’s number.

Even though Chen Wan downplayed the situation, Zhuo Zhixuan practically exploded upon hearing it. He insisted on coming to the hospital.

He had learned firsthand what “nothing serious” meant to Chen Wan.

Getting beaten black and blue by senior students from the International Department in a back alley (of course, he later fought back), sneaking into clubs at sixteen to rescue Song Qingmiao from some sleazy old man—these all fell under “nothing serious” in Chen Wan’s book.

Chen Wan was reliable—but sometimes, when it came to himself, he was completely untrustworthy.

“Enough, don’t even try to argue. I’m on my way,” Zhuo Zhixuan snapped. “Once I find out who did this, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

“…”

Chen Wan’s phone died. He couldn’t stop him.

Zhuo Zhixuan hung up just as he ran into Zhao Shengge stepping out of the VIP suite.

“Perfect timing,” he said, assuming he’d be staying the night and had already sent his driver away. Now, getting back from downtown would take a while. “Lend me a car. I need to go.”

Even though he was asking for a favor, his tone was less than polite.

Zhao Shengge didn’t mind. His response was swift and firm. “No need. I’m coming with you.”

“?”

Zhuo Zhixuan turned, stunned. “You—”

“It’s about me.”

Seeing that Zhuo Zhixuan hadn’t pressed the elevator button, Zhao Shengge did it himself, calling it to B1.

Noticing the lingering disbelief on Zhuo Zhixuan’s face, he asked in a low, steady voice, “Are you coming or not?”

His brow furrowed, his presence imposing.

Though his expression remained calm, Zhuo Zhixuan had the distinct feeling that he was actually furious.

He had never seen Zhao Shengge lose his temper before.

So, without hesitation, he quickly shut the elevator doors.

Zhao Shengge drove personally.

The car was steady, but Zhuo Zhixuan instinctively tightened his grip on his seatbelt.

He never knew that someone as composed as Zhao Shengge had the potential to be a road tyrant.

Since it concerned Chen Wan, Zhuo Zhixuan had a lot of questions.

Zhao Shengge gave only a brief, no-nonsense summary of what Xu Zhiying had reported.

But Zhuo Zhixuan still didn’t understand why Zhao Shengge was coming with him.

Faced with his obvious confusion and suspicion, Zhao Shengge explained, “Baihe Hall’s remnants are stirring up trouble. For details, we need to ask Chen Wan.”

Zhuo Zhixuan immediately understood—these people had chosen this moment to create chaos for Zhao Shengge.

And Zhao Shengge? There was no way he’d let them get away with it.

The explanation was logical, self-contained, and entirely reasonable.

So Zhuo Zhixuan accepted it.

Then, silently, he blamed Zhao Shengge in his heart.

Chen Wan had been dragged into this mess completely by accident.

And the real culprit?

Zhao Shengge.

Whether morally or logically, he should absolutely be making this trip.

The Maybach sped down the coastal highway, the vast night sea stretching endlessly on both sides.

Only the headlights cut through the darkness—just like that inexplicable emotion in their hearts, growing clearer, more distinct, until finally—Breaking through the night.

Hospital Room.

Chen Wan had large bandages wrapped around his forehead, arm, and shoulder by the nurse.

“Ah Wan!”

“I told you, I’m fine—” Chen Wan abruptly stopped, his eyes widening slightly. After confirming the visitor, he hesitated before speaking, “Mr. Zhao?”

Zhao Shengge had never seen Chen Wan injured and in such a disheveled state before. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, but he only nodded in response.

Just moments ago, Chen Wan had doubted the doctor’s diagnosis of a mild concussion. Now, he felt not only concussed but also as if his heartbeat was irregular and his thoughts were running wild.

For some reason, since Zhao Shengge entered the room, he had been looking at him.

Looking for a long, long time.

Chen Wan felt as if he was being stripped bare, his soul laid bare under that gaze. The area around his IV needle began to swell slightly. Displeased with his current unsightly appearance, he asked, puzzled and slightly embarrassed, “Why is Mr. Zhao here?”

Zhao Shengge didn’t answer immediately. He could tell Zhuo Zhixuan that he was here because of Xu Zhiying and Bai Hengtang, but he couldn’t say the same to Chen Wan.

Since he remained silent, Zhuo Zhixuan answered for him, stating the truth plainly: “Miss Xu said you saved her. Those people were remnants of Bai Hengtang.”

A sudden calm settled over Chen Wan.

So that was it.

He had been too caught up in the exhilaration of seeing Mount Fuji, almost forgetting that the person he had saved was Xu Zhiying.

A wave of embarrassment washed over him for letting his emotions get the better of him, for his unwarranted assumptions.

It wasn’t that he felt embarrassed about Zhao Shengge coming here personally for Xu Zhiying. It was that he hadn’t realized it sooner.

