The next day, when Jing Hong woke up, the daylight outside was already bright.

The curtains weren’t drawn, and as Jing Hong opened his eyes, he winced from the direct sunlight piercing through.

At first, Jing Hong didn’t realize this wasn’t his suite, even turning over to squint for a few more minutes. Only after several minutes did something feel off, making him snap awake.

Scattered fragments of his drunken night drifted to the surface of his mind. Jing Hong sat bolt upright, unable to believe it.

He… and Zhou Chang?

Kissing wildly, wildly…

The imagery in his mind froze on the final moment of last night.

He had been curled limp on the floor, yet Zhou Chang scooped him back up to kiss him once more. Zhou Chang held him captive with one hand while pressing the back of his head with the other, leaving him unable to struggle.

Zhou Chang’s final kiss hadn’t been as fierce as before, but rather incomparably lingering. He rubbed against Jing Hong’s lips first, coaxed him to open them, and teased the tip of his tongue for a while.

So absurd.

Jing Hong had never imagined there would come a day when he would act so absurdly.

It was as if he were possessed.

Though his mind was a complete blur, Jing Hong was somehow still able to organize everything automatically. Flipping back the blanket, he stepped down, pulled his underwear and trousers back on, and buckled his belt.

The buttons on his shirt had all been torn open, and the fabric felt sticky, its chest area completely soaked in red wine. Jing Hong tossed the white shirt into the trash can beside the bed with disgust, leaving it for the hotel staff to clear away as garbage. He then walked over to Zhou Chang’s wardrobe and pulled open the door, only to find no clothes inside—being their final night, Zhou Chang had likely already packed his personal luggage.

Jing Hong turned back to search the room, finally finding only Zhou Chang’s black shirt from last night lying on the carpet. A pure black shirt with a dark gold pattern embroidered on the left chest—an eagle.

Jing Hong threw it over his shoulders; he had no other option right now. Zhou Chang was nearly six-foot-two, making the shirt far too large, but Jing Hong casually tied a knot with the two side hems, making it fit well enough.

Immediately after, Jing Hong dialed the front desk, requesting a speedboat to take him back to his suite, while instructing them to prepare his beverage bill for these past few days right away, as he would check out in half an hour.

The dutiful receptionist reminded him that “the daily room charge applies until 12:00 PM,” to which Jing Hong replied, “I’m leaving now.”

Jing Hong also told the staff that he wouldn’t need the island attendants to handle his check-out; he would go to the front desk himself and take the hotel’s helicopter straight back to Malé, unwilling to delay for even a single second.

The hotel staff agreed.

The suite’s two bedrooms were situated on opposite sides of the living room, separated by quite a distance, so Zhou Chang didn’t hear any of Jing Hong’s movements.

Jing Hong only wanted to escape this place.

Ten minutes later, the yacht waited at the dock in front of the suite. Jing Hong exited directly through the floor-to-ceiling window, looking almost like he was fleeing in panic. Taking a few quick strides to the water’s edge, he lifted his leg and stepped onto the vessel. As the motor roared to life, Jing Hong let out a long exhale, yet couldn’t help stealing a glance back at the villa.

The sea breeze blew through the open window, causing the white gauze curtains inside to flutter and soar.

Aboard the yacht, learning that Jing Hong was leaving the island, the boat driver casually struck up a chat: “Had fun?”

Jing Hong glanced toward the distant ocean. So blue, so beautiful, yet Jing Hong said, “No.”

His voice was drowned out by the roar of the engine, but the driver read his lips. Caught off guard by this unexpected answer, the driver didn’t dare continue chatting, keeping silent the entire way as he dropped the guest back at the other private island.

Jing Hong unlocked his suite door, stripped off his clothes immediately, and walked into the bathroom. Uncharacteristically losing his cool, he turned the shower spray to maximum and cranked the water temperature up high, letting it continuously wash over his body—over the hickeys on his neck, those on his shoulders, and the remnants on his inner thighs.

