A few days later, Fanhai’s annual gala arrived quietly.

Early in the morning, Fanhai Group distributed New Year gift boxes one by one to its employees. The contents inside were nothing short of luxurious—a plush doll, a monthly calendar, a neck massager, a smart jump rope, an air fryer, and a healthy snack gift pack, covering every imaginable aspect.

In addition, inside the gift box was a handwritten “family letter” from Jing Hong—expressing gratitude to Fanhai’s employees and their family members—along with a handwritten bookmark from Jing Hong: [Year after year, walking side by side on this journey.]

Certain high-profit departments received even more commemorative gifts.

Several employees immediately posted these items online, instantly drawing a wave of comments:

【MyMentalStateIsUnstable: Big tech company benefits, I’m so envious.】

【LinDaiyuOutsmartingTigerMountain: Benefits you only get after grinding yourselves to death…】

【MostQuietPersonInTheWorldHahaha: Our company gave us 50 eggs…】

【IceCreamScoopDropped: Our company gave us a bucket of soybean oil! Damn it, not peanut oil, not even vegetable oil, but soybean oil!!! I was flabbergasted—it’s almost 2020, soybean oil???】

Some netizens focused on rather niche details:

【JinjiangAntiSmutSquadLeader: Handwritten by Jing Hong? Jing Hong’s handwriting is this beautiful?】

【SillySweetKingdomKing: What do you mean “handwritten by Jing Hong”? Jing Hong wrote hundreds of thousands of copies?】

【JinjiangAntiSmutSquadLeader replying to @SillySweetKingdomKing: Replying to the commenter above—calling for some IQ here… Jing Hong handwritten just one copy, and Fanhai printed hundreds of thousands of them. Jing Hong handwriting hundreds of thousands of copies, you sure have a wild imagination.】

By evening, Fanhai’s annual gala officially kicked off, held at a grand auditorium in Beijing.

Prior to today, various departments had also organized their own departmental activities—for instance, renting out a whole theme park after its closing hours to hold their gala.

Tonight’s company-wide event had limited seating capacity, so Fanhai employees had to enter a raffle for tickets, while everyone else could only watch online.

Fanhai’s annual gala was sometimes held in stadiums or arenas to accommodate more people, but this year it was hosted in a grand auditorium.

Jing Hong sat in the fourth row.

In a grand auditorium, the viewing angle from the first three rows was too low, making them less ideal seats.

Beside Jing Hong sat Fanhai’s CMO (Chief Marketing Officer), a capable woman in her 40s who had previously served as the Greater China CEO of a top 4A international advertising agency. When chatting with Jing Hong, she referred to the annual gala as “Wei Ya”—most of these 4A ad agencies’ first Greater China headquarters were established in Hong Kong or Taiwan, with a few even having their regional headquarters there, thus following the terminology from those regions to call the end-of-year gala “Wei Ya.”

Fascinatingly, rumor had it that she was also an online web novel writer. Her office had transparent glass walls on all sides; once, around midnight, she was caught not going home to be with her kid, dumping her younger daughter on her husband while writing business war novels in her office.

The evening gala started punctually at seven o’clock.

The host was a young woman from Fanhai Group’s HR department. After the opening, Jing Hong was invited up to the front stage first to deliver his remarks.

Jing Hong noted that the past year hadn’t been easy, but every employee at Fanhai had exerted their maximum potential. Ultimately, the company overcame hurdles, conquered resistance, and remained on the right track. He thanked everyone and also expressed gratitude on behalf of Chairman Jing Haiping.

In the online broadcast’s bullet comments, a massive sea of “Hello Mr. Jing,” “Hello Little Executive Director Jing,” “Hard work, comrades,” and “Serving the people” kept scrolling across the screen, to the point where even Jing Hong’s face was submerged beneath Fanhai employees’ comments.

The opening performance was a mascot dance.

A large crowd of “Fanhai mascots” bounced and jumped around in neat formation, looking delightfully clumsy and instantly heating up the atmosphere.

The HR department certainly knew how to arrange things.

In the middle of the performance, one mascot tripped and fell, but no matter how it tried, it couldn’t scramble back up on its own. In the end, it could only lie on the stage and roll around to signal that it “couldn’t get up.” Several mascots around it hastily gathered around, tugging, pushing, and propping it up until, after a massive effort, it finally stood on the ground again.

The entire hall erupted in a roar of laughter, though many only realized at the very end that this little interlude was scripted and part of the act.

