Chapter 33: Saint Games Acquisition (Part 8)

Chapter 33: The Saint Games Acquisition (Part 8)

Zhou Chang trailed off, because the couple had already walked up to the pastor, who recited a long passage that Jing Hong couldn't quite hear from where he was.

Then the couple began reciting their vows after the pastor.

They turned to face each other, holding hands, looking into each other's eyes.

It was only then that Jing Hong got a clear look at the couple—the man was handsome, the woman beautiful, a perfect match.

Perhaps because the ceremony had reached its crucial moment, the onlookers on the boardwalk quietly edged a little closer to the chapel, drawing closer without disturbing them. Jing Hong and Zhou Chang followed along.

The soft vows drifted over with the wind. Though he only caught a scattered word or two, Jing Hong could piece together the full passage, since he already knew the standard wedding vows.

They said: "I……take you…… for my lawful wife/husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for all the days of my life—to love and honor you.

When they finished, everyone watching was a little moved, because they were witnessing the most beautiful moment in those two people's lives.

The pastor opened the box, took out the rings, held them up, said a few words, then carefully handed one to the groom. The groom took it and slid it onto the bride's slender, outstretched finger. The bride wore long white gloves with intricate, delicate embroidery.

With the ring in place, the pastor declared them husband and wife, his voice drifting over faintly once more: "Now that you both have committed yourselves to one another……through the sacred vows that you have taken and by the giving and receiving of these rings……I now pronounce you husband and wife."

They had spoken their sacred vows, and from this moment on, they were husband and wife.

The pastor said to the man, "You may now kiss the bride," and the couple kissed. It wasn't a perfunctory ceremonial peck—the groom lowered his eyelids, the bride closed her eyes, arms around her husband, savoring the kiss—loving, gentle, soft—beneath the blue sky and above the azure sea.

When the kiss ended, the friends, family, and onlookers all applauded.

Jing Hong and Zhou Chang were no exception either.

The bride and groom then waved to the onlookers, arms linked—the most intimate of postures.

The wedding was over. The couple began posing for photos with their families, and the crowd gradually dispersed.

Jing Hong and Zhou Chang walked back down the boardwalk. It happened to be lunchtime, and Zhou Chang asked Jing Hong, "Want to grab something to eat? There are a few excellent restaurants over on the main island."

"Sure," Jing Hong said without hesitation, actually savoring this rare moment with Zhou Chang when they weren't competitors. "Which one?"

Zhou Chang thought for a moment. "Deelani. It's a seafood place."

Jing Hong said, "Sure."

Any place was fine. Jing Hong wasn't picky about food—he was too busy for that.

The two walked into Deelani together and found a table by the window overlooking the sea.

A fresh flower sat on the table—a single rose, fitting since the vast majority of guests here were couples.

"Go ahead and wash up, Jing," Zhou Chang said with a smile. "I'll hold down the table."

Jing Hong didn't bother with pleasantries. He got up, pushed back his chair, glanced around briefly, and headed for the restroom.

When Jing Hong returned, Zhou Chang went to wash up in turn, checking his work email on the way and handling a few urgent matters.

A couple of things were tricky, so Zhou Chang stepped out of the restaurant and made two phone calls outside.

He'd felt a bit bad about leaving Jing Hong alone, but when he walked back in, he was startled to find a woman sitting across from Jing Hong!

She was striking and vivacious, speaking fluent English, though her features didn't look European or American in origin—more Middle Eastern. Black hair, dark eyes, a high nose, deep-set eyes—utterly alluring. She'd probably immigrated to North America as a child, or was second or third generation. She was quite young—likely vacationing with her parents.

The two were deep in animated conversation. The girl was showing Jing Hong something on her phone, and he was listening intently, occasionally chiming in. Zhou Chang stood there for a while, and Jing Hong never once noticed he was back.

Zhou Chang watched quietly for a moment, then walked over and sat down at a table next to Jing Hong's.

He picked up the wine list, flipped through it, and ordered himself a whiskey.

As luck would have it, just as he sat down, a girl by the window directly ahead turned to look back—she bore a slight resemblance to a certain celebrity when she was young. Their eyes happened to meet, and Zhou Chang smiled.

He knew the effect he had. Sure enough, after a moment's hesitation, the girl picked up her glass and walked over.

