This time, Li Ru worked surprisingly fast. As soon as He Zheng got home, she called.
He Zheng, rarely impatient, asked right away, “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing,” Li Ru admitted with an awkward laugh. “Someone at Huazhou’s level isn’t easy to dig into. You should just ask your Top Supporter directly.”
“He might not want to tell me,” He Zheng said.
“Try testing him—he might slip up,” Li Ru suggested uncertainly. “My guess? The president of Huazhou and your Top Supporter are probably friends. Your Top Supporter can’t influence people that powerful from abroad, so he borrowed Huazhou’s name to help you out.”
“It’s not that simple. Huazhou wouldn’t casually do someone a favor like that.”
He Zheng thought for a moment, then suddenly had an idea. “Can you find out if Huazhou has any recent partnerships with other companies? A business connection would make more sense than friendship.”
Li Ru, catching on, cursed in realization. “Damn—you’re right. I’ll check right now.”
The feeling that the truth was about to surface was so strong that He Zheng could hardly suppress the agitation in his chest. He texted the Top Supporter: [Are you awake?]
Unexpectedly, the Top Supporter didn’t call back right away. Instead, he slowly typed three words: [I’m so bored.]
He Zheng called him on voice chat, but the call was instantly declined. The Top Supporter texted: [Not convenient.]
He tried again—declined. The third time, the call was finally answered after some hesitation, but the Top Supporter muted his end.
“Where are you right now?” He Zheng asked, a flicker of suspicion rising in him.
Top Supporter: [In a meeting.]
“Oh, then I’ll call you later.”
Top Supporter: [Stay with me a bit longer. I’m so sleepy.]
“Alright.”
He Zheng agreed, thinking about how to naturally bring up Huazhou without making it seem like he was prying into private matters.
Before he could figure out how to start, the Top Supporter, sounding bored, sent another message: [Play truth or dare with me?]
“Dice version?” He Zheng replied absently. “You’re in a meeting—maybe not the best idea.”
Top Supporter: [It’s fine. Keeps me awake.]
“Okay, how about this: we skip the dice. I’ll just look up some questions online, yeah?”
He opened his browser and searched for “truth or dare questions.” When he saw the list that popped up, his eyes nearly burned from the explicit content. He quickly said, “Never mind, these are too—uh—intense. I think I’ll just—”
Top Supporter (typing fast): [Use those.]
“You sure?” He Zheng gave a crooked smile. “These are not on the same level as last time.”
Top Supporter: [Ask.]
“Alright then…” He Zheng bit his lip, embarrassed.
Top Supporter: [Ask.]
He read directly from the screen, fast and awkward: “What’s your most unforgettable sex experience?”
A jolt ran through him like static electricity. The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it.
The Top Supporter’s reaction was surprisingly calm: [I’ve never dated anyone. Who would I have sex with?]
He Zheng didn’t know how to respond. He hurriedly scrolled down the list, trying to find a normal question among the dirty ones. Finally, near the bottom, he found one that seemed harmless enough: “Which part of the other person do you like the most?”
Top Supporter: [Hair.]
“Next: which hotel would you take them to next time?”
Top Supporter: [Home.]
“Have you ever secretly liked someone for many years? If so, what would you say to them?”
Top Supporter: [I don’t do secret crushes. I’m always obvious about it.]
He answered each one instantly, not even pausing to think. He Zheng could barely scroll fast enough. Every single question left was about sex—there wasn’t a single normal one in sight.
He fell silent for a long time. The Top Supporter waited, lost in thought, then suddenly sent: [Look outside.]
He Zheng glanced out the window distractedly. Fireworks were bursting in the sky, and drones formed the shape of hands holding a heart. He remembered the charity promo he’d seen earlier that morning—the gala must’ve started.
When he looked back at his phone, the message had already been withdrawn.