Next came singing and dancing performances by celebrities, as well as various acts by Fanhai employees—songs, dances, crosstalk comedy, sketches, stand-up comedy, magic tricks… interwoven with prize raffles and more.

Interspersed among the song and dance categories were quite a few infectious, brainwashing songs and quirky dances, driving the atmosphere higher and higher.

Of course, because they had to avoid songs and dances that had gone viral on Qinghui’s platform so as not to drive hype to their rival, Fanhai employees’ options were somewhat limited.

The employees’ crosstalk and comedy sketches were all immensely entertaining, repeatedly referencing the IT industry, workplace realities, and so forth.

For instance, a certain Senior Vice President who graduated from Tsinghua University recounted his “famous quote” once again: “In high school, to get into Tsinghua, I did practice problems every day until my eyes went bad. What were other people doing at that time? Dating girls. Later, after getting into Tsinghua, to go to the US, I did practice problems every day until my eyes went bad. What were other people doing at that time? Dating girls. Even later, after going to the US, to land a good job, I did practice problems every day until my eyes went bad. What were other people doing at that time? Dating girls. Later on, after joining a Fortune 500 company, there were still no girls dating me…”

The “doing practice problems every day” parallel sentence structure was exceptionally famous throughout the entire IT sector.

Another girl said: “When I was 15, I got my first computer. After learning how to surf the web, my worldview became like Adobe Reader—forced to update every two or three days. There really are all kinds of people on the internet!”

Jing Hong laughed along with everyone else.

In this rare venue where people could let loose, quite a few also brought up some of the chaotic phenomena within big tech firms, adding a weight of seriousness amid the laughter.

When a certain celebrity was singing on stage, Jing Hong’s thoughts drifted back to Peng Zheng.

Peng Zheng loved singing, and he had several male and female idols from his youth. During previous years’ “Xingyuan Annual Galas,” Peng Zheng made a point every single year to invite his idols from back in the day to sing duets with him, mostly classic oldies.

However, Peng Zheng sang off-key so severely that he was a nightmare for celebrities—a literal hell for stars. Thus, the “Xingyuan Annual Gala” gained quite a reputation, instantly becoming a venue for celebrities to “crash and burn.”

As long as anyone sang a duet with Peng Zheng, no matter how powerhouse a vocalist they were, they would invariably be dragged off-pitch.

In 2017, right before everyone’s eyes, a pop diva was dragged off-key.

In 2018, right before everyone’s eyes, a pop king was dragged off-key as well.

Every single one was a total trainwreck.

Jing Hong felt Peng Zheng was quite an extraordinary character, yet Jing Hong actually liked Peng Zheng quite a bit, because the man was genuinely loyal and honorable.

Peng Zheng was the only returnee boss among the “Big Four.” That year, a total of 28 Chinese students received that specific scholarship, and Peng Zheng was the sole individual among those 28 who chose to return to China—all because his girlfriend at the time, who later became his wife, was in China. Back then, his parents strongly opposed his giving up “staying in the US,” yet Peng Zheng obstinately insisted on his own path. This single incident was enough to reveal the man’s core character.

Jing Hong didn’t care for singing, nor did he harbor any male or female idols, and the same went for Jing Haiping. The celebrity singers who came to Fanhai had always remained perfectly safe.

Act after act passed by, until the gala finally reached its grand climax—Fanhai Group’s executives performing a collective “girl group dance”!

There were a dozen or so executives at Fanhai Group’s Beijing headquarters in total. A few were keenly interested, while others felt quite the opposite, even engaging in several lively debates with the HR General Manager over “whether their current position truly counted as a Fanhai executive.” In the end, Jing Hong made the call: every single “executive” listed on Fanhai’s web page was required to participate.

Amid universal anticipation, Jing Hong and the others walked onto the stage, waiting quietly.

Then a beam of light shone down, dynamic music started playing, and right in the spotlight, Jing Hong yanked off his tie in one swift motion, throwing it to the side of the stage with a flick of his wrist.

A wave of screams instantly erupted across the venue.

Jing Hong then stripped off his suit jacket, tossing it to the side of the stage as well, wearing only his crisp white dress shirt and black trousers. The atmosphere below the stage went utterly wild, the ear-splitting screams unceasing: “Ahhh!!! Mr. Jing!!! Mr. Jing!!! We love you!!!”

The dance commenced, and all the executives started dancing together, including a few with big beer bellies.

