On the day of the negotiations, Jing Hong followed his original schedule and headed to a remote village first.

Fanhai had previously launched an educational public welfare initiative. The company donated a massive amount of hardware equipment pre-installed with dedicated educational software to impoverished and remote areas.

Through this software, children in these distant regions could directly attend live lectures by top-tier educators—all retired teachers carefully selected by “Fanhai Education” who represented the highest standards of teaching. The application also featured a real-time optimized question bank covering all subjects. It combined classic, time-tested exam problems with AI-generated collections of high-frequency error types derived from user big data. Curated by top teachers nationwide, the bank was uploaded and updated continuously, capturing every new question type seamlessly with an endless supply of learning materials. Additionally, the software efficiently recommended similar practice problems based on individual study histories.

English instruction followed a similar model. Fanhai Group hired numerous professional teachers from American schools to lead spoken English practice based on classic curricula, which all students in this charitable program could access for free. Daily updated English news reports were also available on the platform.

Furthermore, several classrooms were outfitted for modern interactive instruction, equipped with multiple blackboards, display screens, and a complete suite of teaching tools.

Fanhai pledged to maintain and support these educational resources free of charge for life.

Jing Hong’s task today was to kick off this public initiative at a mountain school to bolster Fanhai Group’s corporate image. This school was the first of two hundred rural schools targeted in the program’s initial phase.

After landing, his car gradually left the city center, following the highway to a small town before navigating a bumpy dirt road to the final destination.

Everything here stood in stark contrast to Beijing.

Flanking the rough dirt road were vast, open fields in early spring—barren, expansive, resembling a mother enduring the exhausting yet expectant process of labor. Deep within the earth, a rushing, clamorous energy seemed to pulse, its deep cry powerful yet desolate beneath shifting white clouds.

Upon arriving, Jing Hong stepped out of the vehicle.

The school before him was slightly larger than expected, yet undeniably rudimentary. The broad, two-story building served as classroom space, cafeteria, and dormitory all in one. Its pale yellow exterior paint was badly peeled and weathered. The playground was a simple concrete yard featuring a flag pole and a pair of basketball hoops. The school had operated for decades, educating children from several surrounding villages.

The principal was already waiting to receive them—a woman in her fifties with graying hair. Jing Hong’s team of more than a dozen people arrived with presence; Jing Hong led the way, followed by several senior executives, with a team from the public relations department trailing behind—two assigned to photography and another to draft the press release.

The two parties met at the school gate, exchanging handshakes and pleasantries before Jing Hong was invited into the principal’s office. Pointing to information posted on the wall, the principal briefed him on the school’s status: the total number of teachers and their credentials, the student enrollment count, details on several underprivileged households, recent academic awards, test scores, and statistics on how many graduates entered key municipal high schools, vocational tracks, or universities—including two who had been admitted to top tier “Project 985” universities. Finally, she shared details regarding government subsidies and social aid.

The town was severely impoverished, and many students came from difficult family backgrounds. Some had disabled parents and took on household caretaking at a young age; others had been abandoned by their parents and raised entirely by grandparents…

Following the briefing, the principal led Jing Hong and his team on a tour of the school, focusing on the newly installed “Smart Classroom” created by Fanhai Group—where rows of neat computers were pre-loaded with educational software. Although the local network bandwidth was limited, Fanhai’s technical team had resolved key bottlenecks, eliminating the need for heavy bandwidth consumption.

Despite being called a “Smart Classroom,” the setup was humble, converted from a former standard classroom. Previously, each grade at the school ran three classes, which later dropped to two, and now down to just one. The vacant rooms had been repurposed for other uses. While an increasing number of families with financial means sent their children to the county seat for middle school, many students still remained behind.

When the scheduled time arrived, Fanhai Group demonstrated the software’s capabilities to the students.

In one designated room, all desks had been removed to clear space, allowing the entire student body to sit packed closely together.

A manager from Fanhai Education demonstrated all product features while the students watched intently.

Jing Hong scanned the crowd and felt a quiet pang of sorrow—the vast majority of children remaining in the rural village were young girls.