He Zheng’s mind was split in two—half preoccupied with Huazhou, half trying to keep up with this strange “game.” He didn’t think much of it and asked casually, “Still want to play?”
Top Supporter: [No.]
Just as that message came through, Li Ru’s call interrupted the chat.
“I found it! I found it!!” Li Ru’s voice cracked with excitement. “Huazhou really did sign a deal with a newly registered company! They’re planning to enter the entertainment industry. The headquarters are in Mexico, but I can’t find detailed info. The founder’s surname is Wei—a Chinese-Mexican. And also—”
She was talking too fast. He Zheng could barely keep up. After a moment, he processed it and interrupted: “Wait. What’s the surname again?”
“Wei.” Then she suddenly went silent. It took her a moment to react too. “…It can’t be that much of a coincidence, right?”
He Zheng took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Go on. What else?”
“Just that… if my boss didn’t lie, both the president of Huazhou and that Mr. Wei are attending tonight’s charity gala.”
Li Ru hesitated, then said quietly, “Which means… your Top Supporter might be in Beijing right now.”
He Zheng’s fingers trembled uncontrollably. Everything he’d doubted over the years suddenly made sense—but instead of calling the Top Supporter, his eyes drifted toward the shoe cabinet near the door, where a stack of letters sat.
For the past eight years, Xiao Wei had been sending letters without fail. He Zheng had only ever opened the first one. It was full of trivial chatter, so he hadn’t paid much attention. But there was another reason—one only he knew. He had been avoiding them. Avoiding Xiao Wei’s feelings.
Even though the letters never used words like “like” or “love,” the affection between the lines was impossible to miss. He Zheng had chosen an adult’s way of responding—with silence. A gentle rejection.
The first letter had arrived a month after they parted. It was an international delivery, though the detailed address was hidden.
If He Zheng had paid attention, he would’ve noticed the clues were there all along. The answers had always been in plain sight. It wasn’t a secret crush—it was an open-book exam. It was his indifference that forced Xiao Wei to withdraw and approach him again under another identity.
He Zheng went to his study, pulled out every letter from the past years, and opened them one by one.
They contained fragments of Xiao Wei’s life—ordinary but sincere. He talked about the Mexican food he’d tried, how coming out to his parents had almost gotten him sent to a mental hospital, and how the first Spanish sentence he’d learned in class was “Te extraño tanto”—written in clumsy handwriting. It meant “I miss you so much.”
One day, he’d even gotten into a street fight, rescued by a mixed-race boy named Yang Cheng, who later became his best friend. He asked Yang Cheng to give him a tattoo to look tougher. He’d shown him a photo of He Zheng. Yang Cheng had said, “He’s beautiful.”
So Xiao Wei had smiled and said, “Yeah, He Zheng is beautiful. That’s why I can’t forget him.”
What does it mean to be unable to forget?
On his birthday, he said making wishes was childish — that he didn’t have any wishes, that they were all lies. Every year, his only birthday wish had been for He Zheng to write back. But since he never got a reply, disappointment turned into stubborn pride.
How long had he been doing this? Eight years.
He Zheng didn’t want to look anymore. His throat felt tight and painful. He took a deep breath, opened WeChat, and sent a message to the Top Supporter:
[I’ll ask one more time. Where are you now?]
…..
Beijing, at a charity gala.
Wei Zhenye was staring down at his phone, repeatedly refreshing the WeChat chat window. The conversation had stopped at his last message — [Not playing anymore.] After that, He Zheng had hung up. When he tried calling back, the line was busy.
A vague unease stirred in his chest. He turned his head to glance at the man sitting beside him — the CEO of Huazhou. This man, with a stern face, was also waiting for a reply from someone, though he showed it with much more composure. His phone lay black-screened beside him, fingers tapping rhythmically on his wristwatch as if counting the seconds.
Then came the buzz of a notification.
