When the near-suffocating kiss finally came to an end, Jing Hong felt as though his tongue and lips had gone completely numb.

He held a hand over his lips, but Zhou Chang somewhat firmly pulled his hand down again, revealing two bright red, thoroughly kissed lips.

Zhou Chang himself was hardly in better shape; catching his breath slightly, he remarked, “President Jing, I’m afraid those Taekwondo lessons of yours were for nothing.”

“Zhou Chang,” Jing Hong warned, “there’s a limit to how far you can provoke me.”

Zhou Chang looked at Jing Hong and chuckled again, asking, “Is President Jing unhappy about always ending up in a passive position? It was like that last time, and it’s the same this time.”

Jing Hong remained silent. Noticing an antique cabinet standing behind Jing Hong, Zhou Chang wrapped his arms around him, lifted him directly onto the cabinet, and tilted his head upward, looking up at Jing Hong from a lower angle: “How about now? Care to take the initiative, President Jing?”

Yet Jing Hong made no move to “take the initiative.” Despite what he said, Zhou Chang’s actions were the exact opposite—seeing Jing Hong remain motionless, he once again wedged his solid, muscular body between Jing Hong’s knees. He then forcefully hooked a hand around the back of Jing Hong’s neck, pulling him downward toward his lips, and kissed him fiercely once more.

In the brief pauses between kisses, Zhou Chang asked softly, “What should we do? I’m provoking you again.”

Before Jing Hong could respond, Zhou Chang muttered to himself, “Guess I’ll have to keep these legs in check, then.”

With that, while continuing the kiss, Zhou Chang placed one hand squarely on one of Jing Hong’s thighs. Kissing him deeply, his hand pressed against the thigh, sliding upward over the fabric of his trousers. Then, as if testing how to properly “keep them in check,” Zhou Chang pulled firmly with his right arm, tucking Jing Hong’s leg tightly against his waist, rubbing against his hip while his palm cupped Jing Hong’s glutes to draw him closer.

With one hand securing Jing Hong’s leg, his other hand supported the back of Jing Hong’s head.

When the kiss ended, Zhou Chang shifted positions once more. His left hand remained behind Jing Hong’s head, but instead of simply holding him, his palm slid downward, pressing two fingers beneath both sides of Jing Hong’s jawline. Looking into Jing Hong’s eyes at point-blank range with those passionate, romantic eyes, he used his fingertips to gently knead the area beneath Jing Hong’s earlobes in circular, inward strokes.

With the back of his neck held tight, the sensitive spot below his ears gently kneaded, his leg secured, and his hips held close… a wave of numbness washed down Jing Hong’s spine and tailbone, leaving his head buzzing with a dizzying sensation.

Moments later, Zhou Chang leaned in to kiss him yet again. He parted Jing Hong’s lips with the tip of his tongue, lightly brushing past his teeth, while his other hand gave a subtle lift to Jing Hong’s chin, driving deep inside once more.

Tempted far too intensely, Jing Hong could no longer hold back. At some unremembered moment, his hands reached out to wrap around Zhou Chang once more, returning the kiss with fervent passion. The air around them grew warm and humid, filled with wet, sensuous sounds.

Holding him close, Zhou Chang longed to strip away the suit fabric beneath his palm to feel the skin directly, to push things further, yet he knew he shouldn’t rush.

When the long kiss finally drew to a close, Jing Hong offered an explanation regarding Jiang Rengui: “We were looking at his tattoo earlier. The GM of Marketing and my new assistant were both there. When he was young, he wanted to be a triad gangster and get an over-the-shoulder dragon, but the tattoo artist refused, saying he couldn’t carry that kind of weight and that it would ruin his fortune. He threw a fit and insisted on getting it, so while Jiang Rengui was asleep under anesthesia, the artist tattooed the Chinese character for ‘Dragon’ on his shoulder—in regular script.”

“…” Zhou Chang said, “I’m speechless.”

Just as Jing Hong was about to say something more, two or three light knocks sounded against the door. Jiang Rengui’s voice called from outside: “President Jing, are you asleep? An issue came up with one of the products. Could you come over for a moment so we can discuss it? The battery manufacturer mentioned there’s a slight problem.”

Gathering his composure, Jing Hong called out, “Alright.”

