That evening, when Jing Hong returned “home,” Zhou Chang was already waiting for him.

For some inexplicable reason, the moment Jing Hong laid eyes on Zhou Chang, his heart settled a fraction more.

Perhaps it was because the man was his lover; perhaps it was because, amidst the storm of recent events, they found themselves allies once again.

When Zhou Chang opened the door, Jing Hong did not enter right away. He simply stood at the threshold, looking up at Zhou Chang.

Zhou Chang was in no rush either. He lowered his gaze, quietly looking back at Jing Hong.

They watched each other in silence for a few long moments, their eyes deep and unreadable, echoing the vastness of the sea at night.

Two or three times in between, Jing Hong looked as though he wanted to ask something, but in the end, he remained silent.

Yet, in that quiet exchange of glances—in Jing Hong’s unspoken hesitation, and in Zhou Chang’s calm composed silence, knowing full well what Jing Hong wished to ask without pressing or answering—both men arrived at their answers.

Zhou Chang had also been called in by the officials.

If an agreement could not be reached, the countdown to delisting for Chinese concept stocks like Fanhai and Qinghui would officially begin. Counting three years from the enactment of the law, by the end of 2022, they would be forced off the exchanges.

After a prolonged pause, Zhou Chang finally stepped aside to clear the way. Taking Jing Hong by the wrist, he said softly, “Come in. It’s cold outside.”

Jing Hong nodded and walked inside.

As Jing Hong climbed the stairs, he loosened his tie. Having been called in for official talks earlier that day, he was dressed quite formally.

However, as he reached the landing of the staircase, Jing Hong noticeably paused.

Hanging quietly on the plain white wall of the corner was a painting.

It was the very painting the two of them had seen on the streets of Hungary—two men kissing, one with his back turned toward the viewer, and the other obscured from sight. The focal point of the entire canvas was a broad, bare back, youthful and firm.

Jing Hong remembered how he had teasingly asked back then, “What are you looking at, President Zhou?” To which Zhou Chang, his eyes still fixed on the painting, had replied, “His back looks like yours.”

Now, the painting before him was identical to the one in his memory. The back filled the frame—a pale expanse of smooth skin draped over taut, elastic muscle that exuded strength, featuring elegant shoulders, fully extended shoulder blades, a subtle spinal groove, a tapering waist, and pronounced lumbar dimples. Resting upon that back were the hands of another man. The long, distinct fingers pressed tightly into his lover’s skin, the fingertips flushed white from the pressure.

“You…” Jing Hong asked, “you bought it afterward?”

“Mm,” Zhou Chang said. “I bought it right then and there. Jing Hong, go change and come downstairs. Want to have a drink together?”

“…” Jing Hong looked at Zhou Chang in silence, a touch of confusion in his eyes.

Neither he nor Zhou Chang were heavy drinkers. Jing Haiping often enjoyed sipping a little something alone at home, but Jing Hong was different—he only drank at social gatherings or to mark special occasions. Many executives turned to alcohol or even drugs under heavy pressure, but Jing Hong had always preferred a state of absolute clarity—working with a clear mind, living with a clear mind. In his view, humanity was at its wisest only when fully sober.

Jing Hong knew Zhou Chang was well aware of his habits.

“You don’t remember?” Zhou Chang looked up at him from the foot of the stairs, his voice carrying its characteristic low, magnetic rasp. “How heartbreaking. Today marks the one-year anniversary of that night in the Maldives.”

“…Ah,” Jing Hong realized in enlightenment.

And yet…

Jing Hong looked at Zhou Chang and asked, “That counts as an important date?”

“Of course it counts,” Zhou Chang replied. “It’s profoundly important. It was the first time we kissed, touched, held each other, and came for one another.”

Jing Hong looked at Zhou Chang, shaking his head with a faint, amused smile. Continuing his way upstairs, he said, “Fine. Give me a moment, I’ll go change.”

Zhou Chang replied, “Mm.”

Just as Jing Hong expected, the red wine brought out that evening was no rare, top-tier vintage, but the exact same bottle from that night—Screaming Eagle from California’s Napa Valley.

Even the vintage matched, complete with an exceptionally high rating of 99.

“Remember?” Zhou Chang asked. “When you tried to play the runaway sweetheart that night, you got delayed over sixteen dollars. You insisted on asking where that sixteen dollars went.”

Jing Hong gave a faint laugh. “I remember. You caught up to me. And then I said, ‘What happens on vacation stays on vacation.'”

The two locked eyes once more.

Those familiar features—eyes that still held a fatal, irresistible magnetism for him.

It felt as though they were back by the edge of the Indian Ocean.

Feeling a touch of dry warmth on the tip of his tongue, Zhou Chang lifted his wrist and took a sip of the red wine, his eyes lingering on Jing Hong through the rim of the glass.

Jing Hong took a sip as well, meeting his gaze in the exact same manner.

Surrounded by this atmosphere, Jing Hong unexpectedly found himself relaxing. The tension and indignation that had weighed on him throughout the day gradually drifted away within the cozy confines of the dining room.

He felt his own affection, his own desire—not merely duties, not merely crushing burdens. Those feelings, those desires, remained so vivid, so breathtakingly intense even after an entire year.

Outside, the winds still raged with bloody ferocity as great powers locked horns, but inside this small dining room, they had found a sanctuary.

Though murky, raging waves churned on all sides, they still had each other.

Jing Hong raised his glass, and Zhou Chang tapped his lightly against it. The crisp sound of clinking glass resonated through the room for several lingering seconds.

Bringing the glass back to his lips, Jing Hong took a sip, allowing the tart, dry astringency to spread across his palate.

