A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Zhao Shengge frowned and said, “She gave her thanks, and I give mine.”
“These are two separate matters.”

There was no relationship of mutual representation between Xu Zhiying and him.

Perhaps because Zhao Shengge considered this a matter of utmost seriousness that needed to be clarified, he didn’t realize his voice had lowered, making him sound somewhat imposing. For a moment, both Chen Wan and Zhuo Zhixuan were caught off guard.

The atmosphere in the ward instantly became delicate and heavy, almost tangible.

Perhaps people become more fragile and disoriented when injured. Chen Wan didn’t quite understand what Zhao Shengge meant—he only knew that he seemed to have messed things up. He opened his mouth slightly, feeling a bit lost and uncertain.

Zhao Shengge kept staring at Chen Wan’s thin, delicate figure, even feeling that his hands trembled slightly.

Zhao Shengge himself, very rarely, felt tense and agitated—but he was at a loss.

He had never, in his life, experienced emotions so out of his control.

And yet, there was nothing he could do.

He softened his tone. “I—”

Just as Zhuo Zhixuan was about to speak up to tell Zhao Shengge not to scare people, his phone rang.

It was Tan Youming, calling to ask about Chen Wan’s condition. He had originally wanted to come as well, but his father was still around, and Shen Zongnian also said that if too many people left at once, it would be too conspicuous, so he had to stay behind.

Zhuo Zhixuan, not one to hold back, exaggerated a little: “His arm, leg, and face are all injured. He even hit his head—probably broke his brain.”

Chen Wan: “…”

Tan Youming immediately said, “Put me on speaker. I want to talk to Chen Wan.”

Zhuo Zhixuan switched to speaker mode. Chen Wan spoke first: “Young Master Tan, it’s me. I’m fine here, nothing serious, no need to worry.”

Tan Youming asked a few more details, then told him to rest well, saying that once he was discharged, they would go to Lion Rock for a team-building event and throw him a discharge party.

Like coaxing a child.

Chen Wan chuckled and agreed.

Tan Youming, catching sight of an elegant and stunning figure at the social event, brightened up and handed his wine glass back to Shen Zongnian.

Being a gossip lover himself, he assumed gossiping would also help Chen Wan relax a little. “Wan, do you know who you saved? Xu Zhiying! Shengge’s fiancée. They messed with the wrong person. Zhao Shengge won’t let them off—you can rest assured, you won’t suffer this injustice.”

Chen Wan’s head felt feverish, his throat burning as if on fire. He tried his best to maintain a normal and calm voice. “It’s no big—”

“Fiancée?”

A deep and steady male voice came through the speaker, calm yet carrying an unmistakable dominance. “Who decided that?”

“…”

Chen Wan turned his head to look at Zhao Shengge.

Given the ambiguity of his words, everyone in the room fell silent for a moment. Zhuo Zhixuan glanced at Chen Wan, then turned to look at Zhao Shengge.

Zhao Shengge remained composed and unreadable.

Tan Youming chuckled. “Who would dare decide for you, Zhao Shengge? It was in the Haidu Evening News.” He mimicked the tabloid’s tone, “The financial tycoon Zhao Sheng and the eldest daughter of the Xu family spotted late at night, suspected to be nesting together in Shallow Water Garden Bay No. 7.”

“…”

Zhao Shengge glanced at Chen Wan, who wasn’t looking at him. Then, in a flat tone, he mocked Tan Youming: “Did you write that personally?”

Tan Youming burst into laughter again.

Zhuo Zhixuan considered himself to be one of their closer friends, yet he still couldn’t tell whether Zhao Shengge was joking or serious. They had never discussed such topics when they were out together.

Or perhaps this was something only Zhao Shengge would talk about with Shen Zongnian.

He didn’t know the truth, but he knew someone else who definitely wanted to.

Zhuo Zhixuan deliberately spoke up, “That Huadu New Agency also reported on it. Their reporters even snapped pictures of you two having dinner together at Westford.”

Tan Youming immediately jumped in: “See? See? It’s not just me—others saw it too. I didn’t make this up.”

Zhao Shengge countered, “So having dinner together means engagement?”

It was unclear whether he was addressing Zhuo Zhixuan or Tan Youming, but his response was firm and serious: “I will not be engaged to Miss Xu. I will, however, reserve my right to take legal action against you and the tabloid journalists for defaming my privacy.”

Tan Youming laughed. “Why pretend to be all proper?”

Chen Wan frowned slightly in confusion. He lifted his head just a little—only to directly meet Zhao Shengge’s gaze, which had been fixed on him the entire time.

“…”

Zhao Shengge’s gaze was gentle, and he asked with genuine curiosity, “What’s wrong? Have you read it too?”

“…” Chen Wan froze for a moment. “N-no, I haven’t.”

