Chapter 32: Saint Games Acquisition (Part 7)

Chapter 32 Saint Games Acquisition (VII)

The Saint Games matter settled, Jing Hong gave himself a short three-to-four-day vacation.

Ever since taking the helm at the company, Jing Hong had never used a single day of vacation.

Too much work.

Jing Hong had his assistant Tan Qian book an island in the Maldives, wanting to unwind. The hotel was newly opened by LVMH a few years ago, and Jing Hong had never been there. It was said the sea views, facilities, food, and service were all excellent, perfect for a getaway. Most importantly, it consisted of one large island and four small ones—the two small islands on the right housed guest villas, while the two on the left were private islands, one villa per island, fully isolated from everyone else. Jing Hong booked one of those.

For this trip, Jing Hong didn't bring his assistant or anyone else—he went alone. He took a commercial flight to Malé, then, without stopping to rest, took the hotel's private plane straight to the island.

It was indeed far from the hustle and bustle. The moment he set foot on the island, Jing Hong thought, "This really is nice."

At the center of the private island stood a house spanning over 1,000 square meters. The middle section was a large living room, and beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, one side opened onto golden sand and blue sea, while the other side featured a 25-meter pool, level with the house and the same width, with more beach and ocean beyond it. Along the pool's edge was a row of lounge chairs, facing either the sea or the house. The living room held a piano, sofas, and a bar, flanked by two bedrooms, two bathrooms, plus a dressing room and an office. The furniture was all top-grade rosewood, and every household item came from LVMH's luxury brands, with a dedicated team of Ambassadeurs ready to serve guests at any time.

Though it was supposed to be a vacation, sitting in the villa's office facing the sea, Jing Hong still opened his laptop, logged into his email, and checked his work emails.

He approved a few items, then, feeling a bit tired, took a nap. To free up time for the trip, Jing Hong had spent the entire previous night working and attending video conferences without sleeping, and today he'd endured hours of flying—and he never slept on planes.

Lying in bed, Jing Hong felt a bit hungry. Sleepy and hungry, the always-decisive Jing Hong found himself in a real dilemma: get up and eat, or not? As if it were the biggest question in the universe. He wavered, and then fell asleep.

He woke up at seven in the evening, local time.

Jing Hong had the service team prepare some local fish, ate it with a salad, then sat looking out at the sea for a while. Suddenly, he felt like checking out the night pool on the main island.

According to the brochure, the infinity pool was the hotel's centerpiece, supposedly something truly special.

Jing Hong had the service team take him over on a small boat.

The night pool was indeed special.

It sat within a structure—spacious, with an extremely high vaulted ceiling and tall stone pillars around the perimeter. The pool itself was designed by a renowned artist. Looking down from above, the water appeared to be crystal-clear seawater, while the bottom was divided into black, yellow, and white sand sections separated by wavy lines—three colors cut into countless segments by irregular curves, separate yet intertwined, with a deeply artistic effect. Small amber lights glowed along the pool's edge, and the ceiling's pattern mirrored the pool floor exactly, like the ocean reflected in the sky. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass on one side, the sound of waves could be faintly heard.

When Jing Hong entered, only one person was swimming in the pool.

Two couples stood by the pool, watching the swimmer.

Jing Hong walked over.

The person in the pool was doing the butterfly. Jing Hong heard the man beside him exclaim in English, "God, his core strength is unbelievable... he didn't slow down at all in the second half..." He spoke in perfect American English—clearly a native speaker.

Just then, the swimmer reached the pool wall. He wasn't wearing a swim cap, and his hair was black. Gripping the edge, he shook his head, and Jing Hong, standing at his side, saw his profile—and for a moment, couldn't believe his eyes.

Zhou Chang?!

His one vacation in years, and he runs into Zhou Chang here?

What are the odds?

In the pool, Zhou Chang glided lightly, found the steps, and walked up them one by one.

Muscle by muscle emerged from the water, droplets cascading down, pattering at his feet.

The white girl next to Jing Hong, ignoring her boyfriend's feelings entirely, stared at Zhou Chang's physique and said, "He is so strong...!"

Zhou Chang pushed his hair back with one hand, walked over, and froze for a second upon seeing Jing Hong.

Zhou Chang was bare-chested, wearing racing swim trunks that hugged his thighs tightly.

