Reply to Keats - Chap 51
51. The Unpredictability of Storms
After a short while, Fang Jian entered, and Zhao Shengge and Xu Zhiying paused their conversation.
Fang Jian disliked associating with people obsessed with the pursuit of fame and fortune. Although Chen Wan was also a businessman, he lacked that flashy, superficial stench of money. In fact, when he worked, he carried a hint of scholarly air. His temperament was steady, making him a truly promising candidate for scientific research. Fang Jian had even asked several times whether Chen Wan was interested in pursuing a master’s or doctoral degree under him, but Chen Wan had politely declined each time.
Chen Wan was the kind of person who easily drew out others’ urge to confide. Before he realized it, Fang Jian found himself once again sharing many of his own thoughts with him—speaking more warmly than he did with his graduate students.
Once they disembarked, someone sent by Li Shenghui arrived to receive them. Chen Wan wasn’t surprised; he had already suspected that Zhao Shengge might have reached some kind of agreement with the other party before their departure.
The man who came to fetch them was respectful in manner. The people accompanying Zhao Shengge appeared at ease, but Chen Wan could still clearly sense that every movement from both sides carried an unspoken contest playing out beneath the surface.
The sea was calm and tranquil, but beneath it, undercurrents surged. It was nothing more than the calm before the storm.
Upon arriving at the estate, Li Shenghui personally came out to greet them and shook hands with Zhao Shengge.
Blending quietly into a corner of the group, Chen Wan took the opportunity to observe this local powerhouse of Ting Island. In his early forties, Li Shenghui was short but sturdy, with the deeply tanned complexion typical of the Li ethnic fishermen in the region. His smile appeared sincere and warm.
They dined together, and the atmosphere was fairly lively. After the meal, Li Shenghui said he had prepared rooms for them to rest, but added that he would like to invite Zhao Shengge to privately sample a special tea from their tropical tea garden.
That word “privately” carried subtle weight.
The tea room was located in another villa, and even by sightseeing vehicle, it took several minutes to reach. Chen Wan instinctively touched the Rose Beretta at his waist.
He wanted to follow.
But he couldn’t. The invitation was clearly for a private conversation, and even the bodyguards were only permitted to escort them to the door.
Zhao Shengge gave him a glance, then left with the man.
Chen Wan was escorted to one of the guest rooms, but he couldn’t relax. He had no interest in admiring the countryside or indulging in the luxurious single-person hot spring. His attention was fully focused on listening, straining to catch even the faintest disturbance within a ten-mile radius. At the slightest sign of trouble, he would rush to Zhao Shengge’s side without hesitation.
But the entire estate remained eerily peaceful. He could even hear the occasional lazy meow of a cat and the steady rhythm of waves lapping against the nearby shore.
As evening approached and the chorus of cicadas grew louder, Chen Wan could no longer sit still. He made his way to the garden nearest the teahouse.
A few passing servants asked if he needed anything. He simply said he’d come down to clear his mind.
He wandered the garden for a while. The sun dipped behind the hills, but Zhao Shengge still hadn’t emerged from the hidden tea room.
It had been far too long.
From a distance, he could see someone still standing guard at the door. Once again, Chen Wan’s hand moved to the compact and formidable Beretta at his waist.
A cold sweat had formed in his palm.
Though fully aware that numerous hidden gunmen were stationed throughout the area, that Zhao Shengge himself was highly skilled, and that Li Shenghui had no reason to jeopardize his own livelihood—making it unlikely anything would actually happen—Chen Wan still couldn’t feel at ease. He couldn’t tolerate even the slightest chance of Zhao Shengge being harmed.
Half an hour.
Chen Wan’s gaze turned sharp and cold.
No more than half an hour. If Zhao Shengge hadn’t come out of the tea room by then, he would go in himself.
When Zhao Shengge and Li Shenghui finally emerged, still chatting, a tall, upright figure stood silently beneath the Bauhinia tree. His bearing was refined like jade. In the glow of dusk, his long neck gleamed pale against the fading light.
