Hearing the phrase “forgot to respect yourself,” Jing Hong was just about to say something when Peng Zheng knocked on the door. Since a yurt couldn’t produce a proper knock, Peng Zheng voiced it aloud: “Knock, knock, knock! President Jing, Xiao Guan brought a deck of cards. Do you want to play?”

Under normal circumstances, Jing Hong would have definitely declined. But Peng Zheng’s arrival was impeccably timed. Jing Hong stood up immediately and said, “Sure. What are we playing?”

The “Xiao Guan” Peng Zheng referred to was actually 41 years old this year, having founded the largest internet unicorn in recent years.

Jing Hong opened the tent door. Peng Zheng had very sparse hair; he poked his head in, caught sight of Zhou Chang, and gasped in surprise: “Ah? President Zhou is here too?”

Rumuor had it in the industry that the two titans, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang, were like kings who would never meet—exchanging a casual greeting was their absolute limit. Peng Zheng had never expected that late at night, the two of them would be sitting together inside a yurt. Truth be told, Peng Zheng was a little afraid of Zhou Chang; even though Zhou Chang was only 33 while he was already 53, given the current situation, Peng Zheng had no choice but to extend the invitation to Zhou Chang as well: “President Zhou, care to join?”

Zhou Chang also stood up slowly: “Sure, why not.”

The four of them formed a circle in Peng Zheng’s yurt. At first, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang were paired as a team against the other two. But Jing Hong and Zhou Chang’s brains operated far too quickly—they could memorize every single card and possessed such flawless chemistry that Peng Zheng began to suspect them of cheating.

So the four reassigned partners, grouping Jing Hong with Peng Zheng against the other two. However, Peng Zheng constantly dragged Jing Hong down—he was actually quite unfamiliar with this game and didn’t really know how to play.

Finally, Peng Zheng suggested: “How about we switch to a different game? Texas Hold’em?”

Jing Hong raised his chin, gestured toward Zhou Chang with his chin, and said coolly to Peng Zheng, “Then you’ll lose to him even worse—it’d be pure suicide. You’d lose even the underwear off your back.”

Peng Zheng: “…”

Zhou Chang lifted his eyes to look at Jing Hong: “Why would I want their underwear?”

After a long pause, Peng Zheng suddenly tossed the cards in his hand aside and sighed: “Forget it, forget it! I’m getting old, my brain can’t keep up, and I can’t outsmart you young folks.”

Jing Hong gave a light smile and said, “It’s getting pretty late anyway. Let’s all turn in—tomorrow’s schedule seems even longer.”

The other person agreed as well: “Yeah, let’s call it a night.”

After bidding farewell to the group outside his own tent, Jing Hong slipped back into his yurt.

Staring at the patterns on the carpet, the sensation of his lips being touched and his tongue entangled rushed back, becoming vividly sharp in an instant. Forceful, lingering, and slick. A numbing warmth coursed through the tip of his tongue—having been pressed, ground, and rubbed—as his tastebuds wildly savored the flavor of another person. Clearly, there was no actual taste to it—neither sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, nor salty—yet he could be driven to the brink of extreme arousal. Every single cell plunged into frenzy, his brain seemingly rendered chaotic. It felt as if the tip of his tongue were no longer an organ of taste, but a part of his reproductive system.

Jing Hong touched his lower lip, somewhat dazed.

It wasn’t until he stubbed his foot against a low table, hopping around the yurt holding his shin in agony for a good while, that his attention was finally diverted.

After brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth, Jing Hong slid under the covers. Outside lay the boundless desert; above remained the brilliant starry sky.

The chaotic memories of this day resurfaced once more. Wisps of numbing arousal trickled from the tip of his tongue and trickled across his entire body. Jing Hong wanted to find a release, but feeling that doing such a thing during a corporate team-building trip was far too improper, he forcibly suppressed it.

Yet for the entire night, Jing Hong tossed and turned in his dreams, filled entirely with… Zhou Chang’s tongue brushing against his, growing increasingly unrestrained.

As a result, throughout the night, whenever Jing Hong drifted in and out of a half-asleep state, he could feel himself aroused, denied a single moment of peace.

The next day, Jing Hong still woke up punctually, packed his belongings, washed up, ate, and then gathered with the team.

Breakfast consisted of steamed mantou buns and rice porridge paired with a few side dishes—the taste was decent enough.