Zhou Chang lifted Jing Hong down from the cabinet and helped straighten his shirt before stepping out onto the balcony to stay out of sight of the Fanhai staff. Jing Hong was hit by a bizarre sensation of being caught in an illicit affair.

He walked over to the neighboring room with Jiang Rengui, sending Zhou Chang a message along the way to tell him to head back to his own room first.

The issue was resolved quickly, and Jing Hong slept until dawn.

To be precise, his sleep was filled with a flurry of chaotic, explicit dreams—dreams where they resembled two wild male beasts. This time, the dreams were no longer as polite or restrained as in the past; some barrier had been shattered. A man lay pressed over him, making his entire body throb with a deep, restless heat. Half-awake and half-dreaming, he raised his knees, his fingers tracing over himself, reaching a frantic climax both inside the dream and in reality.

Early the next morning, after getting out of bed, Jing Hong casually glanced through his messaging app and saw a message from Zhou Chang sent earlier: 【Grab some breakfast?】

After a brief thought, Jing Hong replied: 【Sure.】

It wasn’t until they walked over to a restaurant highly recommended by the hotel front desk that Jing Hong realized it was actually a wildly popular viral spot. People were bustling in and out, and there wasn’t a single vacant seat in sight.

Jing Hong frowned slightly and said, “Let’s go, forget it.”

It had been years since he last ate at a place like this.

“Time is precious, why give up?” True to his usual uninhibited nature, Zhou Chang unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and walked straight up to the restaurant counter to order two cups of popular local soup—one was Hungary’s famous goulash, while the other was a different variety.

The soups were pre-made and served swiftly in two paper cups.

Carrying the two cups, Zhou Chang walked casually outside the restaurant, gesturing for Jing Hong to pull out a fork: “I’ll hold them—want to try a taste?”

“…” Jing Hong realized Zhou Chang truly fit in anywhere, whether at a Michelin-starred restaurant or a casual street stand.

Though Jing Hong quickly recalled that Zhou Chang had once been served moldy blueberries at a Michelin restaurant anyway.

Without standing on ceremony, Jing Hong pulled out a fork and took a couple of bites of the goulash directly from the cup in Zhou Chang’s hand.

It was actually quite good.

After a few bites, Zhou Chang raised his right wrist slightly: “Try this one too.”

Nodding, Jing Hong sampled a couple of bites from the other cup as well.

Jing Hong didn’t eat much—he was simply tasting it. After a few bites from each cup, he stopped and said to Zhou Chang, “That’s enough, I’m good. It’s not bad, nice for a change.” In truth, he had lost interest in fine food long ago; his schedule was far too packed, and his three daily meals were usually just rushed formalities. He wasn’t even sure why he had agreed to come out with Zhou Chang this morning.

Zhou Chang didn’t push him. Jing Hong asked, “Are you going to buy two cups for yourself to taste?” He knew Zhou Chang certainly didn’t lack money.

Instead, Zhou Chang handed the cup in his right hand to Jing Hong, took the fork from his hand, and looked at him with a subtle half-smile: “Why would I mind your saliva? Do I look out of my mind to you?”

With that, he scooped a generous piece of beef into his mouth.

Since it was just a quick taste while standing on the street, Zhou Chang didn’t eat much either.

Half a minute later, both paper cups ended up in the trash bin by the curb.

With some time left after breakfast, Jing Hong and Zhou Chang strolled along the avenue toward the hotel.

As they walked, Zhou Chang glanced toward a small shop selling framed art. Perhaps owing to the expressive, passionate nature of Hungarians, many paintings on the shop’s wall featured partially exposed human figures. The artwork Zhou Chang was currently looking at was far more direct: two half-nude men kissing, with one man’s back turned to the viewer, partially obscuring the other. The center of the piece featured a large expanse of a bare back—young, firm, and sculpted.

Jing Hong teased, “What are you looking at, President Zhou?”

Zhou Chang continued walking, his eyes still fixed on the painting as he remarked, “His back looks like yours.”

“…” Jing Hong couldn’t help but glance over as well.

An expanse of fair, muscle-draped skin—far from frail, but young, smooth, powerful, and elastic. It featured structured shoulders, flared scapulae, a subtle spinal groove, a tapered waist, and distinct dimples above the hips.

And right now, resting atop that back were a pair of male hands. The hands were noticeably darker in tone, resting against the bare skin as they held the other man’s shoulders, eyes cast downward, kissing him. The knuckles were defined, gripping the lover’s back so firmly that the fingertips turned pale.