His hair was still damp, slicked back, unlike his usual look. His shoulders were broad and thick, collarbones prominent. Water beaded at the tips of his hair, pooled briefly in the hollows of his collarbones, then was pushed out by new droplets, occasionally streaking down his smooth chest in a sudden rush. His pecs were full and firm, on full display, eight-pack abs sharply defined with not an ounce of fat, and two elegant V-lines disappearing into his trunks. The thigh muscles visible beneath the fabric were powerful and solid, exuding strength. Through the trunks, a certain part of him was impossible to ignore.

Superb musculature, sleek as a hunting leopard.

Zhou Chang's tone was teasing: "President Jing?"

"President Zhou." Jing Hong smiled politely and gave a slight nod. "Never expected to run into you here."

Zhou Chang said, "It's fate."

Jing Hong's gaze dropped briefly, sweeping over Zhou Chang from head to toe, and he asked casually, "President Zhou is here on vacation too?"

Zhou Chang smiled faintly. "Just here for work."

Jing Hong: "..."

"Gotta clock in and all."

"..." Jing Hong changed the subject. "How's the water temperature?"

"Not bad," Zhou Chang said. "Quite comfortable. Want to do a few laps, President Jing?"

"Not today, maybe." Jing Hong had no intention of letting Zhou Chang see him half-naked. "Some other time."

Zhou Chang figured out Jing Hong's reasoning and said with mild self-deprecation: "Funny, isn't it—you always seem to catch me half-dressed."

Jing Hong forced his gaze to stay on the man's face and joked back: "I wonder about that too—you always seem to show up giving me something to look at."

They chatted a while longer, then Jing Hong said, "Alright, President Zhou, dry off—it gets cold at night."

Zhou Chang nodded. "I'm on one of the private islands over there. What about you, President Jing?"

Jing Hong, wearing a plain T-shirt and looking unusually casual himself, said, "Same—the other private island."

Zhou Chang gave Jing Hong another smile and walked off.

Jing Hong turned around and looked again.

Zhou Chang's back muscles were impressive. As he toweled his hair, arms spread wide, his lats pulled back slightly, creating a beautiful spinal groove. His shoulder blades were prominent, waist narrow, not a trace of fat.

Jing Hong admired the view for a moment, then turned and left.

That night, perhaps because his mind had finally slowed down and didn't know what to think about besides work, the image of Zhou Chang from earlier kept appearing in his mind.

From the front. From the back.

Hair pushed back. Damp, glistening skin.

A restless heat stirred inside him.

And because he had nothing to do, that night Jing Hong once again...

The images played in his mind, the figure still wearing that classically handsome face. But at the end, Jing Hong suddenly remembered—Zhou Chang was on the neighboring island, in an identical room, lying on an identical bed, perhaps doing the exact same thing—and a sudden ache shot through his lower abdomen.

His mind went blank, wondering vaguely how he'd even thought of him, while his long, cool fingers unconsciously traced lightly over his own stomach, leaving a slick trail.

...

The next morning, Jing Hong got up, took care of a few more work items in the office, then had the service team take him over to the main island again.

Last night, apart from the night pool, Jing Hong hadn't seen anything else.

There were some tourists on the big island, mostly white Europeans and Americans. The sea was a brilliant blue, and today's waves were unusually large, with some men and women surfing. They were tossed into the air by the waves, then came crashing down, struggling to adjust and stay in control, locked in a tug-of-war with nature.

Most of the recreational activities were on the side where they'd come ashore—a pier, thatched huts, loungers, umbrellas, yachts, windsurfers... Jing Hong watched for a while, then followed the sandy path through the woods to the island's far side.

The other side was much quieter. Emerging from the trees, Jing Hong caught sight of a broad back in the distance.

He had, once again, ended up in the same spot as Zhou Chang.

"..." Jing Hong walked over quietly.

The waves were huge today, and the sky was overcast. The seawater carried foam, crashing against the shore wave after wave, with the wind bringing a salty, briny scent.

Jing Hong approached and stood shoulder to shoulder with Zhou Chang, saying, "Zhou."

Zhou Chang glanced over, then returned his gaze to the sea, replying, "Jing."

It was different from last night. Now Zhou Chang wore a black casual shirt with two buttons undone, revealing his defined collarbones. The shirt had intricate dark-gold patterns on both sides, giving him an elegant air.

Because of the strong wind, Zhou Chang's hair and shirt were slightly disheveled—a sight never seen at any internet conference.