Everyone possessed extremely high intelligence, so memorizing the steps wasn’t difficult, but most of Fanhai’s executives had remarkably uncoordinated limbs, looking awkward and hilarious, perpetually failing to keep up with the rhythm.

Even Zhang Li herself was no exception. While learning it, she kept complaining that “she had dug a pit for herself” and that “she had it coming today.”

The ones who danced the best turned out to be the two female executives in their 40s—the HR General Manager and the CMO—and… Jing Hong.

Jing Hong didn’t slack off or fake his way through; he danced quite earnestly, though his expression remained cool and detached.

Squatting down, standing up, raising hands, lifting knees, turning around, swaying hips, lifting glutes, shaking shoulders, stepping forward and stepping back—the movements were youthful, lively, and brimming with energy. Curiously enough, perhaps due to his physique, or perhaps due to his precise control of force, paired with that cool expression, Jing Hong’s dancing didn’t appear flirtatious or funny at all. Instead, it exuded an exceptionally unique, carefree elegance.

Jing Hong was unequivocally the absolute focal point of everyone’s vision below the stage. Even if he hadn’t been standing in that position, or holding that status, he still would have stolen every bit of attention.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!” screaming erupted from below the stage. “Mr. Jing!!! Dance King!!! Dance King!!!” “Mr. Jing center-position debut!!! Must debut in center position!!!” “Mr. Jing, we’re voting—we’ll definitely vote for you, Mr. Jing!!!” “One vote from you, one vote from me, our Mr. Jing is gonna debut!!!” “Go for it, Mr. Jing!!! Sweep through the entertainment industry!!!” “Fast-forward straight to Mr. Jing starring in an idol drama!!! Playing a domineering CEO!!!” “Fast-forward straight to Mr. Jing becoming a top-tier superstar, blowing up worldwide!!!” “Mr. Jing, the new generation’s heartthrob of Planet Earth!!!”

In the online livestream, the bullet comments were so dense they were staggering.

Finally, the music came to an end, and the pose froze for a few seconds. Jing Hong panted lightly before waving his hand toward the audience, wiping off his expression, walking to the side of the stage to pick up his suit jacket and tie, and stepping down.

The venue truly went wild. Keywords like “Jing Hong Girl Group Dance,” “Jing Hong Dance King,” and “Fanhai Annual Gala” even trended on the hot search list that very night.

Raw fan-fancam footage also spread like wildfire across major video platforms.

…………

Afterward, Jing Hong didn’t return to the gala venue, heading straight to Zhou Chang’s house instead.

Zhou Chang opened the main door, asking with a smile: “Finished dancing your girl group dance?”

“Finished,” Jing Hong untied his tie as he walked inside, not particularly minding. “The atmosphere on-site was pretty good.”

Bringing a bit of joy to the employees was something he was happy to do.

“I know,” Zhou Chang’s dark eyes looked at Jing Hong with deep meaning. “The fancams are already online. Little Executive Director Jing danced the best.”

“…” Not particularly wanting Zhou Chang to see that, Jing Hong said: “Just something to amuse the company employees. Once a year.”

Anyone knew that tomorrow, he would be back to being Fanhai Group’s high-and-mighty, proper CEO once more.

“True,” Zhou Chang followed behind Jing Hong, before suddenly noticing something slightly off about Jing Hong’s trousers. Pressing down with his large hand, he asked: “What’s this?”

A few seconds later, Zhou Chang seemed to realize what that object was. Letting out a deep chuckle, he pressed close to one of Jing Hong’s ears and asked softly: “Little Executive Director Jing, you’re even wearing shirt stays?”

“…” Jing Hong froze in place, lowering his voice to warn Zhou Chang: “Shirt stays are necessary. That dance involved huge movements. Without these, the dress shirt would slip completely out. This keeps the shirt above secured inside the pants.”

Zhou Chang, however, said no more, embracing Jing Hong from behind as his nimble fingers gently unbuckled his belt.

Jing Hong: “…………”

Soon, the trousers dropped to the floor.

Two black elastic leg bands were tightly wrapped around Jing Hong’s thighs. Jing Hong’s legs were by no means thin or weak; on the contrary, the muscles were well-defined. Right now, the fair muscles paired with the black leg bands created a stark, vivid contrast. On each band, three straps extended upward along the thigh—also black—located on the front, back, and side of the thigh respectively, ending in three steel clips fastened to Jing Hong’s white dress shirt.