The desert sun was brutally intense. After Jing Hong applied sunscreen, Zhou Chang looked at him and let out a low laugh: “President Jing, your face is streaked.”

Jing Hong: “…”

Without a hint of hesitation, Zhou Chang used two fingers on his right hand to gently tip Jing Hong’s chin upward, cradling Jing Hong’s face with a single hand. Holding his jaw in his broad palm, the pad of his thumb wiped back and forth across one side of Jing Hong’s face a few times before he whispered, “All set.”

Jing Hong, having had his face wiped, said: “…Thanks.”

Before departing from Sun Lake, the professional guide took a group photo for everyone.

The photos turned out exquisite, much to the delight of the female CEOs. The guide asked everyone to step into the crystal-clear lake water, took several dozen steps back, and lowered the camera right to the water’s surface. The final shot captured a pristine expanse of lake reflecting the figures above—the real people and their inverted reflections mirroring each other with flawless clarity, surrounded on all sides by a vast, boundless sea of sand.

At eight o’clock sharp in the morning, the entire team set off once again.

A two-day, one-night journey was actually perfectly timed. The first day brought novelty, while the second brought a sense of accomplishment, leaving little room for weariness.

Unlike yesterday, today Jing Hong walked behind Zhou Chang.

Jing Hong watched Zhou Chang’s back, following his footsteps as they walked.

Inexplicably, every time Jing Hong stopped to drink some water or handle something else, watching Zhou Chang walk farther and farther ahead, a very subtle emotion would surge within his chest. He would then swiftly twist the bottle cap shut or tidy up, quickening his pace to catch up.

Once along the way, Jing Hong had no choice but to crouch down to tie his shoelaces. Both laces were somewhat loose, and this pair of shoes was notoriously difficult to tie, taking him quite a bit of time.

Having finally tied them tightly, Jing Hong lifted his head, about to hurry forward, when he suddenly noticed Zhou Chang standing just a few steps away. With both hands tucked into his trousers pockets, Zhou Chang was looking back, waiting for him—behind him stood that brilliant, blazing sun over the vast desert.

The temperature was even higher today, reaching a scorching heat by midday. As they walked, someone from the association suddenly recalled something, quickly ducking into the support vehicle to fetch cooling gel patches. They announced: “Presidents, please apply these to your foreheads! They lower temperature and dissipate heat—they work wonders!”

Saying so, they opened the box and distributed the cooling patches one by one down the line.

Unintentionally, perhaps because several CEOs had used too many the previous afternoon, by the time the cooling patches reached the very end of the line—where only Jing Hong and Zhou Chang remained—there was only a single patch left in the box.

“Uh,” the association staff member stammered in obvious embarrassment, “it seems there’s only one left… everyone used quite a few yesterday…”

“It’s fine,” Zhou Chang said. “Give it to President Jing.”

Jing Hong naturally wanted to refuse: “I don’t need—”

Zhou Chang interrupted him: “Keep it on; your face is flushed from the sun.” Having said that, Zhou Chang turned and walked ahead.

The staff member peeled open the cooling patch: “President Jing…”

Jing Hong looked at Zhou Chang, then felt reluctant to make the young woman run back and forth in such oppressive heat, so he took it: “Thanks for the trouble, then.”

The staff member offered: “Let me do it for you; you can’t see where it goes.” Saying so, she placed the cooling patch neatly and squarely onto Jing Hong’s forehead.

Once applied, it truly felt remarkably refreshing.

Zhou Chang looked back, glanced at the rectangular cooling patch on Jing Hong’s forehead, and let out a silent chuckle.

During the next rest break, Jing Hong looked at the cooling patches on the other entrepreneurs’ foreheads, then looked beside him at Zhou Chang’s handsome, smooth forehead, asking, “Are you hot?”

Zhou Chang turned his gaze to him: “It’s manageable.”

Jing Hong didn’t quite believe him. Touching the patch on his forehead, he said, “This thing really works. A pity the box ran out—the association prepared far too few. Those heavier folks yesterday afternoon were sticking them on their foreheads, underarms—they practically wanted to cover their entire bodies.”

“Is that so,” Zhou Chang said as he sat side by side with Jing Hong. He glanced at the other CEOs—who all had their backs turned to them at the moment—removed his sunglasses, and turned his gaze back to Jing Hong, asking, “Is this thing really that effective?”

