A few days after returning to Beijing, Jing Hong attended a high-profile charity gala.

The host was a foundation initiated and established by prominent entrepreneurs, with the mission of providing social assistance and promoting philanthropic development. Both Jing Haiping and Zhou Buqun served as directors on its board.

While the outside world rarely heard of this “Ai Hua” Charity Gala, the donations raised each year amounted to hundreds of millions of yuan—a hundred times more than those galas that traded purely on fanfare and publicity.

This year’s event was hosted by Xingyuan Group and held at a luxury hotel.

Jing Hong paid a bit more attention to his appearance this time, donning a dark gray suit. Instead of a standard tie, he wore a Bolo tie featuring a round ruby framed with accent diamonds resting right beneath his throat. Though it was a formal occasion, the atmosphere carried a touch of relaxed elegance. He didn’t wear his usual Apple Watch either; opening his drawer for a quick glance, he picked out a limited-edition Vacheron Constantin instead.

As the car pulled up to the hotel entrance, Jing Hong stepped out.

A crowd of luminaries had already gathered at the entrance. The male business titans in attendance were accompanied either by their wives or girlfriends—or, in the case of a select few whom Jing Hong noticed never brought the same date twice, women who were perpetually twenty-five. Men and women walked arm in arm, a glittering tableau of refined elegance.

The check-in board was fashioned into a red, heart-shaped light, one for each guest. Along both sides of the hotel lobby corridor hung photographs of children who had received aid.

Jing Hong cast a cool glance over them before following a PR staff member up the stairs. He found the elevators too crowded for his liking.

Inside, the banquet hall was magnificent and resplendent. Exquisite chandeliers hung overhead, soft carpeting stretched beneath their feet, and tables were draped in crisp white linens set with dinner plates and wine glasses. At the center of each table rested a lush, beautiful bouquet of flowers.

At the entrance, the PR staff handed Jing Hong the auction catalog, the event schedule, and other materials while offering a brief overview of the evening. They then guided him to the lounge adjacent to the main hall.

The lounge was quite populated. An assortment of tea, coffee, and refreshments was neatly laid out, with guests mingling in small groups.

Jing Hong immediately spotted Zhou Chang sitting in the corner. Zhou Chang was lounging on a sofa, his long legs crossed as he looked down at his phone. Even tucked away in a corner, he commanded a striking presence and a formidable aura.

Jing Hong: “…”

Just then, a popular actress standing ahead of Jing Hong suddenly pulled out a compact mirror to check her appearance, adjusted her long hair, and then walked toward Zhou Chang with a wine glass in hand.

Jing Hong paused in his tracks.

Her new drama was currently a huge hit, and rather than the trendy “girl-next-door” type, she was a true, striking beauty. Tonight, she wore a backless evening gown with a low-cut neckline that proved quite eye-catching.

Jing Hong suddenly remembered a rumor: Zhou Chang was a magnet for celebrities, attracting not just actresses, but male stars as well.

According to gossip, a top-tier celebrity had once passed word to Zhou Chang through an intermediary, claiming they didn’t care about marrying into wealth—they only sought a single night of passion. Perhaps it had been her.

Jing Hong watched in silence.

The actress took a seat on the chair next to Zhou Chang, separated only by a coffee table. As for what was said next, Jing Hong was out of earshot.

Sitting across the coffee table from Zhou Chang, the actress asked, “President Zhou, sitting all by yourself?”

Zhou Chang offered a lazy hum of response: “Mhm.”

“I just wanted to thank you, President Zhou,” she said. “Regarding that web drama, The Mysterious Maiden…”

Qinghui had only ever invested in two major IP web dramas. In truth, it had merely been a tactic to mislead Jing Hong—to trick him into thinking Qinghui was venturing into the film and television industry, thereby distracting him from Qinghui’s real objective: investing in Feichi. Zhou Chang had won that round, successfully acquiring the Tiantong shares held by Xingmin Bank by assisting Oriental Insurance in their joint acquisition of Xindong Media.

And one of those two web dramas had starred this very actress. Though she had been criticized for her poor acting skills, the show had become an absolute sensation nonetheless.

“I heard,” she continued, “that the investment in The Mysterious Maiden was something President Zhou personally vetted and finalized. If Qinghui hadn’t invested, it probably wouldn’t have achieved such great results—”

Zhou Chang finally lifted his eyes to glance at her: “Don’t mention it.”

With that, his gaze drifted back to his emails.

She sat there awkwardly for a moment before finally plucking up the courage to speak again: “Does President Zhou not have a date tonight? Just sitting here alone?” She surveyed the room full of guests. “All the other executives brought their wives, girlfriends, or dates. Or… perhaps I could keep you company and hold down the fort for you?”

Never one to mince words, Zhou Chang flicked his eyelids up and offered a faint smile: “Hold down the fort for me? Think you can handle that weight?”

The actress’s face instantly drained of color.

No matter how thick-skinned she was, she couldn’t stay any longer. Gritting her teeth, she picked up her wine glass and stood up.

Jing Hong watched for a moment, waited a beat, and then strolled over. Raising his chin, he asked Zhou Chang, “Is this seat taken?”