Tan Youming said, “Whether he has or hasn’t, the fact remains—because of you, Zhao Shengge, you need to take responsibility.”

He then suggested that Chen Wan take the opportunity to get a hefty compensation from Zhao Shengge—something he rightfully deserved.

This time, Zhao Shengge didn’t refute him.

Tan Youming kept talking, eager to share even more gossip about Zhao Shengge and Xu Zhiying with Chen Wan, but Shen Zongnian took his phone back. “Alright, let Chen Wan rest.”

Only then did Tan Youming stop, taking a sip of his wine to moisten his throat.

The phone belonged to Zhuo Zhixuan, but he hadn’t had a chance to say much. His gaze swept between Zhao Shengge and Chen Wan. He used to think he didn’t really understand Chen Wan, but now he realized—he also didn’t quite understand Zhao Shengge.

A nurse came in to ask someone to sign some forms.

Zhuo Zhixuan, believing he was definitely closer to Chen Wan than Zhao Shengge was, naturally followed the nurse out.

Now, only Zhao Shengge and Chen Wan remained in the ward.

Chen Wan noticed that Zhao Shengge had been looking at him the whole time, unsure of what it meant. He could only smile politely.

“…”

However, Zhao Shengge thought that his complexion looked a little better now, and his expression wasn’t as shattered as before. Feeling slightly reassured, he walked over, leaned down, and lifted his hand.

Chen Wan instinctively leaned back slightly, holding his breath entirely.

Zhao Shengge paused, glanced at him, and met his wide-eyed stare.

Only after waiting for him to adjust to the distance did Zhao Shengge continue moving. Chen Wan then realized that Zhao Shengge was merely adjusting his IV drip to make the infusion smoother.

“…Thank you.” Chen Wan, caught in the crisp coolness of his scent, muttered awkwardly.

As Zhao Shengge raised his hand, the ring on his finger caught the light for a moment. The family crest on his pinky had a subtle, mysterious glow.

Suddenly, that crest-adorned ring was extended right in front of him, very close.

“…” Chen Wan lifted his head. “?”

Zhao Shengge looked into his eyes. “Didn’t you want to see it?”

“…No.”

“Chen Wan,” Zhao Shengge, after confirming that his IV site wasn’t swollen or bruised, sat back down and thought for a moment before asking, “Are you very afraid of me?”

His voice was calm and deep.

Yet, beneath the blanket, Chen Wan’s fingers twitched slightly.

This was not a question—it was a statement.

Conversations with Zhao Shengge never followed conventional logic. Talking to him was like riding a roller coaster.

Chen Wan looked at Zhao Shengge and smiled. “No. Why would you ask that, Mr. Zhao?”

Zhao Shengge sat there, at eye level with him. His gaze was calm and gentle, yet direct, giving a sense of depth—one could never see through his thoughts, but under his scrutiny, every subtle emotion of the person being watched had nowhere to hide.

“No?” Zhao Shengge looked at him intently, his dark eyes sweeping over his eyebrows, his eyes, and finally his lips.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from the previous tension into an indescribable subtlety, yet both of them remained composed, one appearing even more natural than the other.

“No.” This time, Chen Wan answered sincerely.

He had never feared Zhao Shengge, no matter what others said about him.

“Good,” Zhao Shengge said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Chen Wan thought he must have hit his head too hard.

In this moment, his dullness made him seem less sharp, less proper, less guarded, and less invulnerable. It was as if Zhao Shengge had caught a glimpse of him beyond his armor and mask—more real, vivid, and soft.

So he repeated, “You don’t need to be afraid of me.” His tone and expression were both serious, giving off a strong sense of reliability.

Chen Wan responded with a gentle “Okay,” looking obedient.

Zhao Shengge glanced at the medication prescribed by the doctor, carefully examining it. As he read, he asked, “Chen Wan, how many days did the doctor recommend for your hospitalization?”

Chen Wan replied, “Just one night for observation. If everything’s fine, I can leave tomorrow—”

“Chen Wan,” Zhao Shengge interrupted him softly, pausing for a moment, his tone carrying a trace of helplessness. “I was asking about the doctor’s recommendation.”

“Not your own opinion.”

Chen Wan: “……”

In fact, Zhao Shengge’s tone was quite mild—not like a superior talking to a subordinate, but more like an elder questioning a child. There was a hint of disapproval and a touch of exasperation, but he wasn’t harsh. Still, it made one unconsciously sit up straight and answer honestly.

Chen Wan could only mumble truthfully, “One week.”

“Mm.” Zhao Shengge found his honest response rather endearing—far better than his earlier polite refusal of help, which had been irritating. He simply ignored Chen Wan’s plan to leave the hospital the next day and said, “Would it bother you if I had someone guard your hospital room?”

“What?”

“Until those fugitives are caught, there’s a chance they might retaliate,” Zhao Shengge said matter-of-factly. “I’m worried they might come after you.”

