Reply to Keats - Chap 52
52. Siren
Chen Wan paused for a moment, then slowly turned around.
“Chen Wan,” Zhao Shengge reproached him, “you’re just going to leave after sneaking a look?”
“…”
Leaning against the edge of the pool, Zhao Shengge beckoned to him.
Chen Wan could clearly feel his blood and certain parts of his body begin to burn, but he kept his expression composed as he walked to the poolside. He wasn’t used to looking down at Zhao Shengge, so he squatted, pulled at the corner of his mouth, and smiled as he complimented him, “Zhao Shengge, you swim really fast.”
Zhao Shengge raised an eyebrow. “You were watching?”
Chen Wan felt guilty. He gave an awkward smile and said, “Mr. Zhao, what brings you swimming?” After all, this was Li Shenghui’s turf.
Zhao Shengge looked at him for a moment, then said in a low voice, “He sent two people to my room.”
It was both a gesture of flattery and a test. If Zhao Shengge accepted them and brought them back to Haishi, all the better—with a lover’s whisper in his ear, their cooperative relationship would only grow more stable and long-lasting.
But Zhao Shengge hadn’t accepted them. Coming to the pool to swim was another way of showing that he trusted him, that he felt at ease around him.
Many things didn’t need to be said aloud; every move carried hidden messages that both sides could understand.
Chen Wan was quiet for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Oh.”
“…”
Zhao Shengge’s features, soaked with water, looked darker than ink. He raised his eyebrows, revealing a trace of youthful arrogance that was usually completely concealed, and asked confidently, “Time me.”
Chen Wan propped his head on one hand, his gaze carrying a tenderness even he didn’t notice. “Sure.”
Zhao Shengge took off his watch and tossed it through the air.
Chen Wan caught it easily.
Zhao Shengge shook the water from his hair, put on his swim goggles, and slipped into the water like an arrow loosed from a bow.
His skin was pale, and all Chen Wan saw was a streak of white flashing beneath the deep blue surface—like a phantom. Zhao Shengge had already swum far out. A hundred meters round-trip: freestyle on the way out, butterfly on the way back, showcasing the strength and explosiveness in his waist and core.
Chen Wan’s face was hidden in the night, his expression unreadable. In a split second, his soul was pulled back to the spring sports meet of his second year of high school.
Chen Wan hadn’t been a student at Yinghua’s main campus. The main campus held its competitions separately from the branch. For the 100-meter butterfly finals, Chen Wan had racked his brains trying to sneak into the main campus swimming pool.
In the second half of that semester, Zhuo Zhixuan had gone abroad on an exchange program, leaving Chen Wan without a way to get a ticket. Yinghua had always enforced strict hierarchies, with clear boundaries between the main and branch campuses. Only a few facilities were shared, and students from the branch had no way of getting in.
At first, Chen Wan had planned to post an ad online offering to rent a student ID for a fee, but there were no students on the main campus desperate for money. So he set his sights on securing a volunteer slot instead.
What he hadn’t expected, however, was that any competition involving Zhao Shengge never lacked volunteers.
In the end, Chen Wan risked disciplinary action. He ordered a fake student ID modeled after the main campus style and used the money he’d saved as a child from collecting bottles to hire a cash-strapped computer science student on the black market to clone the ID chip. That was how he managed to sneak into the finals venue.
The swimming arena was packed to the brim. Chen Wan’s arm was even scratched by the manicured nails of an overly excited girl nearby, leaving two red marks. But he had no time to worry about that—he was just as excited, though his excitement was buried deep within.
The favored son of heaven did not disappoint: Zhao Shengge took the championship, his athletic and flawless physique etched into the dreams of countless young girls.
Even back in high school, Chen Wan had already mastered the art of achieving his goals without drawing attention. Without anyone noticing, he slipped into Zhao Shengge’s locker room and quietly left a bouquet of white peonies and pink hydrangeas, along with a card that bore the most ordinary of messages: “Good luck in the competition.”
After the awards ceremony, Chen Wan wanted to confirm whether Zhao Shengge had received the flowers. He waited until most of the crowd had dispersed, then slipped into the backstage area again—only to stumble upon someone confessing to Zhao Shengge.
Unsurprisingly, Zhao Shengge turned them down, his demeanor cool and distant. “Sorry, I haven’t developed that kind of feeling for you for the time being.”
Which was exactly why Chen Wan would never confess.
Why crash headlong into a wall when there wasn’t the slightest chance of getting through?
Was it just for the sake of being bloodied or brokenhearted?