Zhou Chang looked up at Jing Hong, shifted his wine glass on the table slightly to make room, and smiled: “Be my guest.”

An inexplicable wave of secret satisfaction washed over Jing Hong. He sat down on the sofa, crossed his long legs, and asked Zhou Chang, “Who was that just now?”

“You saw?”

Jing Hong said, “Mhm.”

“It’s happened several times now,” Zhou Chang noted. “Indirectly, directly… enough is enough.”

Their eyes met for a moment. Zhou Chang’s gaze slid downward to the ruby at Jing Hong’s neck and the tied Bolo cord resting right below his throat, radiating a subtle sense of restraint and abstinence.

Jing Hong remained silent. Deep down, he felt Zhou Chang was holding double standards—harsh on others while lenient with himself. When others did something “several times,” it was a case of “enough is enough,” yet when Zhou Chang did something “several times,” he hardly held himself to the same rule.

If anything, Jing Hong felt he was hardly any better than that actress.

Zhou Chang’s gaze slid back up, their eyes tangling in the dim, warm light for a few seconds.

Zhou Chang asked Jing Hong, “Have you eaten?”

“No,” Jing Hong replied. “Came straight over after work.”

Zhou Chang planted his long legs back on the carpet and stood up, his tall frame rising as he said, “Get something to tide you over. Who knows when the food will actually be served.”

Sitting in the armchair, Jing Hong watched Zhou Chang’s departing figure walk over to the refreshment area.

A moment later, Zhou Chang returned carrying a few desserts and a can of drink, setting them down on the coffee table between them.

Jing Hong picked up a coconut truffle and popped it into his mouth. With his index finger, he popped the tab on the can and tilted his head back for a sip. Zhou Chang’s gaze once again traced the rise and fall of Jing Hong’s throat, hovering right above the ruby tie.

After three coconut truffles went down, Jing Hong felt he had satisfied his hunger enough. He picked up a napkin from the coffee table to wipe his mouth and asked Zhou Chang, “Any coconut flakes left on me?”

Zhou Chang turned his eyes, staring fixedly at Jing Hong’s shapely lips, and said, “No.”

In truth, there hadn’t been any before he wiped, either.

Jing Hong nodded, leaning back against the chair with his legs crossed, and asked, “What’s President Zhou aiming for tonight?”

“Whatever, it’s all the same,” Zhou Chang said. “Maybe that Zhang Daqian painting. Sea of Clouds.”

As the two chatted casually, volunteers for the charity gala came over to escort everyone into the main hall—the event was about to begin.

The seating arrangement this time was somewhat peculiar. Xingyuan was the host this year, and perhaps because Peng Zheng assumed Jing Hong and Zhou Chang were on terrible terms—after all, Jing Hong hadn’t even unblocked Zhou Chang on WeChat Moments—the two were surprisingly not seated together tonight. Peng Zheng was seated right between them.

Taking advantage of Jing Hong being occupied with pleasantries with others, Peng Zheng leaned over to gossip with Zhou Chang: “Ahem, President Zhou, rumor has it that news about Young President Jing dating some internet celebrity… was orchestrated by you to smear him. Is that true? Was it really you? Did you force that internet celebrity to reveal her boyfriend of many years just to clear things up?”

Zhou Chang was amused to the point of laughter by Peng Zheng: “Fabricating a date for President Jing? What, do I look sick in the head?”

Peng Zheng actually seemed somewhat disappointed: “So it wasn’t you after all?”

“President Peng,” Zhou Chang cast a glance at him, “even the netizens didn’t fall for that, yet you actually believed it?”

“…” Peng Zheng sat up straight, forcibly changing the subject. “Alright, alright, the opening dance is about to start.”

The opening dance was performed by a group of hearing-impaired girls dressed in white gowns, looking extraordinarily graceful.

Next, two famous hosts invited the chairperson of the charity foundation to deliver an opening speech, followed by the launch ceremony for two or three fundraising projects scheduled for the evening.

The itinerary followed the usual routine: introducing auction lots, bidding on items, interspersed with various activities.

For instance, children from Tibetan areas who had received donations presented Jing Hong and others with a handmade Thangka they had woven together; another segment celebrated the birthday of a young patient who had been aided two years ago; additionally, board members like Jing Hong and Zhou Chang presented certificates to generous donors—Jing Hong presented one, Zhou Chang presented another, with other board members stepping up in between; and finally, there were cultural performances…

Nothing particularly novel.

Jing Hong didn’t care much for these formalities, though he understood their purpose.

As for the auction items, some were physical collectibles, while others were “company resources” offered up by the CEOs, such as a week’s worth of ad space. On occasions like this, rather than “introducing the auction item,” the CEOs were essentially promoting their own companies—using an abundance of data and case studies to aggressively convince everyone how valuable and prime their ad space was.

In the end, the highest bid of the night went to Zhou Chang’s painting—30 million yuan. Zhou Chang didn’t even blink, looking entirely nonchalant about the whole affair.