The water temperature was so high that the bathroom filled with mist; Jing Hong felt as though the very air he inhaled was scalding. Yet he felt slightly comforted, as if what was being washed clean wasn’t just his skin, but his chest, his interior, and the beating heart within his ribcage.

While showering, Jing Hong kept silently chanting and repeating that single word in his heart: Absurd.

The alcohol, the bonfire, the moonlight, the ocean waves, the love songs, the dance steps, the young bodies, the captivating gazes, the lovers glued together, the newlyweds’ sacred vows—it was all so absurd.

Why Zhou Chang?

Why did it come to this?

That man was Zhou Chang.

A man he couldn’t control in the slightest.

Jing Hong had always despised the feeling of losing control over a situation, and Zhou Chang was someone who defied all control.

What’s more, Zhou Chang was the wielder of Qinghui!

His ambitions were blatant, his guns and swords all aimed squarely at Fanhai.

One controlled Fanhai, the other held Qinghui—they could only ever be rivals.

Only rivals.

Finally, Jing Hong dragged over a stool. Stepping one foot onto it, he held the showerhead in one hand, continuously blasting his thighs with water while scrubbing body wash over them again and again until those two patches of skin turned bright red.

Jing Hong could even faintly see tiny crimson blood spots surfacing beneath the skin.

After rinsing for a long time, Jing Hong turned off the showerhead with unsteady hands. The muscles in his ankles went slack, and he sank onto the stool in defeat. Running his fingers through his wet hair, he watched the sudsy water swirl down the drain, suddenly filled with a disorienting sense of not knowing where he was headed.

“…” After a long while, Jing Hong finally stood up. He packed his luggage with crisp efficiency, only checking his wallet, passport, laptop, and phone to ensure no vital items were left behind before calling a bellhop to load his luggage onto the speedboat for the front desk.

Other things were replaceable if lost, but his laptop and phone contained vital company documents.

Upon reaching the front desk on the main island, the hotel bill was already printed out.

Though in a rush, Jing Hong still cross-checked his bill line by line.

As he scanned down, Jing Hong frowned, asking the receptionist: “What is this 20-dollar charge for?”

The receptionist explained, and he asked again: “And what about this four-dollar charge?”

…

In the morning, Zhou Chang went for a run around the island.

After his run, he took a shower, called the island’s service team back to prepare breakfast, and went to knock on Jing Hong’s door.

No answer.

Zhou Chang knocked for quite a while, and as if sensing something, he finally turned the doorknob directly.

Just like last night, the door was unlocked.

Zhou Chang pushed open the door, only to find Jing Hong already gone. The underwear and trousers on the carpet were nowhere to be seen, and the white shirt had been discarded into the trash can like garbage.

The bed was a rumpled mess; when he touched it, the blanket had long grown cold.

The floor-to-ceiling window swung wide open, its white curtains fluttering outside. The morning sea breeze blew in, filling the air with a salty tang that lacked any of last night’s gentle tenderness.

Guessing that Jing Hong would go straight to check out, Zhou Chang paused, still deciding to try and see him if possible.

Ending things so quietly, without head or tail—what was that supposed to mean?

Zhou Chang turned and headed straight for the main island, rushing toward the dock.

The locals said the earliest seaplane back to Malé departed at 10:00 AM. Seeing no sign of Jing Hong at the dock, Zhou Chang decided to try his luck at the front desk’s wooden cottage.

As it turned out, he actually spotted Jing Hong there.

Jing Hong had changed into a fresh, spotless white shirt. Rather than sitting, he stood there, leaning forward slightly with lowered eyes, one hand resting on the desk while the index finger of his other hand tapped a specific line item on the bill: “Additionally, this line… what is this 16-dollar charge? Four dollars a day.” Saying this, he raised his eyelids to look at the person across from him.