Finally, Jing Hong took the stage to deliver his address.

It was likely the most modest podium Jing Hong had ever stood behind—it lacked even a microphone, forcing him to raise his voice. Adjusting the tie at his collar, he placed both hands on the wooden desk before him and began, “Hello, students.”

In the past, the podiums Jing Hong stood behind were almost exclusively at top universities—Peking University, Tsinghua, Fudan, Shanghai Jiao Tong, the University of Hong Kong, or prestigious institutions abroad.

Behind this humble lectern, Jing Hong spoke slowly and deliberately, word by word: “Today, Fanhai Group has donated thirty computers and thirty software packages containing live instruction from renowned national teachers, the most updated and comprehensive question banks, and various learning tools. Through these, you can ask questions directly to master teachers and practice conversing with native English speakers from America. Fanhai believes that education should be equitable, and we hope to use technology to bridge the gap in educational resources.”

After delivering a few opening remarks, Jing Hong concluded his speech: “The world outside is vast. Today, you sit in this classroom, but tomorrow, perhaps you will change your own lives, your families, or even change China and the world.”

At this point, Jing Hong gestured toward his team, adding: “That young woman over there actually grew up right here in X Village. Today, she is the head of Fanhai Group’s digital mapping products.”

Jing Hong paused briefly as the mentioned product lead smiled, waved, and greeted the room.

Prior to the trip, Fanhai’s HR department had sent a company-wide email to all senior and mid-level managers to identify staff from the local region; upon seeing the email, that lead had immediately submitted her application.

Jing Hong continued, “Regardless of what you choose to study or pursue in the future—whether it is medicine, agriculture, or law—you are all the pillars of tomorrow. However, if any of you happen to be interested in computer science, Fanhai Group will be waiting for you,” he added with a soft smile. “Together, we can change the world.”

As the applause subsided, the principal announced loudly, “Alright, our guests need to head out now!”

Jing Hong nodded to the principal, waving to the students as he stepped down from the platform.

Returning to the principal’s office, Jing Hong noticed several large cardboard boxes stacked near the entrance, flanked by two young women.

“Ah,” the principal explained, “one of our volunteer teachers studied calligraphy for years. She wanted to organize an extracurricular activity, so she bought some brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones out of her own pocket. It seems many secondary schools are developing student clubs these days.” She was referring to large urban schools.

“Yes, exactly,” Jing Hong agreed with a nod. “Calligraphy is wonderful; I practiced it for several years myself.”

“Is that so?” The principal’s eyes lit up. “Then would you like to write a piece as well to share with the students? We could show it to them during tonight’s calligraphy class.”

Jing Hong initially intended to decline, but after a moment’s thought, he nodded politely. “Alright, let me give it a try.”

He smoothed out a sheet of xuan paper, securing it with weights, unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and wetted the tip of a calligraphy brush. Holding the brush lightly by the handle, he gave his wrist a slight flourish, letting the bristles spread evenly.

After rinsing out the residual sizing, a female executive beside him handed over a clean white towel. Jing Hong gently dabbed off the excess water, dipped the brush deeply into the ink, pressed one hand flat against the paper, and held the brush poised over the page. Hesitating briefly, he made his first stroke.

The quality of the brush was admittedly poor. Upon contact, Jing Hong realized the bristles were unevenly trimmed, varying in length and stiffness—the lowest quality brush he had ever used.

Yet Jing Hong worked with absolute focus, letting his strokes flow dynamically across the page.

He wrote in running script, kept legible and structured. Left upon the white paper was a timeless line from the Tengwang Ge Xu:

“Though poor in circumstance, one’s resolve grows ever firmer,

Never abandoning the aspiration to reach the high blue clouds.”

At noon, the schedule included a shared lunch with the students, trying their subsidized nutrition meals.

The food tasted decent. Jing Hong and his team sat with a few selected students, with the principal and staff seated opposite them, while the photographer documented the meal.