But his expression was hidden in the shade of the tree, unclear. Even bathed in golden sunset, he seemed distant and shadowed.
“Chen Wan.”
Chen Wan looked up and met Zhao Shengge’s dark eyes head-on.
Though they’d only been apart for a few hours, it felt as if millions of years had passed.
In that brief yet seemingly eternal exchange of glances, Chen Wan swiftly and meticulously studied Zhao Shengge’s eyes, face, and body… Only when he confirmed that the man was completely unharmed did he allow himself a faint smile and offer a casual greeting.
No one could have guessed what kind of cold, murderous intent had been lurking in those beautiful eyes just moments earlier—had Zhao Shengge been even a few minutes later…
Li Shenghui also smiled, and in slightly unpolished Mandarin, said, “Mr. Chen, were you waiting here for Mr. Zhao?”
Chen Wan smiled, and the sunset above seemed to glow a little brighter. “I came to admire Mr. Li’s beautiful back garden.”
Li Shenghui looked at him meaningfully for a few seconds, then suddenly said, “Mr. Chen, haven’t we met before? I thought you looked familiar even at lunch.”
Chen Wan’s smile didn’t waver. Calm and composed, he replied, “If Mr. Li visits Haishi often, it’s no surprise. Haishi’s not that big a place.”
Li Shenghui seemed about to say more, but Zhao Shengge took a subtle half-step forward, just enough to block his line of sight to Chen Wan, and said, “Let’s head inside. The sun’s too strong.”
Li Shenghui invited the group to dinner. Perhaps the afternoon meeting had gone well—there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. The mood that evening was far more relaxed than when they had first disembarked. Even Xu Zhiying had a few drinks with Li Shenghui. Only Dr. Fang, who believed alcohol damaged the brain, refrained entirely.
Still, Xu Zhiying stuck to red wine. The white spirits were left to Zhao Shengge and Chen Wan; there was no need for the ladies to partake.
The next day, Xu Zhiying stayed behind at the estate to play mahjong with Li Shenghui’s wife and several concubines.
Fang Jian began his subsea monitoring work, while Chen Wan and Zhao Shengge left together to address unresolved issues from their previous plan.
Their research vessel and unmanned boat had yet to arrive, so Li Shenghui arranged for escorts to take them out to sea and even had local indigenous people accompany them for a better understanding of the surrounding environment.
The sky was overcast that day and the waves were strong—ideal conditions for collecting pressure data and risk management metrics.
In the open ocean, the view stretched endlessly, with no cover in sight. The swells surged and rolled more violently, but the offshore pipeline project covered a vast area. Their boat had to travel across hundreds of square nautical miles. Given the inevitable margin of error in transmitting signals from inside the cabin, they could only observe from the deck and collect data in real time.
All students and crew members were equipped with professional protective gear.
Zhao Shengge was studying the live color display on the detection monitor, listening as Fang Jian explained where to bore through the ocean ridge or fill in a trench, along with the construction schedule and budget.
As they moved deeper into the sea, the wind picked up. This wasn’t a specialized research vessel, and with its shallow draft, it was more vulnerable to turbulence. A tall wave struck, jolting the cabin violently on impact.
The UV umbrella was blown away, and both Chen Wan and Zhao Shengge instinctively grabbed onto each other.
Chen Wan had great strength. Without thinking, he shielded Zhao Shengge behind him and held him tightly, his grip so firm it bordered on painful.
Zhao Shengge, in turn, pulled Chen Wan close and pinned him between himself and the mast, refusing to let the wind and waves sweep him away.
The sudden squall lasted a minute or two. The entire vessel fell into disarray. Those exposed on deck instinctively huddled together in small clusters, bracing against the danger. Zhao Shengge and Chen Wan remained tightly pressed against one another, like two trees locked together in a maritime storm, with their trunks side by side and branches wrapped around each other.
When the wind finally passed, Chen Wan realized that Zhao Shengge had encircled him like a wall, taking the brunt of the sea’s unpredictable fury.