Jing Hong had always possessed an intense aura of authority—concise, decisive, uncompromising, powerful yet orderly. Even the period at the end of his sentence carried an invisible pressure.

The person behind the desk bent like a shrimp, examined the paper, and said: “That is an environmental fund…” As a local, his English wasn’t particularly fluent.

“An environmental fund?” Jing Hong asked. “Did any of the materials mention such a mandatory fee?”

“Uh…” The receptionist stood flabbergasted, clearly not expecting a guest who came to the most luxurious hotel in the Maldives, stayed on its most expensive private island, used its most professional Ambassadeurs, and tipped $2,000 outright to care this much about 16 dollars.

In the past, among all the guests who came here—even ordinary employees using their regular savings for a honeymoon—not a single person had ever made a fuss over this four-dollar daily fee.

Jing Hong checked his watch and added: “If it truly goes to an environmental fund, I won’t press it. But I need proof that this sum actually flows into the fund.” He spoke in fluent, elegant English.

“…” The receptionist said, “I’ll go get my manager.”

After a long wait, the manager came out—a white man who said: “Uh, we used to have an environmental fund, but it seems our new finance team forgot to make the monthly transfers. We will refund it to you first, and I will report this issue… Thank you very much for pointing out the flaw in our work… There, it has been refunded to your card.”

Jing Hong pulled out his phone, logged into his banking app, and methodically verified whether the refund record was there.

Zhou Chang had been watching the entire scene with great amusement.

Seeing Jing Hong like this, Zhou Chang was reminded of many words that usually had nothing to do with the name “Jing Hong”—words like… cute?

A sudden wave of warmth welled up in his heart.

If others knew of his assessment, they would probably be dumbfounded. Jing Hong himself likely would be, too.

Once the 16-dollar refund was confirmed, Jing Hong gave a brief “Alright,” bade the staff farewell, locked his phone, turned around, and instantly spotted Zhou Chang.

Zhou Chang’s presence was simply too striking to ignore, let alone when they were facing each other directly.

Zhou Chang offered a playful tease: “As expected of CEO Jing—you really won’t let anyone take advantage of you, even by a single cent.”

“…” Jing Hong paused, then said, “CEO Zhou.”

Zhou Chang raised an eyebrow, slightly provoked by Jing Hong’s distant demeanor. With a teasing gaze, he said: “Didn’t we agree to call you ‘Jing Hong’ on this island? To use each other’s first names?”

Jing Hong said coolly, “I just checked out. My vacation is over. What happened during the vacation stays in the vacation.”

The implication was clear: everything that happened in the Maldives remained in the Maldives—forever left in the Indian Ocean, forever buried on this island.

“I see,” Zhou Chang maintained a composed facade as he asked, “Then roughly when is CEO Jing’s next vacation?”

“Hard to say.” Jing Hong remained polite yet distant. “In the seven and a half years since graduation, this was the only one I’ve taken.”

Which meant there wouldn’t be a next time.

Zhou Chang looked down at Jing Hong in silence.

“Well then, CEO Zhou,” Jing Hong checked his watch. “I’m leaving shortly and don’t have time to chat.” He didn’t even say “goodbye.”

Zhou Chang’s jaw remained tight. After a few seconds, he gestured toward the dock and said, “Go ahead.”

Zhou Chang was thoroughly blunt, but Jing Hong didn’t mind. Without another word, he brushed past Zhou Chang.

Zhou Chang stood frozen in place, never turning back.

They parted on bad terms.

At the dock, the seaplane was preparing for departure. The private island’s service team had already brought Jing Hong’s personal luggage to the plane, scrambling to load it aboard upon seeing him.

Jing Hong boarded the seaplane. The aircraft taxied across the water before spreading its wings and taking off after a short distance.

As the plane reached mid-air, Jing Hong looked out through the window next to him at the island below.

