A few days later, the China Internet Association put together a trendy event—organizing CEOs for a “Gobi Desert Trek.” Over recent years, this concept had become absurdly popular among Chinese business circles. Associations of every kind were putting together “Gobi Treks” for entrepreneurs, and major corporations followed suit for their executives. Scores of celebrities raved endlessly about their trekking experiences in speeches and media interviews, making it sound as though a single “challenge” like this would purify one’s soul, broaden one’s perspective, toughen one’s will, and unite a team.

Jing Hong had zero desire to go; he was swamped. But the association insisted, claiming the event carried official support—authorities endorsed the philosophy that “greatness is forged through endurance” and agreed to let the association temper the iron will of these corporate leaders. Furthermore, as a board member of the association, Fanhai needed to set an example. If even board members refused to show up, others would follow suit, leaving what could be a fine event in complete disarray.

The organizer guaranteed absolute safety, reassuring Jing Hong that despite being the vast Gobi, the entire route had full cellular coverage. The trail had been thoroughly developed over recent years, and their guides were seasoned veterans. They added that the journey wouldn’t actually be grueling, as all luggage would be carried in off-road support vehicles following them the entire way.

Jing Hong certainly believed that. He was only 33 and could play tennis for hours at a stretch; if he couldn’t finish it, the others—especially those with bulging beer bellies—stood even less of a chance.

Left with no alternative, Jing Hong reluctantly agreed.

Hanging up the phone, Jing Hong instructed his assistant, Tan Qian, to adjust his schedule, grumbling: “What a pointless hassle. This association sure loves making a fuss. A ‘Spring Festival Tea Party’ a little while ago, a ‘Gobi Trek’ now, and apparently a group spring outing coming up later.”

Tan Qian offered: “Why not look at it as a life experience? Work isn’t all there is to life.”

Jing Hong replied: “I suppose that’s true.”

On the day of departure, Jing Hong wore a white t-shirt under a loosely buttoned red shirt, paired with relaxed black trousers featuring faint white pinstripes. A couple of shirt buttons were undone, with part of the hem tucked in and the rest left loose, while the pant cuffs were tucked into high-top hiking boots. His nighttime gear, such as his windbreaker, remained stowed in his luggage bag aboard the off-road vehicle.

Just as the group was about to set out, Zhou Chang finally arrived. Jing Hong glanced at Zhou Chang and froze for a second. Zhou Chang was also dressed casually, a pair of large sunglasses resting on the high bridge of his nose.

As a board member of the association, Qinghui had likely been dragged into this against their will as well.

Peng Zheng of “Xingyuan” remarked: “You two are looking pretty stylish…” He had worn a standard tracksuit and looked utterly apprehensive.

After checking everyone’s luggage and running through safety instructions, the lead guide rallied the group onto the charter bus to head toward the starting point of the trek. En route, the guide narrated the history and present state of the desert. Jing Hong sat in front of Zhou Chang, quietly listening alongside Peng Zheng.

The bus traveled along the “Desert-Crossing Highway,” quickly arriving at the entrance trail.

Before entering the sands, the guide arranged everyone into a single-file line to complete the trek in a single column, explaining: “We must conserve energy. Walking in single file reduces wind resistance and cuts down on chatting—conversations drain a surprising amount of stamina! Alright, figure out your order!”

“I’ll bring up the rear,” Zhou Chang offered with a lazy smile. “I’m young, after all, so I can keep an eye on things from behind.”

“That works,” the association organizer nodded, turning to Jing Hong. “Mr. Jing, how about second to last? Can you two keep pace with the rest?” Jing Hong and Zhou Chang were equally young; while they could easily keep up with others, the rest might not be able to keep up with them.

Jing Hong nodded.

Once inside the sands, the paved highway receded until it vanished entirely. Endless golden sand stretched in every direction. The group had seemed so large moments before, yet the instant they stepped into the desert, they felt genuinely tiny and solitary.

In the Mongolian language, the name of this desert meant “Sky”—the vast, shifting sands resembling a boundless cosmos.

Dunes rolled like continuous mountain ranges. The guide led the group along the ridge lines carved by the wind at the crests of the high hills, heading toward the finish line like a scene straight out of a movie.

Fine sand shifted underfoot; with every step, grains spilled away beneath their soles.