Zhao Shengge’s grip was unyielding, like chains locking Chen Wan in place. Chen Wan, for his part, had crumpled Zhao Shengge’s shirt with his own tight grasp.
“……”
They looked at each other for a moment. Chen Wan was the first to release his hold. He glanced off into the distance, blinked, and said, “The wind’s really strong.”
But Zhao Shengge didn’t move away. He only lowered his head slightly, his gaze calm as he looked at Chen Wan and said softly, “Mm. Don’t wander off.”
Chen Wan nodded, thinking to himself: I won’t take a single step away from you.
They continued working. After Fang Jian finished collecting some of the data, he returned to the cabin with the students to rest. Seeing that Chen Wan remained at his side, clearly with no intention of leaving, Zhao Shengge said, “Chen Wan.”
“Go get some rest.”
“I’m fine.” After all, they were still in someone else’s territory. Chen Wan couldn’t fully let down his guard. He needed to be 200% sure Zhao Shengge was safe—preferably within arm’s reach. Until they were back in Haishi, he didn’t want to stray too far from him. “I’m not tired.”
Zhao Shengge leaned against the mast. In front of him stretched the vast, blue ocean. The sea breeze filled his shirt like a sail. He looked at Chen Wan for a while, then suddenly asked, “What were you trying to do yesterday?”
Chen Wan, who had been gazing out at the sea, slowly turned his head, as if he hadn’t quite heard. “Hm?”
Zhao Shengge’s eyes were dark and steady, his tone quiet. “Yesterday afternoon. Outside the tea room. What were you trying to do?”
Chen Wan replied evenly and naturally, “I went to the garden to clear my head.”
In the distance, the sea stirred with swelling waves again, as though another gust was on its way.
Zhao Shengge watched him silently, then asked in a soft voice, “Is that so?”
Chen Wan’s eyes were open and clear—like the unclouded sea, betraying nothing. “Yes.”
So Zhao Shengge believed him. He nodded and didn’t press further. He only asked, “Chen Wan, can you protect yourself?”
Chen Wan felt a jolt inside. The cold metal of the Beretta pressing against his waist reminded him it had never left his side. He smiled faintly and replied to Zhao Shengge, “I can.”
Night fell, and the yacht began its return journey. There were no scheduled activities that evening. Li Shenghui displayed ample sincerity and hospitality, preparing a variety of local specialties. The four of them shared a relatively relaxed dinner.
Fang Jian, full of enthusiasm, reported the findings and progress from the past two days to the two project leads. He also delivered a speech on upgrading the offshore oil platform’s trestle bridge and the floating construction system for the pipelines.
Throughout the meal, only Chen Wan responded with genuine interest and engagement. He also stepped in to serve as interpreter and commentator when needed, keeping the dinner conversation from growing too dull.
After a long day, the meal concluded, and everyone returned to their rooms to rest.
Chen Wan made a phone call to Song Qingmiao, but, as before, it went unanswered.
Since their last unpleasant disagreement over the divestment of Rongxin shares, Song Qingmiao hadn’t replied to any of Chen Wan’s messages or answered his calls.
Still, Chen Wan continued to transfer money to his mother on schedule and quietly monitored her spending—partly out of fear she might go astray, and partly out of concern she might be mistreated in the Chen household.
The investigator reported nothing unusual in the flow of funds, which meant Song Qingmiao truly didn’t want to speak to him anymore. Although Chen Wan had long since stopped holding any real expectations of his mother, the emotional dip was still hard to shake. He decided to go out for a walk, without planning to go far.
The villa had a rooftop garden, and as he passed by, he heard the sound of splashing—someone was swimming.
The blue water shimmered under the lights. A tall man was in the pool, his abdominal muscles just visible beneath the surface. Droplets of water slid down his sharply defined features. Standing motionless under the moonlight, he radiated a natural aura of quiet dominance.
Chen Wan paused, momentarily awed. He couldn’t guarantee that, if he kept watching, he’d remain within the bounds of propriety. He turned quietly to leave, but as he moved, a few droplets splashed onto the hem of his pants.
Behind him came a laid-back voice.
“Where are you going?”