He saw Zhou Chang standing in the middle of the open sand outside the wooden cottage of the front desk, dressed in his black shirt, hands thrust into his trouser pockets, shoulders relaxed, head tilted back as he watched the plane depart. His silhouette was tiny, growing smaller and smaller.

Jing Hong couldn’t see Zhou Chang’s expression clearly, but there likely wasn’t one.

Having finally left that island, all the strength seemed to drain from Jing Hong’s body.

Leaning against the window, his eyes went blank as he thought: If I hadn’t fixated over those 16 dollars, would I have avoided running into Zhou Chang?

Yet that was habit. Jing Hong utterly loathed being taken advantage of—whether through exploitation of his trust, his carelessness, or his impatience… even if the gain was merely 16 dollars.

In all matters, he demanded absolute control.

Upon returning to Malé, Jing Hong appropriately received a video call request from a senior executive at his company.

Everything seemed to return to normal.

“CEO Jing,” Jiang Rengui, General Manager of the Cloud Computing Group, could tell Jing Hong was in a bad mood, but didn’t dare ask, sticking strictly to work reporting: “Regarding the Cloud Education product we discussed last time, here is my line of thought. We can pull staff from three other groups to form a new team, each taking charge of sections similar to their original duties. It just so happens these departments have redundant personnel, making for a great setup. As for the lead, I’m thinking of using XXX. His technical skills are solid, and moreover—”

“…” Seeing Jiang Rengui, Jing Hong instantly recalled the matter of “replacing the Cloud Computing Group President alongside Qinghui.” He got distracted for a brief moment, but quickly forced himself to focus. Gazing at his computer screen, he tapped his knuckles against the desk, pondered briefly, and said, “Don’t pull staff. Hand it over directly to Maurice’s team.”

The other party froze for a second, asking: “Hand it directly to Maurice’s team? CEO Jing, does this project have that high of a priority?”

“Yes,” Jing Hong said. “If we assemble a team by pulling people, I’m worried about team synergy. Lack of familiarity and understanding will drag down efficiency. Pulling from three departments might even create siloing, factions, and friction, and the lead might not truly command everyone under them. What I want is a cohesive team, not a cobbled-together crew. Besides, temporary team members won’t feel a sense of belonging—they might even view themselves as disposable pawns, leading to the wrong mindset.”

“But…” The executive hesitated, “Maurice’s team… First, they aren’t very familiar with two of the modules; there was no overlap in past projects. Second—”

Jing Hong cut him off: “If they don’t know, they learn. Nothing is unlearnable.”

Compared to attitude and communication issues, this wasn’t even a problem. Jing Hong wanted to build this product for the long haul. Maurice’s team had been established for years; its core members were cultivated by Maurice himself, respecting and admiring him—a highly efficient, top-tier team within Fanhai.

The executive raised another point, insisting on finishing his assessment: “Second, Maurice’s team already has far too many projects on their plate; their schedule is fully packed.”

Jing Hong didn’t hesitate: “Let him decide for himself—have him halt the project he considers least important at this stage.”

“Understood.” After a brief pause, the General Manager added, “Word has it that Qinghui is also developing a ‘Cloud Education’ project, and they initiated theirs earlier than us.”

Hearing the name “Qinghui,” Jing Hong’s heart tightened for a split second.

Yet soon after, he said coolly, “I know. Then do it better than Qinghui, and overtake them.”

Jing Hong was immensely bullish on Cloud Education.

The Chinese public attached ever-increasing importance to “education” while growing wealthier, which would inevitably lead them to seek more efficient tutoring methods. This product could integrate teachers, students, and parents across pre-class, in-class, and post-class stages, even automatically analyzing students’ strengths and weaknesses.

Jing Hong actually had a subtle premonition that a major event would occur in a year or two, where “Cloud Office” and “Cloud Education” would hit an explosive surge—becoming vital to the entire nation.

And his premonitions were always accurate.

Since Qinghui was doing it too, the only option was to surpass them.