Chen Wan believed that as long as he gave what he wanted to give, that was enough. Whether it was his blessing or his bouquet, Zhao Shengge didn’t need to know who it came from. All that mattered was that he knew he was admired and cherished.
But Zhao Shengge had clearly misunderstood. He picked up the bouquet that Chen Wan had painstakingly arranged by hand over the course of three hours and handed it to the person who had just confessed.
“Take the flowers back too. Thank you, but please don’t give me any more in the future.”
Gentle, polite, and cruel.
Hidden in the shadows, Chen Wan opened his mouth anxiously, but no words came out. He had neither the standing nor the reason to intervene—he wasn’t even supposed to be there.
For reasons unknown, the one who had confessed didn’t explain anything either. Chen Wan watched silently as they walked away with his bouquet.
A few days later, Chen Wan heard rumors from the main campus that Zhao Shengge had given someone flowers.
It was like biting into an unripe plum—sour and astringent, the bitterness lingering on his tongue long after he’d swallowed.
They were the flowers he had given Zhao Shengge.
But Chen Wan was someone who knew how to make peace with himself. At least now he knew it had all been a misunderstanding; otherwise, hearing such news might have hurt him even more than it did.
The concerns of youth had long since become distant for him. At seventeen, Chen Wan had lived under someone else’s roof, constantly walking on thin ice, enduring hardship just to get by. He could never have imagined that one day, he would be watching Zhao Shengge swim in a rooftop pool.
He was the only one watching. The place was completely empty.
Zhao Shengge had already reached the edge of the pool. He raised his head and swept his hair back, revealing sharp, striking features. Like a lion fresh from victory, he shook the droplets from his hair—his handsomeness in the night nothing short of soul-stirring.
He asked, “What was the time?”
Chen Wan froze. He’d been so mesmerized that he’d forgotten to stop the timer.
Lowering his head to look at him, Chen Wan casually gave a time.
Zhao Shengge raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, then called him out directly, “Chen Wan, you didn’t stop the watch, did you?”
Not long ago, he’d raced against Shen Zongnian and the others, and even at his peak, he hadn’t broken one minute and eight seconds. He’d had alcohol tonight, so this supposed one minute and five seconds was clearly something Chen Wan had made up on the spot.
“You weren’t watching properly.” Zhao Shengge took off his goggles. His sharp eyes were unusually dark, and his voice low. But for some reason, Chen Wan heard something else in it—something he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t dare take it as a form of familiar complaint, much less as coyness.
Chen Wan was caught in a restless confusion.
“Hmm?” Zhao Shengge pressed for an explanation, as though questioning why he hadn’t properly kept time.
Chen Wan stood at the pool’s edge, slightly above him, but lowered his head to look at him with a gaze that was open and sincere. “I really was watching.”
Zhao Shengge tilted his head slightly as if he enjoyed seeing him in this flustered yet earnest state.
During the day, Chen Wan was always calm and decisive, cold and ruthless, with a Rose Beretta at his waist. But now, he looked like a loyal little creature, quietly submitting to whatever judgment was handed down.
Chen Wan was tense, and the ripple of the pool’s surface seemed to flow straight into his eyes, stirring up a tenderness and helplessness.
His smile appeared calm and natural, yet his eyes silently pleaded: please, please let me off the hook.
Chen Wan had always been flawless, but it was this rare flicker of nervous vulnerability that struck Zhao Shengge straight in the chest like a bullet.
His heart began beating out of rhythm. And the stronger it beat, the calmer Zhao Shengge became.
He asked in a low voice, “If you were watching, then why didn’t you remember the time?”
Chen Wan tugged at the corner of his mouth, forcing an awkward smile. “I was watching so closely that I forgot to keep track.”
Sensing Zhao Shengge’s faint displeasure, he instinctively tried to soothe him. “Do you want to swim a few more laps? I’ll time you properly this time, I swear.”
Zhao Shengge looked at him for a moment, then asked, “You want to watch?”
Chen Wan nodded.
Zhao Shengge replied, “Don’t feel like swimming anymore. Next time.”
“…” Chen Wan was a little disappointed.
Zhao Shengge: “Got any water?”
Chen Wan looked around. There was no bottled water in sight, but there was fruit under the large parasol.
“Will coconut do?”
Zhao Shengge said it would.
Chen Wan stood up, walked over to get a coconut, inserted a straw, and brought it to the edge of the pool. He squatted down and held it out with both hands.