Chen Wan grew serious as well. “Oh, alright. No, it won’t bother me.”

Zhao Shengge continued, “I’ll also have someone take care of you. It’s not convenient for you to be here alone.”

Before Chen Wan could refuse, Zhao Shengge added, “Zhuo Zhixuan wouldn’t be at ease otherwise.”

“But if you prefer, I can owe you this favor. You can decide later what you want in return.”

Zhao Shengge sounded so confident that it was clear Chen Wan would never try to leverage this favor for any kind of advantage.

As expected, Chen Wan accepted.

A nearly imperceptible curve appeared at the corner of Zhao Shengge’s lips.

When the night-shift doctor came for rounds, he mentioned that Chen Wan’s constitution was weak and that suffering a head injury while seeking medical help alone had been extremely dangerous. Zhao Shengge remained silent, lost in thought.

The doctor said that Chen Wan shouldn’t sit up for too long and asked Zhao Shengge to adjust the bed’s incline.

As Zhao Shengge leaned in to adjust the bed, Chen Wan caught a faint whiff of Da Hong Pao tea lingering on his collar and cuffs. The scent was light but distinct.

Fortunately, after adjusting the bed, Zhao Shengge quickly straightened up.

Chen Wan let out a breath of relief. “Mr. Zhao, is it alright for you to be away for so long? If you have things to attend to, you should go back. I’m really fine.”

Tonight was a crucial event for Minglong, and Zhao Shengge must have had countless matters to handle.

Zhao Shengge replied that he only needed to make an appearance—go on stage, give a speech, accept interviews, and handle guests and media. Others could take care of those tasks.

He then asked, “Are you tired?”

His tall frame and broad shoulders blocked part of the bright white light, casting his expression into shadow, making it unreadable. “If you’re tired, close your eyes and rest. I’ll leave when Zhuo Zhixuan gets back.”

Chen Wan lay completely enveloped in his shadow, as if surrounded by him.

Maybe it was the sedative the doctor had prescribed, or maybe it was just that Zhao Shengge inherently gave off a sense of security and reliability, but by the time Zhuo Zhixuan returned after finishing the discharge paperwork, Chen Wan had already fallen asleep.

Running around all night had been exhausting. Zhuo Zhixuan, a young master who had never handled such matters himself, had to queue up and pick up medicine. He had already been worried about Chen Wan’s injuries, and his anxiety nearly led him into an argument with someone. So by the time he returned, he didn’t even notice that the thermos on the bedside table had been refilled, or that Chen Wan’s phone—with its chipped corner—had been plugged in to charge.

Zhao Shengge said he was leaving—he needed to send someone to start tracking those people immediately. Before leaving, he reminded Zhuo Zhixuan to keep an eye on the veins on the back of Chen Wan’s hand and adjust the IV drip speed as needed.

His words were brief, mostly just relaying the doctor’s instructions. They were concise and to the point, devoid of personal emotion or concern.

Although Zhuo Zhixuan had recently harbored some complaints about him, at this moment, watching his tall figure and listening to his simple yet clear instructions, he suddenly felt like Zhao Shengge had returned to the person he remembered from childhood.

To Zhuo Zhixuan, Zhao Shengge had always been like an older brother.

As children, in the social circles of Haishi’s elite, who wouldn’t have wanted an older brother like Zhao Shengge?

If you got into trouble, he’d tell you it was okay. If you ran out of money, you could use his card. He’d lend out his limited-edition mountain bike without hesitation, and if you broke it, he wouldn’t mind.

Zhao Shengge never got angry. Zhao Shengge always had a solution.

With Zhao Shengge around, there was nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

In Zhuo Zhixuan’s memory, even from a young age, Zhao Shengge had always been that way—a mountain. When he was younger, a small mountain. As he grew, a towering one.

A jade peak, silent and unwavering.

He was always there for his friends to rely on.

But as people grew older, things became less pure. Everyone changed—Tan Youming became increasingly arrogant, Shen Zongnian more brooding, and Zhao Shengge… colder.

It was a kind of detachment that seeped from his very bones. Even though he was still gentle, reliable, responsible, and generous to his friends, at some point, Zhuo Zhixuan just knew—

Zhao Shengge was no longer the older brother he once idolized.

Maybe it started the day Zhao Maozheng’s surveillance kept him from playing games with them.

Maybe it was the day he walked past a stray dog without a second glance.

Or maybe it was the day an old friend made a mistake, and Zhao Shengge didn’t show mercy.

It had been too long. Zhuo Zhixuan no longer knew exactly when Zhao Shengge—or perhaps all of them, including himself—began to change.

People like them rarely had genuine friendships, and even when they did, they faded easily.

That’s why someone like Chen Wan seemed so rare and precious.

But tonight, in this hospital room, Zhuo Zhixuan suddenly felt like—His older brother had returned.