Jing Hong remained silent.

The two continued forward. As an expressive Hungarian girl walked toward them, she caught sight of Zhou Chang and suddenly gasped, “Oh my God…” As she passed by him, she called out loudly in his direction: “Szeretlek!”

Jing Hong asked Zhou Chang, “What does that mean?”

Zhou Chang let out a low laugh: “How should I know? It’s Hungarian.”

“How did she pronounce it?”

Zhou Chang recalled: “Sounds like Szeretlek?”

“I remember that sound too,” Jing Hong repeated it twice. “Szeretlek? Szeretlek. Is that right?”

“Close enough. Szeretlek,” Zhou Chang said. “Probably not a polite word.”

After repeating “Szeretlek” a few times to confirm the pronunciation, Jing Hong opened an AI voice translation app, set the language to “Hungarian,” and spoke clearly into the microphone: “Szeretlek.”

The app instantly gave its translation: “I love you.”

Zhou Chang cast a brief glance over: “Well then, the first time the two of us say that word, we end up giving it away like this. Good thing it was to each other.”

This time, Jing Hong surprisingly didn’t get annoyed. With a slight smirk, he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

Later, they passed by a music shop. As they walked past the entrance, Zhou Chang suddenly paused and asked, “Want to take a look inside?”

Since there was still time to spare, Jing Hong nodded: “Sure.”

The shop was large, stocking traditional Hungarian instruments like the cimbalom alongside various classic Western instruments.

The female store manager greeted them and asked what they were looking for. Zhou Chang unexpectedly pointed to a drum kit in the corner and asked, “Can I try it out?”

The answer was naturally yes, but Jing Hong was thoroughly surprised: “…?”

Zhou Chang calmly took a seat on the stool, rolled up his sleeves, picked up the drumsticks, and said, “I don’t think anyone knows this, but my father insisted that his son had to learn an instrument back then. I found it annoying, so I tried a single lesson of every kind and finally chose this one. It felt a bit more thrilling. I even joined a friend’s band during my freshman year of college.”

“…” Jing Hong was genuinely speechless, remarking, “You really were quite wild in your youth, President Zhou.”

Zhou Chang smiled casually: “That was over a decade ago.”

Jing Hong said nothing more. Zhou Chang let out an indifferent smile, exposing his muscular forearms, and actually played a remarkably smooth, impressive rhythm. After finishing the beat, Zhou Chang set the drumsticks down and said, “Now, in the entire tech industry, you’re the only one who knows about this dark history of mine, President Jing.”

“It’s not dark history,” Jing Hong teased. “Call it President Zhou’s wild youth.”

“Fair enough,” Zhou Chang stood up. “Wild youth it is.”

Jing Hong noted, “Usually, people from your background play the piano or something similar.”

Zhou Chang replied, “I learned that too, but I didn’t find it thrilling enough at the time.”

Hearing that, Jing Hong offered a mild jab: “Rock climbing, combat sports, riding motorcycles, playing the drums… thrills or not, take it easy in the future.” Though Zhou Chang had mentioned these were mostly from over a decade ago.

“Sure,” Zhou Chang replied offhandedly. “Once I’m done serving you, I won’t have any energy left anyway, so I won’t be able to do much else.”

“…” Jing Hong asked, “What was that piece you just played?”

“They’re all pretty much the same,” Zhou Chang said. “The mortal world, passionate men and women, loving each other back and forth.”

Jing Hong raised his eyes to look at Zhou Chang.

Zhou Chang also raised his gaze while adjusting his sleeves, their eyes locking. Zhou Chang continued softly, “Living for you, dying for you.”

Inexplicably, Jing Hong was reminded of what Zhou Chang had once said—“I’m already prepared to fall into eternal damnation.”

He let out a long, quiet breath.

Stepping out of the music shop, very little time remained. Jing Hong needed to return to the hotel to pack up and head to San Francisco, while Zhou Chang intended to visit the Hungarian battery base. The two prepared to say goodbye right there.

“Well then, President Zhou,” Jing Hong said, “until next time.”

“Until next time.”

However, just as Jing Hong turned around to step into a taxi, Zhou Chang spoke up behind him once more: “President Jing, Budapest really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jing Hong paused in his tracks, looked back at Zhou Chang, and replied: “Yes. Budapest is truly magnificent.”