Another week later, just before the Spring Festival, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang were scheduled to attend a high-spec IT summit.

Within that very week, the President of the United States signed yet another executive order targeting Chinese enterprises, adding eight more software applications to the “blacklist”—including office suites, document scanning tools, photo editing software, video downloaders, video editing tools, and more.

Overnight, a shroud of pessimism spread across the industry once again.

On the morning of the summit, Jing Hong woke up at Zhou Chang’s residence.

In truth, even when both were in Beijing over recent weeks, they didn’t see each other daily. Most of the time, Jing Hong stayed at his luxury apartment in “Zhuxiang Qingyun.” Located right beside the Fanhai Group headquarters, it saved him precious commute time during the frantically busy year-end crunch.

Yet whenever the longing grew too intense, he would head to Zhou Chang’s place, or Zhou Chang would come to his. Though their schedules were packed to the brim, it seemed that “longing” was merely another expression of love.

The first time Zhou Chang dropped by unannounced, after spending the night, he stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, putting back on the very same shirt, suit, and tie he had worn the previous evening.

He had a formal event during the day that required sharp business attire.

Leaning lazily against the headboard with a deep sense of post-intimacy satisfaction, Jing Hong watched the sleek, leopard-like lines of Zhou Chang’s body and asked, “Is that alright? Your outfit is identical to yesterday’s—you didn’t even swap out the tie.”

“What of it?” Zhou Chang replied, knotting the necktie at his collar. “I’m thirty-three, I have an active sex life—what’s there to hide?”

“…” Jing Hong let out a soft sigh, stepped barefoot onto the carpet, walked into the walk-in closet, and opened a drawer. After scanning the contents, he picked a tie of the same color palette but a different pattern, saying, “Change into this one instead.”

Zhou Chang raised an eyebrow, letting Jing Hong tie it around his neck.

On another occasion when Zhou Chang dropped by unexpectedly, Jing Hong had not yet made it home. Zhou Chang waited briefly at the front entrance. When Jing Hong finally arrived and loosened his tie upon stepping inside, he said, “Give me a heads-up next time. You said you wanted to meet up out of nowhere today; I rushed back immediately, but I was still fifteen minutes late, and my work rhythm got completely thrown off.”

“Fair enough,” Zhou Chang took a few steps forward, wrapping his arms around Jing Hong from behind to take over undoing the tie. Pulling one end free, he teased softly, “Shall I send a formal request next time? Something like: ‘Jing Hong, I miss you deeply and wish to kiss you, President Jing, and preferably make love to you as well. Please approve an immediate kiss, and preferably approve making love tonight. Zhou Chang, January 20, 2020. Would that suffice?'”

Jing Hong: “…”

Shaking his head with an amused sigh, Jing Hong turned around and walked away.

As Zhou Chang’s visits became increasingly frequent, more and more of his personal belongings began to populate Jing Hong’s apartment at Zhuxiang Qingyun.

Once, Zhou Chang absentmindedly put on a pair of Jing Hong’s cufflinks. Spotting them, Jing Hong said, “Those are my cufflinks.” Zhou Chang simply shot back, “What of it?” refusing to admit he had picked up the wrong pair.

Jing Hong had stepped out of bed, retrieved the cufflinks, closed the drawer, and looked at him sideways: “You should eat some walnuts to boost your brainpower.”

All in all, on the morning of the IT summit, it was a rare occurrence for Jing Hong to wake up at Zhou Chang’s house, having been invited over to stay the night before.

After finishing his morning routine—clean-shaven and meticulously groomed—Zhou Chang walked into his walk-in closet, opened a wardrobe, and selected a sharp black suit that accentuated his tall, commanding posture and extraordinary aura.

Then, breaking from his usual routine, Zhou Chang rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out another suit and dress shirt. Walking back into the bedroom, he tossed them onto the bed and said to Jing Hong, “This set is yours.”

“…?” Jing Hong scanned the outfit up and down, looking at the suit before asking, “Mine?”

“Mm,” Zhou Chang said as he browsed his tie collection. “When I ordered a custom bespoke suit, I had a set tailored for Little President Jing as well. I’ve seen your measurement chart.”

“…” Jing Hong asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” Zhou Chang leaned his tall frame forward, resting both hands on the silk bedding as he stared down intently at Jing Hong, his gaze unblinking. “The two of us, wearing the exact same suit and the exact same shirt, attending a formal event together like lovers.”

Jing Hong let out a low chuckle, thinking to himself that Zhou Chang truly relished a thrill.

In truth, it made little practical difference.

Suits were mostly similar anyway. Even if the two of them wore the same brand, same style, and same color from the exact same designer and tailor, onlookers wouldn’t spot anything unusual—everyone in business attire looked largely identical.

Besides, the suit Zhou Chang chose was a classic dark black.

“Alright then,” Jing Hong got up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, shaved, and combed his hair. Carrying the clothes back into the dressing room bare-chested, he unbuttoned the bespoke shirt piece by piece, holding the collar before flicking it over his shoulders. Zhou Chang watched him from behind as Jing Hong slid his left arm into the sleeve first—his slender fingers moving with practiced elegance—followed by his right. Finally, with his neck slightly tilted back, Jing Hong fastened the buttons one by one, gradually covering his toned, healthy chest until he looked completely composed and austere once more.