Jing Hong replied, “It really is.”

Zhou Chang asked again, “Then should I give it a try too?”

Hearing this, Jing Hong was taken aback: “There aren’t any left.”

Zhou Chang’s gaze locked onto Jing Hong. Before Jing Hong could react, a palm pressed against the back of his head, pulling and pressing him closer in a single motion.

In a brief moment of surprise, Zhou Chang’s forehead was pressed against Jing Hong’s, separated only by the layer of gel.

The two were sharing a single cooling patch.

Jing Hong: “…”

“Indeed,” Zhou Chang let out a low sigh. “Much better.”

Jing Hong didn’t say a word. He lowered his eyes, and after a moment, lifted his eyelids to meet Zhou Chang’s pitch-black pupils—close at hand, blurred, and out of focus.

The air in the desert was scorching hot; breathing it into the nostrils felt as though it could ignite one’s internal organs.

Pressing the back of Jing Hong’s head, Zhou Chang rubbed his forehead against Jing Hong’s through the cooling patch, then rubbed it again a few seconds later, as if he were purely borrowing the patch to dissipate heat.

After all, Jing Hong had taken the very last cooling patch.

“…” A moment later, Jing Hong said in a low voice, “Zhou Chang, that’s enough. Someone will see us in a moment.”

“Let them look; they should count themselves lucky I’m not charging them.” Though he said this, Zhou Chang raised his head and sat back in his original position, slid his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose, pulled out his phone for a glance, and changed the subject: “My phone got so hot it shut itself down.”

Jing Hong’s eyes followed the motion as he said, “Yeah.”

Walking further forward, the team passed two lakes in succession.

The first was called “Swan Lake,” where a large flock of wild geese nested along the shore—some in the water, some on the bank. Zhou Chang said to Jing Hong, “Little Wild Goose, you’re home.”

Jing Hong retorted, “Not funny.”

Zhou Chang chuckled softly: “True. How could a tiny lake possibly contain you?”

The second was a red lake. Under the sunlight, the entire lake displayed a vibrant shade of red—a natural wonder, reportedly caused by certain minerals in the water.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, the entire team took their final break.

The association staff announced: “Alright, Presidents! This patch of desert is our final rest spot! After this, we’ll be heading to the site for a tree-planting activity, and right after that, we’ll be exiting the desert!”

“Ah,” Peng Zheng remarked, “it’s finally coming to an end.”

Thinking that they would be leaving shortly—and that he likely wouldn’t enter a desert a second time in this lifetime—Jing Hong actually felt a hint of reluctance.

Sitting on the sand, his right hand idly toyed with the grains, scooping up a handful before watching them slowly, softly trickle away between his fingers.

Some things, once slipped through the cracks of one’s fingers, were gone for good.

As if he didn’t already know.

The final activity of the team-building event was for each CEO to plant a tree.

They adopted a “new planting method.” The head of the NGO organization explained that using the traditional method to plant saplings in the desert resulted in a survival rate of less than fifty percent. Thus, the authorities were currently promoting this “new planting method.”

Only then did the executives realize that planting trees in the desert was extraordinarily unique; traditional methods lacked stable roots, leaving the saplings easily destroyed by a single sandstorm.

Every CEO planted a tree. Because they were all prominent executives and celebrities, the NGO head placed a small plaque beside each tree, bearing the planter’s name. Jing Hong’s and Zhou Chang’s were placed side by side—one plaque read “Jing Hong,” and the other read “Zhou Chang.”

They would grow together in the desert, weathering severe cold, scorching heat, dust, and sandstorms.

Leaving the NGO camp, after the team walked a few thousand more meters, the professional guide suddenly turned around, pointed to a sign in the distance, and announced to the executives: “Alright, Presidents! The two-day trek is about to end—just ahead is the exit from the sand!”

Hearing that they were about to exit the desert, every single CEO instantly perked up. Though they had all seemed half-dead just moments ago, now each of them surged forward with giant, energetic strides—swish, swish, swish.

On the sign were eight characters: [You Have Crossed the Boundless Desert.]

It was a raw wooden sign, adorned with forceful, bold black calligraphy.

Just a few steps away, a gray highway lay stretched out before their eyes, leading straight to the horizon. A few cars happened to pass by, their rotating wheels making brief, rustling sounds. A speeding motorcycle roared past in a flash, as if rushing off to handle some monumental affair. Trucks loaded with boxes of daily supplies also clattered past.