Jing Hong was only 33, as was Zhou Chang, and both kept in top physical condition. Jing Hong regularly played tennis matches against professional players that lasted anywhere from two to three hours, while Zhou Chang was known for maintaining his pace through the second half of a 200m butterfly. Neither held any doubts about their stamina.

Jing Hong walked right in front of Zhou Chang, his red shirt strikingly vivid against the yellow sand. His figure was trim, his legs long, and Zhou Chang watched him silently from behind.

Jing Hong’s fair skin suited the red shirt impeccably, just as the desert served as its perfect backdrop.

Today’s trek would last six hours. Six hours of doing absolutely nothing—not even checking his inbox—just staring at the back of his body: his neck, his back, his waist, his hips, his legs. Zhou Chang found the experience oddly liberating.

And tomorrow would be even longer.

Barely half an hour into the walk, several older executives were already groaning and pleading to board the support vehicles. Having no choice, the organizers ushered them all into the off-road cars.

During their first break, the professional guide pointed toward a towering sand slope in the distance and asked the entrepreneurs: “The view up there should be quite nice. Who wants to take a look? Anyone who wants to see or take photos, follow me.”

Not a single person wanted to go. Only after a long pause did Jing Hong stand up, saying: “I’ll go check it out.”

Zhou Chang then stood up as well, lazily stating: “Guess I’ll go too.”

Peng Zheng asked, gasping for breath: “How do you guys have so much energy…?”

Another executive nearby chimed in: “How could we possibly compete with them? In business, when it comes down to the wire, it’s a battle of physical stamina.”

Jing Hong let out a quiet smile—aside from Zhou Chang, no one else had truly reached a point where he needed to push his physical limits.

Thus, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang followed the guide up the steep slope.

It was no easy climb. The sand was too loose, slipping down half a step for every step forward.

The guide advised: “When climbing slopes, the most efficient way is to step directly into the footsteps of the person ahead. Come on, Mr. Jing, right here.”

“…” Jing Hong fell in behind Zhou Chang, stepping methodically into the firm footprints Zhou Chang pressed out one by one.

Near the top, the incline grew exceptionally steep. On the very last step, Jing Hong stepped into Zhou Chang’s footprint, but the patch of sand suddenly collapsed, sending him sliding backward.

Zhou Chang chuckled and extended a hand down to Jing Hong.

Jing Hong raised his eyes slightly. Midst the vast yellow sands, Zhou Chang stood at the crest of the dune offering his hand, his strong features lit by a faint smile, bathed in the blazing sun behind him.

Jing Hong took Zhou Chang’s hand, and with a firm pull, Zhou Chang hauled him straight up.

The hand was just as Jing Hong imagined—steady and powerful.

A breeze swept across the top of the dune. Blocked down below, the wind blew freely at the summit, refreshing and crisp.

Desert temperatures during the day were scorching, making the breeze atop this steep crest uniquely precious.

Standing at the peak, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang looked out into the far distance, their vision filled entirely with yellow sand. Looking down, Peng Zheng and the rest of the team were resting below.

The wind rustled their hair, sending loose strands flying. Zhou Chang’s eyes followed a strand of Jing Hong’s fluttering hair before settling on his face.

“Not bad,” Zhou Chang said, turning around.

“Yeah, it is,” Jing Hong looked back at Zhou Chang.

Both had wind-blown hair and billowing shirts. Zhou Chang looked at Jing Hong, and Jing Hong looked back at Zhou Chang, catching the captivating expression in his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Descending from the dune, the group resumed their march shortly after.

Yet it was clear that those who had initially been reluctant and forced into coming were gradually undergoing a shift in attitude.

Conquering a desert was indeed an exhilarating affair.

Around four in the afternoon, they reached the first lake—Moon Lake.

The view opened up dramatically as the team stumbled upon an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Though the vegetation had not yet turned green, reeds swayed gently across the lake.

A herd of camels drank lazily at the water’s edge as the executives pulled out their phones to snap photos.

By the lake stood two large rocks leaning tightly against one another. Walking closer, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang noticed that the left rock was carved with the words “True Love,” while the right read “Eternity.”

Jing Hong was instantly amused to the point of laughter.

How on earth did he keep running into things like this? He almost never encountered them before, yet whenever he was with Zhou Chang, they popped up everywhere—first at the small town, and now in the middle of a desert.

Seeing it, Zhou Chang let out a soft snort of laughter as well.

There were wooden trestles and pavilions over the lake, though the view from them proved fairly ordinary.