Once the shirt was on, Jing Hong sat on a bench and slipped into the matching black trousers one leg at a time. Walking back to the mirror, he locked eyes with Zhou Chang in the reflection, neither blinking as Jing Hong slowly clicked the leather belt buckle into place.

In an instant, the shirt tightened around his waist, accentuating the sleek, firm curves of his midsection.

Finally, Jing Hong pulled open a drawer and selected a deep blue tie.

Zhou Chang chose a dark crimson one with a distinct pattern.

Varying the tie colors slightly ensured the match wouldn’t be overly glaring.

Once fully dressed, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang stood before the mirror to inspect the final look, taking each other in with lingering glances. Zhou Chang suddenly asked, “Why does everyone outside claim that Little President Jing has ‘ruthless eyes’?”

Jing Hong glanced at his own reflection and replied, “Slightly downturned eyes, perhaps.” In reality, people simply deduced cause from effect—because his business maneuvers were ruthless, they labeled his eyes as heartless.

“Is that so?” Zhou Chang offered a different evaluation. “To me, they look overflowing with deep affection.”

“…” The two shared a gentle, lingering kiss before Zhou Chang spoke: “I’ll head over to Qinghui first. It’s early enough that few people are around; staying longer risks us being spotted together.”

“Mm,” Jing Hong said. “See you at the summit.”

“See you at the summit.”

Even though the residence featured private single-unit elevator access, departing separately remained the safer choice.

The summit unfolded in its usual grand fashion, offering little surprise.

Stepping out of his car, Jing Hong walked through the brightly lit corridors in his crisp suit, cutting through the crowded halls while acknowledging greetings from various industry figures. Finally, he entered the resplendent main hall, scanning the bustling audience seating before glancing up at the vibrant red steps and the deep blue backdrop.

From a distance, he spotted Zhou Chang. Zhou Chang was standing with several peers, engaged in conversation—listening and chatting with effortless composure, elegant and suave, effortlessly remaining the focal point of the room as always.

Then, Jing Hong noticed the CEO of a startup he had invested in speaking animatedly in the middle of a large circle of people, waving his hands expressively. A minute later, the CEO of a rival startup backed by Qinghui countered with equal passion. A sizeable crowd had gathered to watch the exchange, including heads of major corporations and founders of emerging startups.

“…” After observing for a moment, Jing Hong stepped forward toward the group.

“Ah,” the CEO of a major tech firm teased upon spotting him, “the guardian has arrived! The guardian for this side is here!”

Jing Hong’s lips curved into a subtle smile as he asked gently, “What’s the commotion about?”

The CEO he had backed replied, “We were discussing C2M (Customer-to-Manufacturer) in the ‘New Consumer’ sector… our views differ somewhat…”

“I see.” After listening, Jing Hong glanced at the rival CEO, then back at his own founder, saying calmly, “Just execute it according to your own vision. Pay no mind to what others say.”

“…” With Jing Hong laying down the law, the rival CEO’s momentum visibly deflated, rendering further argument useless and foolish. After all, he was merely the head of an early-stage startup, whereas Jing Hong was a top titan of the entire industry.

Seeing an opportunity for chaos, the CEO of the major firm shouted toward Zhou Chang’s direction: “Guardian! The guardian for the other side! President Zhou! Come rescue your boy! Your older son is being picked on! The other guardian has arrived and is picking on your guy! President Zhou, come back him up!”

Hearing the commotion, Zhou Chang raised his eyelids slightly and looked toward Jing Hong’s group. Pausing for a second, he walked over, looked at the founder he had funded, and asked, “What happened?”

“Well… you see!” Having secured his own backing, the young founder regained his confidence: “We were debating C2M in the ‘New Consumer’ space…”

After listening, Zhou Chang didn’t even glance at the rival founder. Instead, he looked directly at Jing Hong before turning back to his own founder, remarking coolly, “Execute it according to your own vision as well. Why bother debating with them?”

With Zhou Chang backing him, the young founder’s posture turned visibly bolder: “That was precisely my intention!”

Of course, calling him a “young founder” was relative—he was already in his early thirties.

However, compared to serial entrepreneurs or veteran executives who had succeeded in other sectors before leaving comfortable corporate jobs to launch startups in midlife, he was still young.

Having backed his founder, Zhou Chang smiled faintly and raised his eyes to look at Jing Hong.

Jing Hong was staring right back at him.

Dressed in identical suits and identical shirts, their gazes entangled for a lingering moment before quietly parting.

Meanwhile, everyone around them remained convinced that the two were still “as incompatible as fire and water.”

The conversation shifted through several more topics. Founders of companies impacted by the latest U.S. executive orders expressed deep worry. They shared how their firms had previously held immense confidence in expanding into the American market, eager to demonstrate the fierce competitive drive and battle-tested strength of Chinese enterprises—showing the world that modern Chinese tech companies possessed innovation, core technology, audience engagement strategies, market expansion capabilities, decisive leadership, and execution power far beyond what they once were. Yet, just as they were preparing to charge ahead, they encountered these sudden administrative blows, cut down before the battle had even begun.