The children were remarkably bold, chattering non-stop with innocent curiosity. They asked Jing Hong, “Hey, what kind of grades did you get when you were little? What was your class rank?”

“Me?” Jing Hong smiled. “I think I was usually first.”

“How many students were in your grade?”

Jing Hong paused to recall. “Over a thousand. Spread across twenty classes.”

The children gasped in astonishment. “Over a thousand…”

“Then, then!” another student chimed in, “Was there ever a problem you couldn’t solve?”

Jing Hong reflected, “In middle school? Very rarely. Almost never.”

“…” They pressed further, “What did you do after school?”

Jing Hong replied, “Calligraphy, tennis, taekwondo, and things like that.”

“I like basketball! I love the Golden State Warriors and Steph Curry!” a young boy exclaimed. “Do you play basketball?”

Jing Hong said, “A little bit, but I’m not very good at it. I play tennis more often.”

“Tennis is boring…”

Finally, a young girl asked Jing Hong, “Are you leaving tonight?”

“Yes,” Jing Hong replied. “Heading back to Beijing.”

“Are you from Beijing?”

“Yes,” Jing Hong added. “Born and raised in Beijing.”

“Beijing…” The girl’s dark eyes sparkled. “I want to go to Beijing too, to see what it’s like. Ancient and modern all at once.”

Another girl sitting next to her, clearly her close friend, interjected casually, “We can go together in the future! There will be plenty of chances.”

Once the meal ended, Jing Hong and his team prepared to depart. Jing Hong felt a deep respect for the principal and teachers here; they worked tirelessly, and it was thanks to them that education reached these places at all.

After retracing their journey via dirt road, highway, and flight, Jing Hong touched down in Beijing at precisely 6:30 PM.

Jing Hong, accompanied by Tan Qian and his core team, headed straight to the meeting arranged with Qinghui. During peak evening traffic, the drive from Capital International Airport to the city center took ninety minutes, arriving right on time for the 8:00 PM session.

Mindful of Zhou Chang’s advice, Jing Hong bought a sandwich and ate half of it in the car.

Given the timing, neither side planned to hold a formal dinner; the meeting was strictly operational, hosted at a private dining establishment owned by a friend of Zhou Chang.

Designed in a modern Chinese aesthetic, the restaurant featured unique architectural layout. Surrounding a wide central courtyard was a perimeter of covered verandas and pavilions lined with wooden dining tables. The verandas encircled a patch of green lawn, bounded on one side by an artificial rockery with running water, and on the other by a tall red-leaf peach tree. Likely maintained through agricultural technology, the deep red blossoms were already in full bloom despite it being only March, their dense canopy spreading wide in vivid, cloud-like clusters.

The establishment had closed its doors to the public for the evening’s negotiations. As standard dining tables were insufficient for the group, the owner joined two large tables in the center of the courtyard lawn, setting up two opposing rows of chairs—one side for Fanhai’s team and the other for Qinghui’s. The tables sat directly under the red-leaf peach tree, its crimson canopy lightly shading half the seating area. The evening weather was pleasantly mild, keeping the outdoor setting comfortable.

When Jing Hong arrived, Fanhai’s negotiation team was already waiting at the entrance. Joining them as they stepped out of the cars, the entire group walked in together.

The restaurant owner seated them beneath the crimson foliage, and moments later, Qinghui’s delegation entered. Exchanging handshakes and brief greetings across the table, both sides took their seats.

A server brought out tea for both delegations. As she placed a cup near Jing Hong, he made a light joke seeing her keep her distance: “Placing it so far away—are you afraid of me?”

Zhou Chang glanced at her, and she quickly shook her head, nervously pushing the teacup closer, though her apprehension remained evident.

The central figures on both sides projected an overwhelming aura of authority. Even without saying a word or looking up, their presence dominated the space.

Given the tight schedule, negotiations commenced immediately. Secretarial staff distributed printed documentation to the opposing teams, and the negotiators began working through each agenda item systematically, addressing relevant product lines—alternating between a Fanhai initiative and a Qinghui initiative.

With reasonable demands on both sides, progress was swift.