Stepping down, Jing Hong spotted Peng Zheng shouting at the herd of camels while waving his chubby hands: “Hey~~~! We’re humans!!! Humans!!!”

The camels ignored him entirely.

Leaving the oasis behind, the group plunged back into the yellow sands.

The occasional lizard darting across the path felt remarkably novel amidst the monotone landscape.

By five o’clock, they reached the Great Sand Mountain, rising over a hundred meters at its highest elevation. Rolling endlessly up and down, certain sections even required a zig-zagging S-curve climb. The professional guide retrieved trekking poles from the vehicle; while others used double poles, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang used single poles to make their way up.

The remaining energy of the executives depleted rapidly until they couldn’t push any further. Upon reaching the pass, they crossed over and slid down the slope. Only seven or eight people—including Jing Hong and Zhou Chang—made it all the way to the highest summit, and aside from the two of them, most were middle-aged female CEOs.

The guide sighed in resignation: “Everyone else is actually trekking, but you guys don’t even have luggage and still act like this! Sigh.”

At the summit, everything came into full view—Sun Lake, Moon Lake, and Star Lake.

The desert wind swept across the peak, as though it had been blowing for tens of millions of years.

Descending from the Great Sand Mountain, the group arrived at Sun Lake, where their campsite was located. Next to Sun Lake lay a small saltwater lake surrounded by white, glistening alkali flatlands.

At the camp, yurts stood quietly on the ground, flanked by a convenience store and a dining hall. The trek spanned two days and one night, making this camp their sole overnight stay.

Dinner was served in the dining hall.

The association had roasted two whole sheep and provided everyone with two steamed buns alongside a large bowl of soup brewed with potatoes, cabbage, and other vegetables.

When Jing Hong took his seat at the table, he brought along two fresh items, placing the jars on the table as he spoke: “I brought a jar of fermented bean curd and a jar of spicy chili bean paste. If anyone isn’t used to the food, feel free to pair it with these. We have another full day of trekking tomorrow, so we need to keep our energy up.”

Surprised, the others reached over to help themselves, exclaiming: “Mr. Jing is always so thoughtful and meticulous.”

Jing Hong offered a gentle smile.

After dinner, those who still had energy explored the surroundings to take photos, while those who were exhausted bought Wi-Fi access to either rest or work.

It wasn’t until late evening that the organizers informed Jing Hong that “there were no shower facilities at this camp.” However, the association had brought portable 28-liter camp showers along with privacy shower tents. Since the tents were somewhat flimsy, another person needed to hold the frame steady from the outside. The organizers were far too busy managing various tasks to stand by holding the tent for everyone.

Jing Hong glanced at Zhou Chang.

At a moment like this, Zhou Chang was the only person he could reasonably trouble. Peng Zheng was exhausted like a dog and had collapsed onto his bed the second he reached camp; Jing Hong couldn’t bring himself to ask him.

Yet with sand covering his head, face, and body, going without a shower was unbearable.

Zhou Chang let out a dry smirk: “Fine, I’ll hold it.”

Jing Hong stepped inside the tent curtain.

However, once he took off his clothes, he ran into a problem—there were no hanging racks inside. Walking all the way back across the camp to fetch a chair felt overly fussy, leaving Jing Hong no choice but to call out: “Zhou Chang.”

Zhou Chang responded with a lazy tone: “Hmm?”

Jing Hong’s fair, slender hand reached out through a gap in the curtain: “Could you help me hold my shirt for a moment?”

Zhou Chang took it: “Sure.”

Taking it with one hand, he draped it over his shoulder.

The freshly removed red shirt gently brushed against his neck.

A moment later, Jing Hong’s hand emerged once again: “Trousers.”

Zhou Chang took them as well.

The trousers were folded neatly along the crease. Jing Hong added: “Be careful, inside there’s… you know.”

Zhou Chang asked: “Underwear?”

Jing Hong was amused to the point of laughing once again.

“Alright,” Zhou Chang held the black trousers and the underwear inside with one hand while holding the curtain steady with the other. “I’ve got a grip on them; they won’t fall.”

“…” Jing Hong ignored him and turned on the camp shower.

The shower operated with a hand-pump nozzle; squeezing the grip released the water, and releasing it stopped the flow.

The water turned out not to be cold at all. Desert daytime temperatures were scorching, and the water stored on the off-road vehicle had been warmed by the sun throughout the day.

Given the limited water supply, Jing Hong washed quickly.

