A Letter from Keanu Reeves

Zhao Shengge had just returned from the old family residence that afternoon. Normally, when he visited the old house, no one was allowed to host lavish banquets there. However, since he hadn’t taken the time to meet with the extended family since his return to the country, the patriarch had gathered everyone for the occasion.

The Zhao family wasn’t plagued by dramatic power struggles or bitter feuds often seen in wealthy clans. The direct branches consisted mostly of hedonistic second-generation heirs who indulged in luxury, fully reliant on Zhao Shengge to sustain their opulent lifestyles. This was why the Minglong Group’s power structure had always been relatively centralized and stable.

From a young age, Zhao Shengge had significant influence within the family, even in the presence of the controlling and domineering Zhao Maozheng. Over the years, as Zhao Maozheng aged and his health deteriorated, Shengge’s authority grew even stronger.

Although he was young, his status was high. Even uncles nearing their fifties had to address him as “Young Master,” while the younger children in the family simply called him “Big Brother.”

Zhao Shengge, mature beyond his years, accepted these titles with composed courtesy, though deep down he found it tiresome. He often wished he could toss the chattering, energetic little brats into the swimming pool outside.

From his teenage years, Zhao Shengge had been a golden child, a paragon of excellence. During holidays, relatives from direct and extended branches loved bringing their children to meet him. He would have to hand out red envelopes and deliver earnest advice about studying hard and growing up well, as though his words carried some kind of blessing.

By the time he arrived at the old house, everyone was already present. The long, oval table was fully occupied, and Zhao Maozheng had already taken the seat of honor. However, no one dared to touch their chopsticks until Zhao Shengge sat down.

Once he was seated, dinner officially began.

Because there were no fierce disputes over interests, the atmosphere had a falsely warm undertone. The women from various branches diligently inquired about Shengge’s well-being and later brought up the topic of marriage prospects for the younger members of the family. However, none dared to mention anything about Zhao Shengge’s personal or professional matters. No one could dictate his life.

The dishes at the old residence had remained unchanged over the years and never suited his palate. Lifting the lid of the soup tureen, he glanced at it briefly, sighed internally, and endured the meal. Once it was over, he left in Shen Zongnian’s car and headed to the newly opened hotel of Zhuozhixuan.

Seated beside Chen Wan at the gathering was a young man named Jiang Ying, a genial figure and an artist who had returned from studying in the United States. Coming from a scholarly and reputable family, he was now working as a curator and antique appraiser in Haishi.

Though Jiang Ying wasn’t part of the cutthroat business world, his close friendship with Shen Zongnian made him less wary of broaching sensitive topics that others avoided.

“I heard from my elders that Mrs. Mai is still protesting at the entrance of the Longming Tower every day,” Jiang Ying remarked.

Tan Youming scoffed, “Even after being shown photos of her husband at nightclubs with young models, she refuses to believe it. Before Mai Jiahui jumped, he even screwed her over by transferring all his debts to their daughter, who hasn’t even graduated yet.”

Another person shook their head in exasperation and said to Zhao Shengge, “Rumors have escalated even more. The latest version is that the last phone call Mai Jiahui made before jumping was to you. Now everyone’s terrified of receiving a ‘death call’ from you.”

Lost in his own thoughts, Zhao Shengge’s gaze sharpened only when he noticed the others looking his way. Often, during meetings or social events, others assumed his calm demeanor stemmed from composure, but more often than not, he was simply zoning out, thinking about his own matters.

He was well aware of the storm this incident had stirred in the city. His reputation didn’t concern him—whether people saw him as the King of Hell or a malevolent spirit, it made no difference. Wiping his hands with a warm towel, he calmly explained to the group, “I didn’t call him. It was simply a matter of both parties choosing different ways to fulfill the contract.”

The terms were clear as day, written in black and white. When the deadline arrived, creditor Zhao Shengge chose to file for enforcement, while debtor Mai Jiahui opted for permanent bankruptcy.

Hearing this rational analysis, the group fell silent for a moment before changing the subject.

Among those present, Chen Wan had the least seniority. He took it upon himself to serve soup to everyone. When the turntable reached Shengge, he was conversing with Shen Zongnian and didn’t take any, prompting Tan Youming to spin the turntable away to grab something else.

Fiddling with his wine glass, Chen Wan wondered if his previous attempts had simply been lucky coincidences. He knew Shengge was particular, but tonight seemed different—there was no way to please him.

Perhaps too much time had passed, and the image of the teenage Zhao Shengge who once appeared in their school cafeteria was nothing more than his own fantasy.

Assuming Shengge had no appetite, Chen Wan dismissed the matter. However, later on, when small bowls of abalone and seafood porridge were served, Shengge quietly finished his portion.

Draining his glass of wine, Chen Wan caught a glimpse of his own downcast eyes reflected in the crystal-clear surface, feeling a little lost. He spoke little and wasn’t familiar with most of the people present, occasionally exchanging a few words with the friendly Jiang Ying. For the most part, though, he silently evaluated the dishes prepared by Zhuozhixuan’s renowned chef, mentally scoring each item so he could provide feedback to friends later.

As the banquet drew to a close, everyone approached Shengge for a toast. Given how rare it was to see him, they knew it would only become harder in the future.

Chen Wan hesitated but realized this might be his only chance to toast Shengge in such a crowd. Pouring a generous serving of baijiu into his glass, he stepped forward, only to find that when it was his turn, Shengge glanced at his watch, then left with Shen Zongnian.