Leading the negotiation for Fanhai was the Senior Vice President of the Corporate Development Group—a 38-year-old executive who had spent years at Goldman Sachs. Highly experienced in high-stakes dealmaking, she possessed command, tactical sharpness, and adaptable charm, making her a formidable negotiator who typically dominated technical discussions. However, Qinghui’s team was equally sharp. Occasional disagreements arose, but were resolved rapidly; neither side gained an unfair edge nor suffered disadvantage, maintaining a precise strategic balance.

Each time a consensus was reached on a clause, the lead executive looked to Jing Hong, who offered a subtle nod of approval.

Only at the very beginning, when Fanhai requested details regarding Qinghui’s content recommendation algorithms, did Zhou Chang look up and interject flatly: “No comment.”

He immediately followed up: “Rest assured, we will not restrict Fanhai’s traffic.”

The lead negotiator looked to Jing Hong, who nodded to signal moving on. As a top tech industry leader, Zhou Chang’s word carried weight.

A sudden breeze stirred the courtyard, shaking loose a few crimson petals from the peach tree. A few landed on the shoulder of Jing Hong’s dark gray suit jacket. Unbothered, Jing Hong lightly brushed them away.

By the time negotiations concluded, the clock had passed midnight.

“Very well,” Fanhai’s lead negotiator confirmed, reviewing her notes. “Both parties will complete the first two actionable items and sign the relevant agreements by 1:00 PM tomorrow. At 3:00 PM, both companies will issue a joint statement on our official websites, Weibo, and… with full API open-access implemented over the next six months.”

Zhou Chang nodded: “Agreed.”

Handshakes were exchanged once more, and the tense, formal atmosphere dissolved instantly.

The restaurant proprietor and the server returned bearing two bottles of sparkling champagne and glass flutes. Uncorking the bottles efficiently, the server arranged the glassware in two neat lines. Zhou Chang stood before the table, hands in his pockets, and remarked, “A partnership of this scale deserves a proper toast.”

Jing Hong looked at him, shifted his gaze to the champagne bottles, and nodded.

Alcohol once again.

Pale golden champagne poured into the glass flutes as fine bubbles rose to the surface, intermingling with red petals scattered across the tabletop.

The dozen negotiation members each picked up a glass. Jing Hong and Zhou Chang exchanged a glance, raising their glasses simultaneously until they met with a clear, crisp chime.

Jing Hong tilted his head back and finished his glass in one draft. The alcohol descended into his stomach, leaving a warm burn across his chest.

Shortly after, the two groups prepared to depart. Jing Hong’s car was parked further down the street, so he stood at the entrance alone, waiting for his driver. The other executives had driven themselves; after bidding Jing Hong farewell, they walked down the narrow alley and quickly disappeared from view.

Quiet returned to the alleyway.

After saying goodbye to the restaurant owner and his wife, Zhou Chang walked out of the courtyard and immediately spotted Jing Hong’s upright figure standing outside.

He watched him for a moment, then stepped forward from behind, gently reaching out to pick off a crimson petal that remained stuck to Jing Hong’s shoulder.

Jing Hong startled slightly and turned to look back, but Zhou Chang said softly, “Don’t move.” He continued his movement, carefully plucking away the remaining red petals one by one.

“…” Jing Hong remained still as requested, surrounded by the quiet night air.

After a moment, Zhou Chang said, “All set.”

Holding the last freshly removed petal between two fingers, he reached over Jing Hong’s shoulder, bringing it past his ear and right before his eyes. “Here’s what it looks like. I looked it up earlier—this species blooms before its leaves grow, flowering around March and April.”

Jing Hong focused his gaze on it.

Zhou Chang had large, defined hands, and holding the delicate, soft crimson petal created a striking visual contrast.

The streetlight outside the courtyard cast a warm, dim glow.

Zhou Chang brought the petal to his nose, catching the scent, and murmured, “It actually has a faint fragrance.”