Due to the elasticity, a ring of muscle on Jing Hong’s thighs was indented inward.

Resembling a man’s garter belt.

Zhou Chang unbuttoned his shirt as well.

One, two, three buttons.

Zhou Chang didn’t unbutton it completely, leaving the bottom two or three fastened.

As the two kissed, Zhou Chang scooped up Jing Hong’s knees, letting Jing Hong wrap his arms around his neck, taking a few strides to the living room sofa, sitting down, and settling the other man onto his lap.

The passionate atmosphere from the company gala just moments ago instantly drifted far away; only each other remained in their eyes.

…………

An hour later, Jing Hong lay lazily on his side in bed, unwilling to move.

However, there was still one more thing.

Lying there, Jing Hong said in a languid voice: “Zhou Chang, on the cabinet by the front door, there’s a handwritten letter from me. Take a look.”

Zhou Chang paused, then nodded gently: “Okay.”

With that, Zhou Chang went downstairs.

Walking to the entrance, he found that on the cabinet by the door indeed rested a handwritten letter addressed “To the family members of Fanhai’s employees,” alongside a bookmark.

Zhou Chang gently opened the letter, and Jing Hong’s handwriting met his eyes.

It wasn’t a printed copy, but a genuine handwritten letter. The fountain pen ink settled on the paper, emanating a faint fragrance of ink. The color was noticeably different from a printout, bearing a subtle, delicate sheen under the light.

Identical to the ones for employee families, the content also reflected on this entire year. However, in this letter, what Jing Hong reflected upon wasn’t Fanhai Group’s year, but their year together as two individuals.

Jing Hong’s handwriting was bold and powerful:

【Dear Zhou Chang,

The first year of us being together is about to pass.

In this past year, and the year before that, we strolled through water towns in Jiangnan; walked along the shores of the Indian Ocean; took in the Beijing nightscape; crossed the vast desert; and toured Budapest together.

Framed, shorted, threatened—amid all sorts of crises, the two of us walked side-by-side.

Gifted with the family photo album, deeply meaningful.

Grateful for this year, looking forward to the next.

Yours,

Jing Hong】

At the bottom was his familiar, flowing “Jing Hong” signature.

A simple English word at the salutation and sign-off each—the most common conventions in letter writing often used interchangeably in foreign enterprises—yet for some reason, at this moment, a “Dear” and a “Yours” carried an irresistible, captivating romance.

Beneath the letter lay a bookmark as well.

Zhou Chang looked at it and realized it was the original version of Jing Hong’s “handwritten bookmark,” the handwriting completely identical.

[Year after year, walking side by side on this journey.]

Over a hundred thousand new and veteran employees of Fanhai Group received printed bookmarks, yet Jing Hong had gifted the original version of this bookmark to Zhou Chang. His unique place went without saying.

“…” Holding these items, Zhou Chang went into the study to safely store and tuck them away, before returning to the second-floor master bedroom.

Jing Hong was still lying on the bed, half-asleep and half-awake.

Zhou Chang embraced him from behind, asking: “Going to take a shower? Wash up before sleeping.”

“Mm,” Jing Hong murmured in response, “in a moment.”

At this moment, Zhou Chang’s heart was filled with tender affection. Holding Jing Hong from behind, one hand grasping Jing Hong’s hand, he said: “I read the handwritten letter. Thank you.”

Jing Hong gave a faint laugh: “…You’re welcome.”

Zhou Chang squeezed Jing Hong’s hand, flipped it over, and glanced at it casually, before sounding as if he had discovered a new continent: “Our Mr. Jing’s palm lines—your career line goes straight to the heavens.”

Jing Hong swept a glance at Zhou Chang, his tone slightly mocking: “Mr. Zhou even understands this stuff? The big CEO of a tech company?”

“Know a little,” Zhou Chang said shameless as ever, continuing, “Your life line is very long, too.”

Jing Hong: “…”

“The heart line… doesn’t fork at the end, completely clean. Devoted to one single person for a lifetime.”

“…” Jing Hong let out a soft smirk. “This stuff is fake. A big CEO of a tech company like you actually believes in this?”

“Is that so? I actually think it’s quite accurate for you.” Zhou Chang held Jing Hong’s hand, looking at that line for a moment, before suddenly bringing it to his own lips and behind Jing Hong’s shoulder, softly dropping a kiss right at the tip of that fine line under the hazy moonlight.