It was evident that regarding their push into the world’s most prominent capitalist market, they had initially felt a blend of nervous anticipation and eager excitement.

Jing Hong listened quietly without offering a comment.

Soon after, the IT summit officially commenced, and attendees returned to their assigned seats in small groups.

Jing Hong and Zhou Chang were seated next to each other in the front row once again.

The opening routine remained unchanged—introductory remarks by the host, an opening address by the summit chairman, followed by official speeches from government ministers.

Once the summit officially opened, presenters delivered their speeches according to the agenda.

A few scientists spoke first, followed by several prominent entrepreneurs. The number of corporate speakers was relatively small—following the fallout surrounding Li Zhiyong, many chief executives had begun declining public speaking engagements, delegating them to subordinates or opting for recorded video keynotes out of fear that a slip of the tongue might provoke controversy.

Jing Hong was scheduled as the final speaker for the morning session.

As was his custom, he spoke entirely without notes or scripts. Before taking the stage, he stood in the back with one hand resting in his pocket, looking up at the stage with a clear, sharp gaze.

When the title slide projected onto the screen and welcoming applause echoed through the auditorium, Jing Hong offered a calm smile and stepped up to the podium.

Tall, poised, and bright-eyed, he looked exactly as he always did in Zhou Chang’s memory.

Wearing the crisp white shirt and dark black bespoke suit Zhou Chang had commissioned for him, he adjusted the microphone position and spoke in a deep, measured voice: “Respected Secretary Tan, Minister Wu, Minister Wang, esteemed IT colleagues, and friends old and new—good morning.”

Applause erupted across the hall once more.

During his keynote speech, Jing Hong outlined several major business transformations planned for Fanhai Group, delivering a wealth of high-density strategic information.

He noted that several of Fanhai’s legacy business lines could no longer meet modern market demands and required decisive directional shifts. He then announced the specific strategic directions for these transformations—two of which involved such massive, bold leaps that they sparked immediate, quiet discussion across the audience.

As his presentation drew to a close, the slide deck rested on the final “Thank You” page. Yet Jing Hong did not immediately step down from the stage, choosing instead to add an unscripted closing remark.

Remaining at the podium, he spoke in a measured tone: “Today, allow me to share a few concluding thoughts outside our main agenda.”

“…” The audience waited in attentive silence.

Jing Hong continued calmly: “Over recent months, overseas listings for major enterprises have faced sudden uncertainties, and several companies’ international operations have suffered unexpected setbacks, leaving their future prospects unclear. Anxiety and pessimism have spread across the tech community, with many drawing negative parallels to historical examples from other nations.”

“…” Thousands of eyes remained fixed on Jing Hong, feeling a shared resonance with his words.

“Throughout the history of nations,” Jing Hong continued, “merchants have rarely served as the core backbone of society, nor have they played a central historical role. In traditional perception, business leaders are often viewed as pragmatic, cautious, profit-driven, and focused on accumulation—as if financial return were the sole purpose of existence. Yet today, amid the rapid evolution of technology, we as Chinese entrepreneurs find ourselves unexpectedly thrust to the absolute forefront of history. The advancement of technology and the future trajectory of our nation have suddenly placed an immense weight upon our shoulders. Simultaneously, operating under suspicion and regulatory pressure has become a routine reality—a predicament that the business community was largely unprepared to face.”

The hall fell entirely silent.

“Yet I want to say,” Jing Hong continued, “that we are not entirely identical to entrepreneurs in other parts of the world. The 1.4 billion people standing behind us represent our greatest foundation, providing us with a vast, enduring space to anchor ourselves. Furthermore, this world is home to nearly 8 billion people, many of whom possess their own independent thoughts, emotions, and aspirations—forming another immense foundation for our journey.”

Zhou Chang watched Jing Hong in silence from the front row.

“I can say with full confidence,” Jing Hong stated firmly, “that China’s internet market is the most intensely competitive and fiercely contested arena anywhere in the world. Every one of us here has carved out a path through fierce competition, and today, we continue to stand firm—we continue to deliver real value, and we continue to thrive here. That was true in the past, it remains true today, and it will hold true in the future. We are Chinese entrepreneurs, and we have traversed through countless trials. That identity is inseparable from who we are, and I embrace it with genuine pride.”

The audience listened intently, and Zhou Chang watched him with equal focus.

After a brief pause, Jing Hong added: “In closing, I would like to share a line of classical poetry—one that serves as a fitting symbol for our resilient community, for our ever-evolving industry, and for the spirit of our nation and its people. It comes from Li Gongming of the Song Dynasty.”

Jing Hong’s voice was not overly loud, yet every word resonated with clarity across the hall. His gentle, refined tone carried clearly into the ears of every attendee present:

“‘Though harsh winds blow, the plum blossoms endure unfaded; still clad in fresh white, holding fast to vibrant red.'”

(End of Main Story)