He held the petal up near Jing Hong’s face. Curiously, Jing Hong leaned in slightly and leaned his head down to take a light sniff. Alongside the subtle floral scent, he caught a subtle trace of Zhou Chang’s signature fragrance—a soft, underlying note of dark oud. The combination of scents left him momentarily distracted.

A spring breeze blew past, and with a light release of Zhou Chang’s fingers, the petal was swept away into the wind, floating out of sight as if losing all self-control.

Jing Hong tracked its path until it disappeared entirely.

He then turned his head, looking over his shoulder toward Zhou Chang. The alley was dark, yet the eyes of both men shone remarkably clear.

Zhou Chang took a step forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jing Hong as they waited, asking casually, “Heading straight home, Mr. Jing?”

Jing Hong replied, “Haven’t decided yet.”

Truthfully, Jing Hong was in no hurry to return.

Having finalized a landmark deal, going straight home felt somewhat anticlimactic.

Yet past midnight, there were few places left to go.

A few seconds later, Jing Hong suddenly recalled the young girls at the mountain school earlier that day saying how much they wanted to see Beijing. It dawned on him that despite living here for so many years, he had never truly taken the time to observe the city properly—when in a car, he was perpetually making phone calls or reviewing documents.

Perhaps spurred by the quickly downed champagne that left him slightly lightheaded, or perhaps influenced by the stray petal, or simply buoyed by the successful deal, Jing Hong acted on a rare impulse.

“How about… we take a look at Beijing together?” the invitation slipped out.

A flash of surprise crossed Zhou Chang’s expression, but he quickly nodded: “Sure.”

At that moment, Jing Hong’s car finally pulled up. Zhou Chang glanced at it, the corner of his mouth curving slightly: “A Feichi? You’re riding in this lately, Mr. Jing?”

“Yes,” Jing Hong walked to the far side of the vehicle and opened the rear door. “It’s the latest model from Feichi Auto, set to be officially launched soon.”

Zhou Chang slid into the back seat alongside Jing Hong: “You truly never miss an opportunity to promote companies you invest in, Mr. Jing.”

“It’s a solid car,” Jing Hong said. “Its top speed hits world-leading benchmarks.”

Zhou Chang nodded.

The narrow alleyway stretched deep and quiet, but as the car moved forward, it suddenly merged into a bustling main avenue, opening up dramatically.

Jing Hong instructed the driver to take an open route around Beijing, driving casually, before resuming his conversation with Zhou Chang: “When Fanhai signed the strategic deal with China Eastern Airlines recently, I gifted their chairman a Feichi. In return, he gifted me a Boeing 737-800 jet.”

Zhou Chang let out a quiet chuckle: “Then you came out way ahead, Mr. Jing.”

“Indeed,” Jing Hong said smoothly. “I don’t make losing trades. If I gifted one to Yang Liu, he could only offer me a shared bicycle in return; if I gave one to you, Mr. Zhou, you could only offer a one-year VIP membership to your subpar website.”

Zhou Chang maintained a relaxed expression, asking playfully: “What should we do then? All I have is a one-year membership to a subpar website. How about I throw myself into the deal as well?”

Jing Hong looked out the window, expressing mock disdain: “Pass.”

After a short pause, Zhou Chang asked again: “Why the sudden urge to ‘take a look at Beijing’?”

Jing Hong did not hide the truth: “Fanhai officially launched a public welfare initiative this morning. I had lunch with children in a remote mountain area today.” Pausing briefly, Jing Hong continued, “A few of the kids asked where we were heading afterward, and said they really wanted to come to Beijing to see what it’s like. It suddenly hit me that over all these years, I haven’t really looked at Beijing myself either. Something they desire so deeply, I’ve taken entirely for granted.”

Zhou Chang fell silent for a moment before speaking: “It’s a common affliction among people raised in big cities.”

Jing Hong smiled faintly: “City residents at least know their local neighborhoods—the malls, supermarkets, and parks. I don’t even know my own neighborhood.” With assistants, drivers, housekeepers, nutritionists, and chefs, he had no need to go anywhere. Furthermore, his tight schedule and high public profile made casual outings difficult.