It was the mortal world.

In an instant, the entire team erupted into a clamor of voices.

They had crossed the desert.

Taking two days and one night, they had crossed the desert.

One of the harshest environments in nature.

Everyone squeezed together to take photos.

“Alright, this is as far as I take you!” the professional guide said. “Presidents, I’ve already posted everyone’s photos into our group chat! Feel free to grab yours!”

The executives pulled out their phones one after another to post on WeChat Moments. As Peng Zheng posted, he asked Jing Hong beside him: “President Jing, aren’t you going to post a Moment?! Hurry up!!! You’re not going to post after all this???”

“…” Left with no choice, Jing Hong slid open his phone screen, opened the app, and selected an image the guide had just sent to the group. After a brief thought, he composed a simple line of text, clicked “Done,” and posted it.

Refreshing the feed, his Moments were filled entirely with thoughts and reflections from his fellow team members. At this moment, every single one of them was boasting wildly:

[Completed the Gobi trek in two days! There are no shortcuts in the desert; there is only one rule: keep walking, keep moving! Persevere, keep persevering! Otherwise, all previous efforts are wasted!]

[Conquered the desert in two days and one night! Trekking the Gobi and starting a business follow the exact same principle: be a lone hero!]

[Traversed the desert! The moment you stand at the starting line, you understand this is destined to be no easy road!]

[I didn’t believe a 60-year-old like me could complete a Gobi trek, but the truth is, I did it! Nothing is impassable! [Flex][Flex][Flex]]

[Age 55, traversed the desert! Relying on the power of willpower! The power of the spirit! Any obstacle is merely an interlude!]

[Look, the flowers blooming in the desert!]

They were liking each other’s posts while a massive crowd of flatterers—partners and media reporters alike—left comments below each post: [President Peng is amazing!][President Guan is so strong [Thumbs Up]][Oh my gosh, is this the hobby of successful people?! I bow in worship!] and so on.

After the group waited for a while, the tour bus finally drove up to carry them back to Yinchuan.

They had stepped past the Helan Mountains, and now they were returning to the city.

Following his usual gentlemanly demeanor, Jing Hong let the other entrepreneurs board the bus to rest first before following behind with his luggage.

Behind him remained only Zhou Chang, Peng Zheng—who was still taking photos—and a few others.

Zhou Chang lagged a few steps behind. With his long arms, he reached out, grabbed Peng Zheng’s backpack from behind, and pulled Peng Zheng to his side. As they walked, he said to Peng Zheng, “President Peng, let me see President Jing’s WeChat Moment.”

Peng Zheng: “???”

A playful glint touched Zhou Chang’s eyes: “I’ve been blocked.”

Understanding dawned upon Peng Zheng. This fact aligned perfectly with the industry rumor that “two kings shall never meet.” Yet at the same time, he felt a bit puzzled, because last night the two of them had seemed to be on quite good terms.

Thinking it was likely just temporary, superficial camaraderie from the team-building trip, Peng Zheng sighed inwardly with a touch of sentiment.

Beside him, Zhou Chang grew impatient: “Hurry up.”

“…” Peng Zheng recalled the post, feeling there was nothing particularly secretive about Jing Hong’s Moment, and that it should be fine for anyone to see. So he pulled it up and showed it to Zhou Chang.

It wasn’t a nine-grid photo collage; there was only a single photo paired with a line of poetry by Gao Shi that wasn’t commonly quoted.

The photo captured their backs.

Amidst the swirling yellow sand, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang walked side by side toward the distance, separated by a distance of just a few steps.

One wore red clothing, the other brown—both tall with long legs.

Farther ahead, the distant silhouettes of the other CEOs appeared tiny and scattered.

At the center of the frame were only Jing Hong and Zhou Chang.

Jing Hong had paired it with a line of poetry—a mere few words:

[Amidst the desert wind and sand; beside the Great Wall’s rain and snow.]

From Beijing to the vast desert.

From the recent frost, rain, snow, open attacks, and covert daggers in Beijing, to these past few days of swirling sand and boundless desolation in the desert, he had walked side by side with him through it all.

Zhou Chang lifted his eyes, watching Jing Hong’s departing back. His gaze softened, and he let out a deep, quiet laugh.