Instinctively, Wei Zhenye looked down, but the message wasn’t for him. It was for the man beside him, who checked the sender’s name before slowly picking up his phone and unlocking it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Zhenye accidentally caught sight of the chat. The man’s side of the conversation was a sea of green — long, rambling paragraphs filling the screen. The last message read:
[We can argue all we want, but remember, we can’t let a fight tear us apart.]
It even ended with a sentimental period — the kind that said this was written straight from the heart.
The reply, however, was a game screenshot, showing off a victory, captioned:
[Sorry, Arthur accidentally beat you into oblivion.]
The time gap between the messages matched the watch’s rhythm exactly — fifteen minutes.
Wei Zhenye saw the CEO close his eyes, the veins at his temple twitching violently.
He almost laughed at the scene, but the smile froze instantly when he saw a new message from He Zheng pop up on his screen:
[I’ll ask one more time. Where are you now?]
The uneasy feeling deepened. He began typing a reply, but before he could finish, his phone lit up with an incoming call — it was He Zheng.
“Where are you?”
The tone confirmed what he feared. Wei Zhenye’s hand tightened around the phone, and finally, he admitted in a low voice,
“Twelve kilometers from you.”
He Zheng’s voice was hoarse, as if held together by sheer willpower.
“I know who you are now. Come out and see me.”
Wei Zhenye was already running before the words even finished.
He pushed through the crowd, bumping into people without stopping, taking the stairs two at a time, bursting out of the building. He jumped into his car, slammed the accelerator down, not even bothering with the seatbelt — straight toward He Zheng’s home.
But it was rush hour in Beijing, the traffic packed so tightly he couldn’t move.
Stuck on an overpass, horns blaring around him, all he could hear was his own heartbeat.
Nervous. Anxious. His hands shook uncontrollably.
He reached for his pocket — the cigarette box was empty.
He threw it out the window, rested one hand outside the car door, thought about calling He Zheng, but feared his nerves might cause him to stall out completely.
He had imagined their reunion so many times, but never like this.
Too rushed.
He hadn’t even brought flowers.
The suit he was wearing didn’t fit right.
He had wanted their meeting to be perfect — not like this.
As traffic began to crawl forward again, his thoughts spun. Logic told him to turn back, wait until tomorrow, make it right.
But emotion whispered — He Zheng wants to see you.
Those words echoed in his head. He suddenly swerved to the side, stopped the car by the road, and started running the last three kilometers on foot.
He couldn’t let himself back out now.
He had fought so hard for this. Wasn’t it all for this day?
Why had he left He Zheng all those years ago? Because he’d been weak — powerless.
He’d seen He Zheng humiliated by minor actors, forced to smile and apologize, forced to bow his head. That day he left, he realized — maybe what He Zheng needed wasn’t a midnight meal carefully prepared by him, but a designer suit for the gala.
But he couldn’t afford one.
He didn’t want to see He Zheng forever pushed to the edges of group photos, the shadows swallowing him before the stage lights even could.
Didn’t want to see him bowing over and over, asking timidly, “Can it be my turn this time?”
He Zheng was proud — his life shouldn’t have to be so small.
He wanted He Zheng to sit at the main table at every banquet.
When someone wronged him, to be able to slap them across the face and shrug, saying, “So what? I’ve got someone backing me.”
But his letters had never been answered. The phone number he left behind was never dialed.
He slowly realized how dispensable he was — that “Xiao Wei” was someone He Zheng could ignore, dismiss, forget. A stray cat that wandered off and never returned.
His quietness and timidity made him invisible — He Zheng never even looked his way.
But he didn’t want to be a fleeting half-year in He Zheng’s life.
He had been longing for a lifetime.
So what else could he do?
He could only make himself shine.
Climb higher.
Become someone worthy to stand beside him again — upright, unashamed.
And now, like this moment, with the wind roaring in his ears, the city lights stretching into blurs — he ran with everything in him, his suit whipping in the air, mind filled with just one thought:
Go see him.