Zhao Shengge didn’t reach for it. Instead, he pushed himself up slightly and leaned in, biting down on the straw directly from Chen Wan’s hands.
Chen Wan froze, the tips of his ears tinged with a faint flush. His body leaned forward instinctively, bringing the coconut closer to make it easier for Zhao Shengge to drink.
But that also meant he had to move closer to Zhao Shengge. The other man’s handsome face drew near—lips still wet, veins visible along the curve of his neck… It was overwhelming.
Chen Wan’s grip on the coconut wavered. He had to muster all his willpower not to reach out and touch him.
The night was too quiet. The sound of Zhao Shengge swallowing scraped against Chen Wan’s eardrums. His fingertips turned pale.
The droplets of water were cool, but Zhao Shengge radiated an intense, burning heat. Even without touching, it felt as if Chen Wan’s skin were on fire.
The desire to touch Zhao Shengge had never been stronger than in this moment. It peaked.
So close—his jawline, Adam’s apple, and arms. These parts of Zhao Shengge had appeared countless times in Chen Wan’s dreams, both in adolescence and adulthood. And now, they were even more charged with erotic tension than he had ever imagined.
Chen Wan’s breath grew hot. His heart felt like a plump, overripe fruit, gnawed at by birds and insects in the night, until its sour core was exposed.
Suddenly, Zhao Shengge reached out and grabbed Chen Wan’s slightly trembling wrist, steadying him. The skin where their fingers and wrists touched was damp. He lazily lifted his eyes, gaze rising from below, and asked in a calm voice, “What’s wrong?”
Chen Wan had endured for too many years. Keeping his composure had become a reflex etched into his blood and bones. He laughed softly and teased, “Mr. Zhao, you always wait to be served.”
That’s what he said, but Zhao Shengge saw how he had even dropped to one knee to make it easier for him to drink, and his eyes darkened further.
Wearing a simple white shirt and black pants, Chen Wan looked as if he were proposing. His eyes were focused and gentle, even somewhat devout, as if he had infinite patience to wait for and indulge Zhao Shengge.
As if, so long as Zhao Shengge didn’t say he was finished drinking, he would keep holding the coconut and never leave.
Zhao Shengge was gradually realizing that Chen Wan seemed to have no bottom line when it came to him.
His lips were wet with water, vividly red. As they moved, he said, “Chen Wan, let’s head straight to Feiling Island on the way back.”
Chen Wan was momentarily stunned. Feiling Island had been Zhao Shengge’s excuse back then for refusing to let him come along to Ting Island. He hadn’t expected him to actually mean it. He asked, “Are you really organizing a team-building trip?”
“….” Zhao Shengge closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “Fang Jian needs to work overtime because of the data from the past few days. Xu Zhiying’s a workaholic. Ask her if she wants to go on vacation with you.”
Chen Wan’s eyes widened slightly. Did that mean it would just be the two of them?
“Why?” Was it that Zhao Shengge wanted to go but couldn’t find anyone else to accompany him?
“Don’t want to go with me?”
Faced with Chen Wan’s slight confusion, Zhao Shengge could easily have said something like, You’ve worked hard lately; take some time to relax. It would’ve been simple to find an appropriate excuse. But he didn’t. He wanted Chen Wan to overthink it. He wanted him to be troubled.
He couldn’t be the only one experiencing ripples in his heart, unable to find peace. Even now, he still couldn’t read any clear signals from Chen Wan. If Zhao Shengge had once held on to a final shred of patience to negotiate, to test, to spar—
After tonight, that patience was gone.
Feiling Island was a luxury vacation spot for Haishi’s wealthy elite. But few knew that this particular island was privately owned by Zhao Shengge.
If Chen Wan wouldn’t say it, that was fine—then he would. And if Chen Wan refused, they’d stay on the island until he said yes.
Zhao Shengge lowered his lashes, hiding the darkness in his eyes.
“No!” Chen Wan’s eyes curved as he said, “I want to go.”
It just so happened that, at the moment, he was only involved with the major Minglong project and didn’t have much else on his plate.
Zhao Shengge looked at the slightly happy, completely unsuspecting face before him and smiled with gentlemanly gentleness.
He released Chen Wan’s wrist and gave it a light push. “I’m done swimming.”
With one arm braced against the edge, he launched himself out of the water with a splash—his movements clean and graceful, like a siren rising from the ocean’s depths.
His presence drew near. And in the moment their eyes met, Chen Wan was willing to offer up his heart and soul in full, to lay them at Zhao Shengge’s feet in complete submission.