Outside the curtain, Zhou Chang listened to the patter of water inside. Drooping his eyelids, he watched the tiny streams of water mixed with white body wash and fine yellow sand trickling out through the gap beneath the tent.

Stream after stream snaked around the soles of his shoes, flowing outward.

As they passed, his shoes grew wet, flecked with bits of white foam.

The sound of rinsing continued uninterrupted.

After an unknown duration, the shower noise abruptly ceased.

Zhou Chang passed the towel and clean clothes inside, and Jing Hong put them on item by item.

He was back in a red shirt and black trousers.

Then, a slender white hand pulled open the curtain, revealing Jing Hong’s face.

His face had been washed clean, and his jet-black hair was dripping wet. Looking far less fierce than usual, droplets of water slid down his long neck into his collar. Perhaps because he had just washed, his skin appeared exceptionally delicate.

Their eyes locked for a brief moment. Zhou Chang handed over the pile of clothes, saying: “Your dirty clothes.”

“Thanks.” Jing Hong retrieved the shirt from Zhou Chang’s shoulder. The silk shirt brushed softly against Zhou Chang’s neck, generating a hint of static electricity from the friction. A few strands of hair near Zhou Chang’s ear drifted up toward the shirt, lingering close.

Jing Hong asked: “Are you showering?”

“Yeah,” Zhou Chang replied. “Let me grab my stuff from the tent first.”

“Alright.”

The two swapped places—Zhou Chang showered while Jing Hong held the tent frame.

As the sun began to set, Jing Hong could vaguely make out the upper silhouette inside the tent.

Zhou Chang was tall; with his neck tilted back, he held the nozzle with one hand to rinse his throat while wiping his neck with the other.

While waiting for Zhou Chang, Jing Hong caught sight of the desert sunset.

The sun in the desert appeared massive and crimson, staining the vast golden sands a vibrant orange-red. Everywhere he looked was red—various shades of red lending a touch of brilliant elegance to the desolate desert.

Just as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Zhou Chang stepped out. He wore a black shirt and black trousers, his hair equally damp, pushed back with his hand with a few loose strands falling over his forehead.

His shirt was barely buttoned, leaving all but two middle buttons undone, exposing his throat and collarbone. Zhou Chang hadn’t dried himself completely—likely out of impatience—leaving his neck, collarbone, and chest glistening with faint traces of water.

Their eyes met once more.

The last time Jing Hong had seen a sight like this was that night.

Returning to his tent, Jing Hong purchased Wi-Fi access to handle work items and make arrangements. Seeing Jing Hong’s background during a video call, several investment firm CEOs asked in surprise: “Mr. Jing, where are you?”

Jing Hong let out a faint laugh: “In the desert. An ‘Entrepreneur Trekking Trip’ organized by the Internet Association.”

The participants on the video call clicked their tongues in amusement: “Turns out there are team-building events above team-building events; the end of the universe is team-building. Fanhai employees join Fanhai team-building, while Fanhai’s CEO joins industry team-building.”

Jing Hong replied: “Tell me about it.”

By the time he finished several meetings, the sky outside the tent was filled with stars.

Jing Hong stepped out of his tent, walked over to the lake, and sat down on the sand along the shore.

Before long, Zhou Chang arrived as well, taking a seat beside Jing Hong with easy grace to gaze up at the desert stars together.

The stars above the desert appeared immense and exceptionally clear without any pollution, looking almost like a planetarium exhibit—so close one felt they could reach out and touch them.

Propping himself up with one hand behind his back in a relaxed, slanting posture, Zhou Chang remarked: “This association event doesn’t seem so terrible after all.”

Jing Hong said: “Yeah. It’s actually alright.”

A few seconds later, Jing Hong pointed upward: “That one over there—the North Star.”

Zhou Chang glanced over: “…Mhm.”

Jing Hong struck up idle conversation: “My father has taken up astronomy lately. He got a massive telescope and looks through it all the time—pointing out Draco over here, or some other constellation over there.”

Zhou Chang asked: “There’s a Draco constellation?”

“You really lack cartoon trivia, don’t you?” Jing Hong smirked. “It’s Dragon Shiryu’s constellation from Saint Seiya.”

“Fair enough,” Zhou Chang conceded with a laugh. “Young Mr. Jing certainly watched his fair share of cartoons as a kid.”

Jing Hong smiled.