Once the primary auction lots were presented, the silent auction segment began. Finding it uninteresting, Jing Hong wanted to step out for some fresh air. Moreover, for reasons unknown, the hotel’s indoor temperature was exceedingly high, and Jing Hong wanted to cool off.

He first headed to the restroom and bumped into Peng Zheng on his way out.

“President Jing,” Peng Zheng caught him and said, “Could you lend me 50 yuan?”

Jing Hong’s mind slowly filled with questions: “???”

“Lend me 50,” Peng Zheng repeated. “I want to buy a pack of cigarettes, but my phone just died. Going all the way back to get cash would be… embarrassing.”

“…” Unbuttoning his suit jacket, Jing Hong pulled out a thin, hand-stitched wallet from his inner pocket, opened it, drew out a bill, and handed it over: “Here’s a hundred. No need to pay it back.”

Peng Zheng took it joyfully: “President Jing is so generous!”

Jing Hong: “…”

After Peng Zheng left, Jing Hong observed the hotel’s layout and ultimately decided to step onto the outdoor terrace on the same floor.

Sliding the door open, Jing Hong discovered that Zhou Chang had also chosen this very terrace.

Zhou Chang seemed to find the heat unbearable as well; his tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was undone.

Jing Hong walked over, resting his arms against the railing, and remarked, “The air conditioning in there is turned up way too high.”

Zhou Chang: “Tell me about it.”

“Peng Zheng just borrowed 50 yuan from me,” Jing Hong mentioned casually, recounting the incident. Zhou Chang let out a low chuckle.

They chatted idly for a while before Jing Hong glanced at his watch: “It’s about time. I’ve been out here for over ten minutes; I’ll head back first.”

“I’ll head back too,” Zhou Chang said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, untied the necktie around his collar, and rebuttoned his shirt. Tilting his head up slightly, his agile fingers deftly re-tied a Windsor knot. He asked Jing Hong, “How does it look? I don’t have a mirror.”

Jing Hong looked at him, sighed, and reached out with both hands. He pulled the narrow end of the tie back out from the Windsor knot, untied it completely, adjusted its position around Zhou Chang’s collar, and set to work. With lowered eyelids, his pale, slender fingers manipulated the fabric with practiced ease.

A few dozen seconds later, a handsome Windsor knot was neatly formed. Finishing up, Jing Hong pushed the knot flush against Zhou Chang’s strikingly seductive throat, remarking, “There’s a group photo later for the press coverage. Don’t look sloppy.”

Zhou Chang raised an eyebrow: “Fair enough.”

Jing Hong gave the tie knot at Zhou Chang’s neck one last adjustment, yet for reasons unknown, before pulling his hands away, he lifted his eyes.

Their gazes collided. On one side was moonlight; on the other, the brilliant light spilling over from the brightly lit hall.

Zhou Chang’s eyes were like deep pools. After a moment, his gaze slid downward as he said, “Young President Jing… your tie looks like it needs to be redone too. As you said, there’s a group photo later for the press.”

“…” Jing Hong remained silent.

Zhou Chang reached out with a few fingers, gently scooping up the two cords of the Bolo tie at Jing Hong’s neck, letting the dangling charms rest lightly in his palm. He inspected it and noted, “One side is longer than the other.”

Without waiting for Jing Hong’s reply, he pulled open the short end of the black cord. Once the tie came completely undone, Zhou Chang adjusted the length on both sides, saying, “It looks better if one side is slightly longer.”

He slid the ruby piece up toward Jing Hong’s neck, gazing intently at Jing Hong’s fair, slender neck, his immaculate shirt collar, and the radiant ruby.

Though Jing Hong’s neck was slender, it was by no means delicate—smooth lines connected it seamlessly to the muscles of his shoulders.

Zhou Chang then tied the two cords in his hands into a knot and pulled them apart to both sides.

Tugging gently at the cords, he lifted his eyelids as well.

Their eyes met once more.

Having unraveled each other’s ties and re-tied them for one another, the warm, dim light spilled through the glass door, bathing the terrace in half-light and half-shadow.

They stared at each other for a long time.

First at each other’s eyes, then down to each other’s lips.

Neither made a move—both knew that in a setting like this, any physical action was out of the question. Thus, they simply allowed themselves to stare shamelessly.

The tight line of Jing Hong’s lips was the first to give way. His lips softened from their stern composure, the cupid’s bow shifting slightly.

The corner of Zhou Chang’s mouth twitched upward in a subtle curve.

The two of them stood at close range, staring at each other’s perfect lip lines for an extended moment, tracing every detail in their minds before locking eyes once more.

In their minds, they relived the sensations of that previous day over and over again.

Pressing together, rubbing against one another, the movements growing fiercer, the touch spreading wider—wishing only that they could go deeper, bordering on madness.

And the muffled low groans that had escaped their throats back then.

In the past, these memories had been savored in secret. But this time, the two of them were reliving it together—staring into each other’s faces, sharing the memory at the exact same time.

A few dozen seconds passed. Remembering that they were still at a charity gala, Jing Hong finally gathered his senses. Breathing heavily, he pressed both hands against Zhou Chang’s chest and pushed him away.