Zhou Chang nodded slightly in agreement: “True enough.”

The same applied to Zhou Chang himself.

Jing Hong remarked, “I hope that equipment proves useful. In a civilized society, we ought to find ways to reduce inherent human inequalities. If we were placed in that environment, we might not have achieved much either.”

Zhou Chang glanced at Jing Hong.

“By the way, Mr. Zhou,” Jing Hong shifted away from the heavy topic, asking, “Have you heard the phrase ‘reincarnation winner’?”

Zhou Chang smiled: “Do you and I count as reincarnation winners?”

“Of course we do,” Jing Hong rested his chin on his hand. “How could we not?” From appearances and intellect to family background, every aspect was top-tier.

“Fair enough,” Zhou Chang responded. “How does the saying go? Perhaps we saved the Milky Way together in a past life.”

Jing Hong cast a subtle glance at him.

By adding “together,” Zhou Chang casually reintroduced a hint of ambiguity into the conversation.

The car arrived near the Forbidden City.

The imperial palace of the Ming and Qing dynasties stood quietly in the night. Unusually, bright beams of light shot up from within, piercing the night sky.

Jing Hong asked, “When did they start doing that?”

Zhou Chang was unsure, but the driver spoke up: “They’ve held the Lantern Festival light show here for the past couple of years! It’s still running—it lasts about a month, I think.”

“I see. The Lantern Festival light show—’Moonlight and lantern glows fill the imperial capital,’ just as it was in ancient times,” Jing Hong rested his chin in his hand, looking outside before asking Zhou Chang, “Have you ever been inside the Forbidden City, Mr. Zhou?”

Zhou Chang replied, “My school organized a trip when I was a kid.”

Jing Hong smiled: “You’re a native Beijing local too, aren’t you, Mr. Zhou?”

“Yes,” Zhou Chang said. “My father was originally from Wuhan, but he moved to the China Academy of Electronics and Information Technology right after graduation.”

“Wuhan,” Jing Hong teased gently. “Does the elder Mr. Zhou still eat hot dry noodles?”

Zhou Chang looked at him dryly: “According to industry rumors, my father eats pure gold.”

“…” Jing Hong shared a story about his own family: “My father is originally from Nanjing and later worked at an institute under the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Out of the four tech families, Peng Zheng seems to be the only overseas returnee—he went abroad on a Rockefeller doctoral scholarship back in the day.”

“And my father’s co-founder came back from Silicon Valley,” Zhou Chang added. “Search engines require the highest level of technical expertise among our core businesses—not something my father could build alone from scratch.”

“True,” Jing Hong did not dispute it, as Zhou Chang’s statement was factual; search engine architecture demanded extreme technical depth. “Among the four companies, Qinghui possesses the strongest core technology. Your short-video recommendation engine has played a massive role in your growth.” He then added with a light touch of irony, “Serving content that instantly hooks users is quite an art.”

Zhou Chang chuckled.

Jing Hong knew full well that while Qinghui had exceptional technology, during the elder Mr. Zhou’s tenure, the company suffered from being too technology-driven—overly engineer-centric and out of touch with user experience. But Zhou Chang… had successfully bridged that gap.

Logically, e-commerce giants were best positioned for cloud computing—like Amazon, which possessed B2B resources and focused heavily on client needs without being purely engineering-driven. Yet Xingyuan, which possessed both advantages, fell behind Qinghui in cloud computing, and even trailed Fanhai.

The short-video sector followed a similar trajectory. Years ago, while Jing Hong was still anxious about “not understanding female users aged 16 to 22,” Qinghui Video launched with a vast library of archival clips, behind-the-scenes footage, and variety show highlights of popular celebrities from previous years. Whenever users searched for their favorite stars, they were drawn into an endless loop of recommended content. Fans shared clips enthusiastically, allowing Qinghui to fully leverage fan culture dynamics. Combined with viral music and catchy trend dances, user traffic exploded overnight, surpassing competitor platforms in a campaign that concluded in just three months.

Yet these operational plays were not traditionally Qinghui’s strong suit.