“By the way, Mr. Zhou,” Jing Hong added, “about that ‘Tianping Supermarket’ matter—thank you.”

Zhou Chang asked: “Why so polite? You did all the work yourself, Mr. Jing. I heard you warned Tianping’s suppliers that ‘a gentleman does not stand beneath a dangerous wall,’ scaring them half to death.”

“Occasionally over the past few days, I’ve wondered,” facing the starry desert sky, Jing Hong inadvertently let slip a quiet thought he had shared with no one else, “with things turning out like this, if my grandmother were still alive, what would she think?”

Zhou Chang turned to look at Jing Hong.

Zhou Chang noticed that whenever Jing Hong encountered a problem, he had a habit of clenching his teeth—he had done so years ago during that business competition at Stanford, and he still did so now. A subtle, tiny gesture, yet one that revealed Jing Hong’s formidable character.

“My grandmother was a quintessential traditional Chinese matriarch,” Jing Hong said. “She spent her entire life worrying over her children. A formidable old lady who served as a deputy bureau director before retirement. Back when my father and his brothers didn’t have money to get married, she applied on her own to transfer to a new department in Shenzhen, taking advantage of the ‘dual-track price system’ back then to trade goods back to Nanjing. Selling resources to factories, she furnished everything for the family. Later, when the crackdown on profiteering hit, she was terrified out of her mind.”

Zhou Chang looked at him: “…Mhm.”

“Later, around ’92, still wanting to make money, she went to sell ‘Amway’ products—toothbrushes, toothpaste, and whatnot. In that era, officials who weren’t corrupt didn’t have much money. Even after retiring in the late ’90s, she still wanted to do business, right up until my father made it big.”

“She sounds formidable,” Zhou Chang said. “But young Mr. Jing, Jing Tianping’s family has already taken more than enough. Didn’t your grandmother just want to earn a bit of money? She never planned on handing every child a CEO position, did she? You’ve done more than enough. On your shoulders rest the livelihoods of over a hundred thousand Fanhai employees.”

Jing Hong looked deeply at Zhou Chang: “…Mhm.”

Once again, Jing Hong realized that only when chatting with Zhou Chang were they completely equal.

The night sky was so thick with brilliant stars it felt almost heavy, a sight rarely seen in cities.

The two talked for a long, long time.

Jing Hong even shared a few funny stories about his grandmother: “Because she was so headstrong, whenever she joined travel activities for retired cadres after retiring, she’d inevitably get into an argument with someone—either the hotel, the restaurant, or the scenic spot. Later on, the Veteran Cadre Bureau would call Jing Yu’s father every single time, begging my uncle to accompany her. The bureau chief would call in person, saying the old lady was too fierce and impossible to handle, offering family rates first, then veteran rates, and finally offering to let him come for free as a staff member, just begging him to go. Jing Yu’s father was actually the only one who could persuade that stubborn old lady. So every time they left, the bureau staff would hold his hand, begging him to come next time. She had no idea and told everyone, ‘My son is so popular; the Veteran Cadre Bureau calls his phone every time and waives his fee.’ Everyone knew what was really happening—she was the only one in the dark.”

Another quiet chuckle spilled from Zhou Chang’s throat.

They talked for about an hour. Desert nights grew exceptionally cold, especially by the lake, so Zhou Chang stood up first, pulling Jing Hong up as well, and walked him back to his tent.

Back inside his tent, Jing Hong felt a bit restless, feeling it was a pity to waste such a fine night. Just as he hesitated over what to do, his phone rang.

Looking down, Jing Hong saw it was Zhou Chang.

Answering it, Jing Hong adopted a lazy tone: “Hmm?”

Zhou Chang asked: “Do you have time right now, Mr. Jing?”

Jing Hong said: “I…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Zhou Chang interrupted: “Open the door. I’m outside.”

“…” Jing Hong stood up and unzipped the tent door, finding Zhou Chang standing outside with his phone held to his ear.

Jing Hong asked: “Why are you here?”

“Bored,” Zhou Chang said. “Thought I’d chat with young Mr. Jing a bit more.”

“…Then come in.” Jing Hong stepped aside.

Jing Hong sat back down on his bedding—which consisted simply of a pad and a duvet. Zhou Chang took a seat casually on the Mongolian-style rug in front of Jing Hong, one knee propped up, one leg lying flat, one hand supporting himself on the floor, and the other resting over his raised knee.

“What do you want to talk about?” Jing Hong asked. “How about your father? What’s he been up to these past two years?”