If Zhao Shengge came for Xu Zhiying, that was to be expected. But for Chen Wan to not have immediately thought of that—

That meant, deep down, he still harbored unspeakable delusions, ugly and shameful thoughts.

That realization clashed violently with his principles and beliefs. That was what made him truly ashamed, enough to wish he could disappear.

Chen Wan had never considered himself a man of high moral standing. He had done plenty of bad, cruel, and dirty things; his hands had long been unclean.

But at this moment, his self-reproach and loathing far outweighed the fact that Zhao Shengge was engaged. For a few brief seconds, Chen Wan even had the urge to hide away.

He couldn’t face Zhao Shengge. More than that, he couldn’t face himself.

The physical injuries were painful, but the true crushing weight came from his moral guilt.

Zhao Shengge didn’t understand why Chen Wan’s eyes had lost some of their usual light. Perhaps it was because of his injuries—he wasn’t as composed as usual. Zhao Shengge vaguely sensed a trace of regret and resolution in his gaze.

He didn’t know what the regret was for or what he had decided, but it felt as though something was slipping away at this very moment—something irreversible.

A rare and subtle sense of panic stirred within Zhao Shengge, his heart clenching, though he couldn’t pinpoint the cause.

Chen Wan had suffered this ordeal because of him. Xu Zhiying’s misfortune wasn’t entirely undeserved; as the saying in Haishi went, “If you eat salted fish, be prepared to thirst.”

The Xu and Zhao families had joined forces to carve up Bai Hengtang’s remains. If she wanted a share of the spoils from this knife-edge struggle, she had to be prepared for the risks.

But Chen Wan? He gained nothing from it and yet suffered these injuries.

Last time at Yingchi, it was the same—Zhao Shengge’s interference had brought trouble crashing down on him.

For once, Zhao Shengge felt a rare twinge of conscience. However, he had little experience visiting the sick, so he was awkward about it. He merely approached the bedside, leaning slightly forward, and asked in a warm tone, “How are your injuries? Did those people have guns?”

Chen Wan assumed he was asking for tactical information, so he adjusted his emotions and answered seriously, recounting the details:

“No guns, but they probably had other weapons or goods in the vehicle. I noticed two A67 Jeep trunks pressing low to the ground. They were stock models, no plates—such vehicles are usually used for illegal border crossings.”

“…”

Zhao Shengge pursed his lips, his gaze slowly and carefully tracing every wound on Chen Wan’s face and hands.

“You’re very observant.”

Not a single word was what he had wanted to hear.

“…”

Chen Wan felt as if Zhao Shengge was somehow unsatisfied with his response. But that was everything he had managed to recall in such a chaotic and critical moment.

He opened his mouth slightly but wasn’t sure what else to say. His battered body and the hospital gown made him look almost apologetic. This unfamiliar sight stirred something unrecognizable in Zhao Shengge, compelling him to act quickly and decisively.

After a long pause, he found something that seemed appropriate, a stance that aligned with his role and position. His expression was unusually sincere:

“Chen Wan, they were after me. You got caught in the crossfire. If you need anything, just let me know—”

“Mr. Zhao.”

Chen Wan called his name softly, and Zhao Shengge stopped speaking immediately, turning his full attention to him.

He might not have realized it, but his gaze even carried a hint of encouragement, as if he hoped Chen Wan would say more.

Chen Wan had always thought of himself as someone with a strong mentality, a steady heart. Even tonight, he hadn’t felt any particularly unbearable pain.

Being slammed by a Jeep, hitting his head—didn’t hurt.

His arm getting crushed against the car window, bleeding—didn’t hurt.

Watching Xu Zhiying walk toward the dazzling city lights—he could bear it.

But Zhao Shengge’s personal visit, his acknowledgment and gratitude, made something deep in Chen Wan’s heart crack open.

At first, the wound bled slowly. Then, the blood thickened and surged.

Because, once again, he realized with painful clarity—

Zhao Shengge had come here for Xu Zhiying.

To ask about what had happened on her behalf.

To thank him on her behalf.

To settle the debt on her behalf.

Rationally, his mind screamed at him to stop this unethical pain immediately. But physically, it was impossible. His mind was splitting, fracturing into two personas.

The pain came late, but when it did, it was profound and unshakable.

Yet, Chen Wan remained composed. He smiled gently, as he always did, and said,

“Thank you, Mr. Zhao, but I don’t need anything. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Zhao Shengge’s heart suddenly clenched.

That ungraspable, unknown thing was slipping away even faster.

Chen Wan was telling him—Don’t worry about me.

Just like before—polite, distant, thoughtful, and evasive.

“You really don’t?” Zhao Shengge wasn’t sure where the problem lay. He only tried to make himself seem more approachable, hoping to show that he was, in fact, a reasonable person, someone who understood gratitude.

“You got hurt because of me. That makes it my responsibility. You should at least receive some compensation or thanks.”

Chen Wan simply replied, “There’s no need. Miss Xu has already thanked me.”