Yet that tartness was so rich, so long-lasting, seeming to transcend layers of time while wrapping around subtle strata of sweetness.

The more one savored it, the deeper its flavor became.

By tacit agreement, neither of them brought up the morning’s conversation with the officials. Instead, they steered the topic toward other matters.

Regarding a particular line of business that Qinghui operated—but which Fanhai lacked and had no intention of pursuing—Zhou Chang asked for Jing Hong’s thoughts.

Jing Hong set his glass back onto the table. Unconsciously, he pinched the stem with his fingertips and traced slow circles on the surface, watching the red liquid swirl gently inside the bowl.

After a long pause, he offered a few observations from his perspective as an outsider.

Zhou Chang pondered his words carefully before speaking: “I suddenly have a clear direction.”

Jing Hong smiled. “Good, that’s ideal. Still, I never imagined the day would come when I’d become a source of inspiration for President Zhou.”

“You are.” Zhou Chang pinched the slender stem of his glass, keeping his eyes fixed on Jing Hong. “My sword-bearing, gun-toting Muse.”

Jing Hong let out a soft laugh. Tilting his chin up, he swallowed a mouthful of the red wine, his Adam’s apple bobbing smoothly.

After finishing the wine, Zhou Chang reached across the table to pat Jing Hong’s hand gently, saying, “It’s been a full year. Let me show Little President Jing something.”

Jing Hong pushed against the table and stood up. “…?”

The two walked up to the second-floor bedroom. Zhou Chang opened a fingerprint-locked drawer inside the wardrobe and carefully lifted out a box.

Jing Hong: “…?”

It appeared to be a shirt gift box, pure black in color.

There was no brand logo anywhere on the box—exceedingly low-key, incredibly plain—yet Jing Hong could tell at a glance that it was no ordinary packaging.

Zhou Chang placed the box onto the bed and gently lifted the lid.

“…” Jing Hong had never anticipated seeing the white dress shirt he had worn that night inside.

Back then, he had clearly tossed the shirt into the trash bin.

The shirt was long since ruined and disheveled. Stains of red wine were blotched across the fabric, leaving certain areas stiff, rumpled, and sticky.

Yet Jing Hong paid little mind to its condition. He gently brushed his right hand across the surface of the shirt.

After a quiet moment, he let out a soft, low sigh.

“Zhou Chang,” Jing Hong said, finally straightening his back to look at Zhou Chang with lowered eyes, “shall I show Little President Zhou something as well?”

Zhou Chang watched Jing Hong quietly without a word.

Jing Hong pulled out his phone, swiftly unlocking the screen. With one hand tucked into his trousers pocket, he operated the phone with the other.

Moments later, he found what he was looking for. Holding the phone by its edges, he extended the screen toward Zhou Chang and said, “This.”

“This is…” Zhou Chang leaned in to look closely. After a few seconds, he recognized the subject of the photo—it was Jing Hong’s neck. The skin was pale, the neck muscles neat and elegant, marked with a faint, light red trace.

“My neck,” Jing Hong’s voice remained calm and unruffled. “I… kept that night too. Even though I rejected you back then, I still wanted to hold onto that night forever.”

Zhou Chang stared at Jing Hong. After a long pause, he stood up, reached out his hand, and gently brushed his fingers over the exact spot on Jing Hong’s neck, tracing it with light touches. Finally, he leaned in, pressing soft, repeated kisses against the skin.

The skin there was as pristine and unblemished as before.

He overlaid new kisses upon the old.

New skin, new cells—yet Zhou Chang wanted to continuously leave his mark upon him without end.

As it happened, Jing Hong was wearing a white shirt tonight as well.

Zhou Chang went downstairs, retrieved the bottle of Screaming Eagle, and brought it back up. There, on that massive Alaskan King Size bed, he poured the remaining red liquid over Jing Hong’s white shirt, soaking straight through to the bedsheets.

Fortunately, a waterproof layer lined the underside of the sheets.

He then leaned down to lap away the red wine.

That night, their movements were remarkably gentle, devoid of their usual fierce passion.

Finally, after both of them had showered, Zhou Chang—wrapped in a white bathrobe—pressed himself over Jing Hong once more, capturing his lips in another kiss.

“Zhou Chang,” Jing Hong said, resting his hand on Zhou Chang’s arm after a full evening together, finally bringing up the morning’s affair. “You must know about the audit negotiations by now, right? It seems things aren’t going smoothly at the moment.”

Even though the officials had claimed they remained confident about the ultimate outcome.

“Mm.” Zhou Chang’s expression was clear and calm as he looked down at Jing Hong. “I learned about it during the day. If the two countries cannot reach a consensus, then starting from the enactment of that law at the end of 2019, the countdown to delisting has officially begun. We’ll have to head to Hong Kong, or return to the Mainland.”

“Right.” Jing Hong maintained his light grip on Zhou Chang’s arm. “What… are your thoughts on it?”

Zhou Chang smiled slightly. “What else can I think? I can only accept it, of course. The audit materials of large corporations contain a vast amount of sensitive information.”

Jing Hong asked further, “Are you unwilling? Do you feel resigned to it?”

“Under the current circumstances, there’s no alternative,” Zhou Chang said. “In the past, I might have felt a bit unwilling. But now, I can accept it with composure. Naturally, there’s regret, and there’s helplessness, but it isn’t a matter of being unwilling or unresigned.”

Jing Hong kept his gaze steady and calm, asking once more, “Why?”

“Because…” Amid the soft glow of the bedside lamp, their gazes intertwined with intimate intensity. Zhou Chang said, “Because I fell in love with a person.”

“…” Just as Jing Hong felt a touch of confusion, Zhou Chang continued softly: “Because I fell in love with that one person, I came to love the millions of others even more.”