Jing Hong asked offhandedly, "How long have you been watching?"

Zhou Chang replied idly, "A while now."

"The wind is pretty strong today," Jing Hong said. "It's rare to see it here." Although it was December, the Maldives had no winter or summer; temperatures hovered around 30 degrees year-round.

"Yeah," Zhou Chang said. "Strong wind, big waves. They crash in one after another, reminding me of that poem: 'Boulders pierce the sky, waves lash the shore, rolling up a thousand drifts of snow.' Though there are no boulders piercing the sky, the last two lines certainly ring true."

Jing Hong smiled and called him out: "What you're really thinking of isn't that line, but the next one: 'Rivers and mountains like a painting, how many heroes once arose.'"

Zhou Chang smiled too, conceding the point.

Jing Hong then recalled Zhou Chang's recent aggressive campaign.

Because the attack had been so sudden, Fanhai had been caught completely off guard—after all, Fanhai-Qinghui had operated in separate territories for years without conflict, and their product's technology was indeed outdated. In just a few weeks, that product had lost a significant chunk of the southern market.

Jing Hong had learned his lesson: the "tacit understanding" with Zhou Chang was no understanding at all—it was merely Zhou Chang biding his time.

After a moment, Zhou Chang asked, "How is Zhang Li adjusting?"

"Pretty well," Jing Hong said, no longer thinking about work. "But since we're on vacation, let's leave work out of it, shall we?"

Zhou Chang agreed: "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

The two stood side by side, silently watching the sea.

After some time, the wind died down, the sun came out, and the sea gradually calmed.

It was the Maldives at its finest.

The entire expanse of water was crystal clear, and looking far out, one could see layers of blue stretching straight to the horizon, where golden light shimmered at the horizon. Tropical fish of all kinds swam about, many with brilliant, vivid colors.

Seeing the sea so calm, the two found it anticlimactic. Jing Hong was the first to walk away, with Zhou Chang following behind, eventually drawing level with him.

Jing Hong noticed that along the way, Zhou Chang attracted admiring glances from numerous women.

Walking back from the sand to the pier area, they discovered that a wedding was taking place on the island that day.

There was a church rising from the sea, pure white—white walls, white floors, white chairs, white wooden frames, like a sanctuary in the middle of the ocean. At that moment, the wooden bridge leading to the church was covered in pink petals, some deep pink, some light pink, their fragrance drifting over in waves, intoxicating. On the bridge, the couple stood in the middle. Along the path between them and the church, delicate floral arches were placed every few steps, with long wisteria vines hanging down, swaying gently in the breeze.

Looking from afar, the wooden frames and chairs inside the church were also decorated with beautiful flower arrangements.

There weren't many tourists on this island—after all, there were only a dozen or so villas, accommodating just a dozen or so families, catering to a luxury clientele. But at that moment, a few tourists were scattered on the wooden bridge, keeping a distance from the couple, watching the wedding from afar. Some held up their phones, trying to capture the moment.

"Since we've got nothing better to do," Zhou Chang jerked his chin, "shall we go take a look?"

Jing Hong nodded: "Sure."

So they too stepped onto the pier. As their footsteps fell, the wooden bridge creaked softly, blending with the sound of the waves.

After some time, the murmur of the crowd suddenly faded, even the children fell silent, and all the tourists watched the couple.

The wedding was about to begin.

In that instant, the air took on a sacred, solemn quality.

Zhou Chang seemed about to say something, he began: "Jing..."

Jing Hong felt the formality spoiled the atmosphere, so he said, "Since we're finally on vacation, let's drop the formalities. Just call me 'Jing Hong.'"

Zhou Chang paused for a moment. In that silence, the whole world seemed shut out. The water was clear and the sand fine, with only the gentle push of the waves.

But then, the famous "Wedding March" from the prelude to Act V of Mendelssohn's *A Midsummer Night's Dream* began to play.

Because they were far away, Jing Hong could barely hear it.

His ears were filled mostly with the sound of the waves, mixed with the faint melody of the "Wedding March" drifting over from a distance.

The bride and groom walked toward the pastor, who was welcoming them.

Amidst these sounds, he could feel Zhou Chang's gaze shift toward him. The man looked into his eyes, his dark pupils locking onto him, a certain emptiness finally finding its anchor. Zhou Chang's magnetic voice rang out through the waves and music, clear and unmistakable, as he said, "...Jing Hong."