Hearing Jing Hong’s words, the executive smiled: “Of course.”

Once the video call ended, Jing Hong held a one-on-one meeting with Zhao Hanqing.

Zhao Hanqing was beaming with delight: “CEO Jing, the CEO of XX reached out to me just now, wanting to halt competition between us. Based on the strategic principle that ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend,’ they want to team up against Qinghui’s livestreaming business.” This company was the standout star among emerging livestreaming platforms.

“Oh?” Jing Hong’s interest was piqued. “Tell me the details.”

“It’s like this,” Zhao Hanqing continued reporting. “They want to list on the NYSE, but they’re facing competition from both Qinghui and Fanhai, not to mention their direct peer XXXX and a bunch of smaller scattered platforms. Wall Street isn’t pleased with them being besieged like this. So they want to eliminate one major competitor as quickly as possible, narrowing their main ‘enemies’ from three down to two—especially wanting to avoid being sandwiched between Fanhai and Qinghui. Since Qinghui currently dominates the livestreaming space, they believe the two of us can join forces.”

“In what form?” Jing Hong thought: joining forces while the other party sought an IPO was indeed a smart play.

“We make a token investment of a few percentage points—I plan to invest 5%. After that, since their early top streamers’ contracts are all expiring, they hope Fanhai can provide a traffic portal so those streams appear on both platforms simultaneously. This boosts traffic, helps retain streamers, and attracts other top streamers to join. For streams using this setup, Fanhai takes a 50% cut. At the same time, they’ll share their traffic portals with us. Since our content categories differ, this expands our lineup so we can mount a combined assault against Qinghui.”

Jing Hong stroked his lower lip, calculating coolly: “Alright, proceed with it.”

“Understood.”

Having orchestrated several tactical strikes against Qinghui in succession—though not entirely intentional—Jing Hong felt the suffocating, uncontrollable tension in his chest ease considerably, his mood finally lightening.

Everything seemed back on track.

Fanhai to Qinghui, himself to Zhou Chang—they remained rivals, and rivals was all they could ever be.

He had no desire to navigate an overly chaotic relationship.

On the other side, Zhou Chang lingered on the main island for a while before finally returning to his suite.

The two breakfast portions remained on the table, completely cold.

Not knowing what Jing Hong liked, Zhou Chang had ordered the service team to prepare a full spread, even making three variations of fried eggs: over hard, medium, and sunny-side up.

Zhou Chang merely cast a glance at it before walking past the table.

The handprints on the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window were still clearly visible.

Last night, the two of them had met here in bare skin—kissing, touching, and…

So wild and unrestrained.

Unwilling to dwell on it any longer, Zhou Chang walked toward the room he had slept in last night.

Reaching the door, though he resisted the urge—unwilling to be pulled and led along unilaterally—as if tugged by an invisible thread, Zhou Chang succumbed slightly to self-abandonment. He turned back, crossed the living room, and stepped into the empty room Jing Hong had occupied earlier.

It looked no different from usual.

Except…

Zhou Chang crouched down beside the trash can next to the bed, lowering his gaze for a long moment before reaching in to pull out the white shirt inside.

The buttons had all burst off—torn away by his own hands—and the chest section was completely saturated with red wine, exuding rich aromas of alcohol.

California’s “Screaming Eagle”—Zhou Chang remembered the logo featured a soaring eagle. And this particular red wine was named “Cabernet Sauvignon.”

Slightly astringent on the initial sip, it unlocked layers of fruity aromas afterward—blackberries, blackcurrants, black plums… never overly flashy, yet packing sweet fragrance within its bold intensity.

Zhou Chang recalled that this winery also produced another famous white wine named “Sauvignon Blanc”—known in Chinese as Longing for Each Other.

His throat suddenly feeling dry, Zhou Chang crouched before the floor-to-ceiling window, bringing the shirt up beneath his nose, gently inhaling against the red stain across its chest.