Blinking in confusion, Chen Wan felt like he’d missed a step, his hand already poised to lift the glass.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice his movement. Only Jiang Ying, sitting beside him, offered a consoling glance to ease his awkwardness.

Chen Wan didn’t care much about saving face but felt a pang of regret. Scratching the back of his head, he returned Jiang Ying’s look with a small smile and dejectedly finished his glass of baijiu.

It was underfermented, leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste. But since he had chosen it, he felt obligated to finish it.

As the others gradually left, Chen Wan was the last to remain. No matter the occasion, he was always the one to stay behind and handle the aftermath.

Sure enough, he spotted a cigarette case and a Zorro lighter left behind at Shengge’s seat.

Chen Wan’s gaze lingered for a moment, as though he had stumbled upon a treasure, though his expression remained calm. Walking over, he stopped to take a closer look.

The cigarettes were Romeo and Juliet. He had thought this brand had transitioned exclusively to cigars, but it seemed they now offered private customizations. The intricate design on the case exuded a classic charm, and the craftsmanship was exquisite. Inhaling lightly, he caught a faint citrus note, subtle and delicate.

From what he remembered, Shengge rarely smoked, and he certainly never indulged in public.

He had only seen him from a distance once during a dinner gathering when he went out to get some fresh air. The other man was holding a thin cigarette, his beautifully-shaped lips looking soft and red.

Chen Wan stood still, eyes lowered, his face expressionless.
To take it.
Not to take it.
This was a VIP private room, with no cameras installed. His fingers were already beginning to act almost without conscious control, itching to reach for the items.

Outside, violin music played, and people came and went. Just a door away, Chen Wan’s face remained calm, but his heart raced, like a thief ready to pounce.

Pandora’s box was right in front of him, and just like its owner, it was mysterious, precious, and full of temptation, waiting for him to open it with his own hands.

Chen Wan’s hand slowly reached toward it.
After a few seconds, he pulled it back.

Decisively, Chen Wan called the manager, saying that a guest had left behind their belongings and asked him to pack up the cigarettes and lighter and hand them to Zhao Shengge’s assistant.

The manager, who had worked with Chen Wan for the afternoon and trusted him, knew that anything he requested wouldn’t be a trivial matter.

After a while, the manager returned, embarrassed, and said he couldn’t reach the person.

Chen Wan nodded in understanding. “It’s okay, this guest is a bit hard to track down.” After all, even members of the Zhao family had to go through a second or third assistant to see him. Taking back the cigarette case and lighter, he said, “Thank you, you can go back to your work.”

He wandered around the brightly-lit guest hall for a while before finding Zhuozhixuan, who looked radiant and fresh, as if the afternoon’s fatigue had been worth it.

Zhuozhixuan asked, “Did you drink?” Chen Wan had a strong tolerance for alcohol and rarely showed it, but tonight, he didn’t look quite right.

Chen Wan didn’t want to mention the failed toast, so he mumbled a vague response, handing over the carefully wrapped cigarette case and lighter, asking him to pass them along.

Ordinary cigarettes and lighters didn’t matter, but this custom-made set was a personal item. If someone with a mind for it took them, a quick investigation could reveal whose they were.

Zhuozhixuan unwrapped the detailed brown paper, glancing at it. The tipsy feeling from earlier began to wear off, and he stared at Chen Wan, speechless. “Couldn’t you just hand it to him yourself?”

“There’s no need,” Chen Wan replied. He hadn’t planned on smoking, but the temptation stirred by the Romeo cigarette pack was too much. He took out his own cigarette, flicked the lighter, and lit it. He had hesitated earlier to steal a cigarette from the other man, but now he was more relaxed. “If anyone asks, just say the server found it. Don’t mention me.”

“…You’re crazy,” Zhuozhixuan, who had been feeling pleased with himself earlier, was now irritated, his voice rising. “There’s no need—what are you after?”

Perhaps it was the alcohol or the fact that he was feeling good about himself and couldn’t stand to see his close friend so dejected, but Zhuozhixuan’s voice unconsciously grew louder.

Chen Wan looked at him in confusion, casually replying, “I’m not after anything.”

It was the truth.

He liked Zhao Shengge, but he wasn’t trying to pursue him. He had never had that intention.

Zhuozhixuan clearly couldn’t understand. “You really haven’t thought about it at all? You’re just busying yourself with charity work for nothing?”

“…” Chen Wan found this a bit amusing and looked at him with a puzzled expression. He wondered how to explain to his friend—who had never been emotionally invested—that giving without expecting something in return was not the same as charity. “No, I don’t intend to pursue him, and wanting to occasionally see someone I like and do something nice for them isn’t a contradiction, right?”

If he could have completely restrained his feelings, he wouldn’t have let them linger in his heart for years.

Zhuozhixuan still didn’t get it.

Chen Wan, feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, extinguished his cigarette and helplessly said, “If you really want to know, then I just want to be in a place where he feels comfortable and at ease for a few moments.”

Chen Wan didn’t even need to become close with Zhao Shengge. It would be enough to occasionally see him in the same circle.

It would be great if, in the moments he was around, he could make the other person smile, as though those few minutes gave meaning to his feelings. Just a few minutes would be enough.

In terms of time, those minutes could be eternal in Chen Wan’s memory.

“…” Zhuozhixuan couldn’t understand his thinking. He gave him a sarcastic thumbs up and exaggeratedly praised, “Alright, fine. Chen the philanthropist.”

“…” After sending Chen Wan off, Zhuozhixuan called Zhao Shengge, only to find that he hadn’t left yet. Normally, after finishing such social obligations, he would leave immediately, never lingering even for a second.