Jing Hong did not believe every detail was personally conceived by Zhou Chang, but the fact that Zhou Chang recognized and empowered them was more than enough.

Jing Hong was reminded once again of the forum handle “eternalsunshine”—on that platform, Zhou Chang had quietly tracked market responses for various applications step by step.

It was all built through meticulous observation.

Indeed a formidable opponent, Jing Hong thought.

The car turned onto West Chang’an Avenue. Beijing’s Chang’an Avenue was brightly lit at night, with traffic moving steadily, particularly around Tiananmen Square. Lanterns hung from the gatehouse, where the iconic portrait and slogans stood as a permanent backdrop across generations, contrasting with the fluid passage of time moving before it.

The vehicle entered the Financial Street district.

Jing Hong frequented this avenue, though rarely in such a relaxed state. He asked Zhou Chang: “When did this financial district first take shape?”

Zhou Chang unlocked his phone screen and checked: “1992.”

Jing Hong nodded: “If I recall correctly… Goldman Sachs entered China in 1993, right? Morgan Stanley in the same year.”

“Roughly around then.”

Jing Hong continued: “Nowadays, the post-80s generation seems to be considered the ‘old guard.’ But I’m actually quite glad I was born in the 80s. When the ‘Story of Spring’ economic reforms unfolded, I was in first grade—just old enough to start understanding the world.”

That pivotal era marked a historic turning point for China, unleashing productive forces and ushering in an era of rapid transformation. Being just old enough to comprehend it, he witnessed the dynamic, rapidly changing landscape of the 1990s firsthand.

Zhou Chang looked at Jing Hong and responded softly, “…Yeah.”

The driver navigated toward the China Century Altar.

“Have you been here before?” Jing Hong asked.

Zhou Chang shook his head: “I only remember the New Year’s Eve broadcast for the millennium.”

“I haven’t been here either,” Jing Hong said. “I only remember the news coverage… how the pointer of the bronze sundial pointed toward the unchanging North Star. The idea was that as the shadow makes a full revolution on the dial, a day passes; another revolution, and another day passes. Day after day… a century passes, then a millennium passes, while the North Star remains eternal and unchanged.”

“Yeah,” Zhou Chang said quietly. “In 2008, I was on Wall Street. The fourth-largest investment bank in America collapsed overnight—a century and a half of accumulated legacy and prestige vanished in an instant. Who knows how long companies like Fanhai or Qinghui will last?”

Jing Hong remarked: “I only hope that when Fanhai and Qinghui eventually fade, the next generation will be ready to take the mantle.” The internet era had been boiling for thirty years, and no one knew how long the momentum would sustain.

“Honestly,” Zhou Chang added, “outlasting Fanhai by even a single day would feel like a victory to me.”

Jing Hong offered a concise response: “Get lost.”

“Jokes aside,” Zhou Chang looked out the window, his voice turning reflective, “compared to a millennium, a human lifespan of a hundred years is fleetingly short. We get a century at most. A third of my century has already passed, so when I encounter the right person or the right opportunity, I want to hold onto it. How about you, Mr. Jing?”

Hearing this, Jing Hong fell silent.

Zhou Chang continued: “In the past, many struggles and burdens had to be swallowed alone—there was no one to talk to. It’s rare to find someone who truly understands.”

After several seconds, Jing Hong finally replied, “Let me think about it.”

Unlike Zhou Chang, Jing Hong was naturally cautious by disposition, yet this time he did not offer a direct refusal.

“Take your time,” Zhou Chang did not push, maintaining his characteristic patience. “It deserves careful thought.”

Jing Hong looked at Zhou Chang, just as Zhou Chang turned his gaze toward him.

In the dim light of the car interior, their eyes met.

Streetlights flickered through the car window, alternating between light and shadow.

As illumination washed over Zhou Chang from the side, his facial features appeared strikingly defined—his smooth forehead, high bridge of his nose, defined jawline, and most notably, his clear, sharp eyes.