“Him? Setting up matchmaking dates for me,” Zhou Chang replied.

“Oh?” Jing Hong asked. “Who is he setting you up with?”

“All sorts,” Zhou Chang said. “Mostly people in the arts—pianists, dancers, you name it.”

As he spoke, Zhou Chang shifted into an even more comfortable posture, reclining half-way down. Stretching one long leg out while keeping the other knee propped, he supported his torso with an elbow on the ground, leaning back as he looked up at Jing Hong from below.

Jing Hong lowered his gaze to meet Zhou Chang’s, asking: “And did Mr. Zhou go on those dates?”

Zhou Chang asked back: “What do you think?”

Jing Hong didn’t answer; the two silently gazed at each other.

After a moment, Jing Hong brought up another topic: “Speaking of piano… back when I was in Fanhai’s AI Business Group, a colleague who had trained professionally in piano years ago gave it up to take the Gaokao. Man, when he typed code, his keystrokes sounded practically devastating. He loved mechanical keyboards, explaining later that he was just used to it—after ten years of piano practice, his fingers just hit with that much force.”

“…Jing Hong,” Zhou Chang suddenly cut him off, asking, “Did you eat something? You smell a bit sweet.”

“Me?” Jing Hong froze for a second, touching his lips, saying: “I had a few gummies earlier.”

“You came prepared with everything, Mr. Jing,” Zhou Chang said. “Pickled vegetables, gummies.”

Jing Hong smiled: “Well, we have off-road vehicles hauling everything, so it’s far easier than a real trek.”

“Gummies,” Zhou Chang suddenly propped himself up slightly, leaning closer to sniff, asking: “What flavor?”

Jing Hong didn’t pull back, keeping his eyes lowered as he looked at him. After a moment’s thought, he said: “Blackcurrant, I think?”

“Is that so? Smells nice,” Zhou Chang raised himself further, half-supporting his body with his neck tilted slightly. His sharp nose leaned close to the seam of Jing Hong’s lips, his eyelids half-lidded as he caught the scent from below once more: “Indeed, the fruity scent is even stronger here.”

Jing Hong watched Zhou Chang through lowered lashes.

Zhou Chang raised his eyelids as well.

There were no electric lights inside the tent, only a dim, warm lantern.

Their gazes entangled like intertwining vines.

Zhou Chang’s shirt remained unbuttoned at the top, leaving two buttons undone. He possessed his usual high-bridged nose and clear eyes, carrying an aura that was both sharp and mature, his deep gaze locked onto Jing Hong.

In the dim light, a faint shadow fell across the far side of his nose.

Jing Hong knew Zhou Chang had always been effortlessly bold and unrestrained. He hated to admit it, yet he couldn’t deny that he had always been deeply captivated by that very quality in Zhou Chang.

Throughout the day, images surged back all at once: the desolate golden sands, the overlapping footsteps, the clasped fingers, the wind-blown hair, the locked gazes, the shadowed silhouette in the shower, the damp black hair, the glistening muscles, the crystal-clear night sky, the intimate conversation, and the sweet scent lingering at his lips.

The feelings he had struggled so hard to suppress were on the verge of breaking free from their chest.

The loss of control during the day, the private surrenders at night.

Emotions gathered like heavy storm clouds before a tempest, blotting out the sky so completely that escape felt impossible.

Jing Hong was all too familiar with the look in Zhou Chang’s eyes right now. He could entirely picture what was running through Zhou Chang’s mind.

“…” Just as Jing Hong attempted to hold onto his precarious rationality and force himself to avert his gaze, Zhou Chang suddenly cupped the back of Jing Hong’s head—pulling him down in a single swift movement—and pressed a fierce, impatient kiss against his lips, brimming with undeniable aggression.

Jing Hong froze, his lips and tongue instinctively relaxing, allowing the tip of Zhou Chang’s tongue to instantly pry his teeth apart.

Zhou Chang pushed deep, tangling with his tongue and playing with its weakened tip—invading, dominating, and occasionally drawing back with a light suction that made a soft, shameless sound.

Jing Hong’s tongue grew numb from the play, his mind reeling in shock before he finally regained his senses moments later.

Zhou Chang released him at just the right moment, easing back to his original position. Looking at the stunned expression in Jing Hong’s eyes, a sudden smile broke across his face a second later: “My apologies, Mr. Jing. I forgot to conduct myself properly just now.”