In the low light, Zhou Chang’s eyes seemed remarkably bright—intense, dark, and holding the person beside him in a quiet, focused gaze.

His expression was sharp, carrying a strong sense of presence and intent.

A faint shiver ran up the back of Jing Hong’s neck.

Fortunately, the car turned toward the iconic landmarks of the National Stadium and the National Aquatics Center—the Bird’s Nest and the Water Cube.

Jing Hong composed his expressions, keeping his face calm and unruffled: “I always felt it was a pity. I spent all of 2008 in the US and missed out on a lot.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Jing Hong said, “I only remember snippets from the news back then—like when the Olympic mascots were revealed, I thought, wow, a set of five, impressive! Or when the ‘Gold Inlaid with Jade’ medals were unveiled, I thought they were beautifully designed. Fortunately, I returned for two weeks in August and caught a few live events.”

Zhou Chang asked: “Which ones did you see?”

Jing Hong recalled: “Basketball—the game where the Chinese team reached the top eight. The score was so close that every made basket set off the entire arena. And football—even knowing the team’s standing, sitting in a stadium that size,” Jing Hong gestured with his hands, “hearing tens of thousands of people sing the national anthem before kickoff was deeply moving. Then there was table tennis and badminton… During the men’s singles final, every time the player smashed, the entire crowd roared in unison…”

“Right,” Zhou Chang chuckled lightly. “Here you are lamenting what you ‘missed,’ yet you watched more live events than anyone.”

The corner of Jing Hong’s mouth curved slightly: “It was only for those two weeks, after all. Many of my friends were volunteers sharing photos, and I felt a subtle envy.” He then asked, “What about you, Mr. Zhou?”

“Me?” Zhou Chang said. “Qinghui held the text livestreaming rights for the Games back then, and my father got a few front-row tickets to the Opening Ceremony. I thought it would be too crowded and skipped it. Looking back, I do regret it a bit.”

“Mhm,” Jing Hong asked further, “In 2001, you were in Beijing, right?”

“Yes,” Zhou Chang knew what Jing Hong meant. “When the 1993 bid fell short and the 2001 bid succeeded, I was in Beijing both times. The night the Olympic bid was won, the whole city went wild.”

“Yeah,” Jing Hong smiled softly.

Unexpectedly, their conversation had drifted to their childhoods and shared memories of growing up.

At their current age and status, discussing student days could easily seem trivial. Jing Hong rarely brought up such topics with anyone new, making Zhou Chang an exception once again.

The drive continued until past 1:00 AM before Jing Hong instructed the driver: “Alright, drop me off at Fanhai first. I’ll head back to ‘Qingxiang Zhuyun’ on my own afterward. You can drive Mr. Zhou directly to his destination.”

The driver replied: “Understood.”

The car soon merged onto the 2nd Ring Road.

Since Fanhai Headquarters was closer, the driver headed there first.

Late-night Beijing along the 2nd Ring Road was strikingly quiet and empty. The car moved swiftly, tracing the innermost loop of the city center.

Approaching the Fanhai district, the entire commercial complex blazed with bright lights. Towering high-rises with vast glass facades proudly displayed their corporate logos at the peak of each building.

Grand and brilliant.

Among them stood the largest campus, bearing the prominent nameplate: Fanhai Group.

A delicate crescent moon hung quietly in the night sky.

Jing Hong stepped out of the vehicle and bid Zhou Chang farewell. The two looked quietly at each other through the window glass for a moment before Jing Hong turned and walked away.

He walked toward the Fanhai building.

Before he had covered half the distance, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Checking the screen, he saw it was Zhou Chang calling.

Jing Hong answered, turning back to face the car parked in the distance. The silhouette had grown tiny, leaving only vague outlines visible to each other in the dark.

Jing Hong brought the phone to his ear, feeling slightly fatigued, and let out a relaxed, low tone: “Yeah?”

“Mr. Jing, I forgot to mention earlier,” Zhou Chang’s voice came through the receiver, deep and resonant. “I’ve been caught up with work for a long time too. Thank you for taking me along tonight to really take a look at Beijing.”