This time Jing Hong noticed. He glanced at Zhou Chang, and their eyes met for an instant.

But Zhou Chang suddenly found the whole thing tedious.

She'd already reached him. Zhou Chang stood up and said, "Sorry, my companion is over there—looks like they've just finished talking. I should get back."

The girl stopped short, her face saying "Excuse me?" "What exactly is wrong with you?" "Are you asking for a slap?" "I'm going to vent about this to my girls."

Beside him, Jing Hong said to the stranger, "Sorry, my companion's back."

"Ah……" The girl looked at Zhou Chang, then back at Jing Hong. "Well, would you like to walk around here together tonight?"

"No," Jing Hong said. "Have a nice vacation."

Jing Hong wasn't naive. The girl's interest was obvious, and she happened to have a brother doing his PhD at P University—she'd shown Jing Hong a photo, and other stuff too.

After she left, Zhou Chang sat down across from Jing Hong.

As he sat down, Zhou Chang kept his eyes on Jing Hong's, and Jing Hong did the same—their gazes locked, each trying to read the other, to guess what the other was thinking.

Zhou Chang felt that Jing Hong might have seen right through him, and then again, might not have.

Once seated, their eyes lingered on each other for a few more seconds. Jing Hong looked down at the menu, flipping through it half-heartedly, and asked Zhou Chang, "What are we eating? This place has quite a reputation."

Zhou Chang opened his menu too. "What does a reputation matter anyway? Last time at Post Ranch I got served something moldy."

Jing Hong laughed. "What was moldy?" Post Ranch—the most famous luxury hotel along California's Highway 1, favored by Hollywood stars and Silicon Valley billionaires, with a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Zhou Chang said, "Blueberries. They came out covered in white fuzz, like a ball of yarn."

Jing Hong laughed out loud this time. "Did you eat them?"

"Of course not." Zhou Chang said idly. "I'm not blind."

"Impressive." Jing Hong teased. "Never thought you'd recognize something fuzzy, Zhou."

Zhou Chang asked, "……Why wouldn't I? What do you take me for, exactly?"

Jing Hong looked at him with raised brows. "Legend has it your family's English butler practiced serving with ping-pong balls—very refined. I thought you'd never seen mold in your life, young Master Zhou."

Zhou Chang lifted his eyes from the menu and gave Jing Hong a long, inscrutable look. "By the time the English butler showed up, I was already in college."

The meal turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable.

Outside the window, the waves rolled in steadily.

The sunlight over the Indian Ocean was intense, bright to the point of being unreal—blinding white, surging and churning, as if it might swallow the whole island.

Jing Hong gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at the sun, so dazzling it was almost blinding. Thousands of golden and silver arrows shot out at once, tearing recklessly across the sky and earth, as if piercing everything in their path and driving straight into the dining room.

He felt a little dizzy, a little dazed.

…………

That afternoon, the two each took a private boat back to their own villas and didn't get in touch again.

That night, Jing Hong couldn't help himself again. This time, he soaked in a bathtub full of foam, head tilted back, resting against the marble behind the tub. Between the heat and other reasons, his skin was flushed pink all over. At the very end, Zhou Chang's body from that day flashed through his mind again.

The next morning, Jing Hong woke up, took care of a few approvals first, then headed to the tennis court on the main island to play a few sets with some people. It was a rare vacation, after all—might as well get some exercise in.

To his surprise, he ran into Zhou Chang again.

After finishing at the gym, Zhou Chang had to pass by the tennis court. Spotting Jing Hong, he stood by the court for a moment, a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

When Jing Hong walked off the court, Zhou Chang said, "Jing, you've got professional-level game." It wasn't flattery—Zhou Chang played tennis himself, but Jing Hong was clearly better, and Zhou Chang was always fair in judging both himself and others.

Jing Hong corrected him: "Just Jing Hong is fine."

Zhou Chang said, "Sorry, habit."

Jing Hong picked up where he left off: "Actually, tennis is the only thing I can really show off. I've been at it for over twenty years."

"Did you play semi-pro in college?"

Jing Hong nodded: "I made Stanford's varsity team and won a national championship, but my teammates were so good I was almost never a starter. The only time I actually competed was junior year—I paired up with someone for doubles and rode the team's coattails to the title."

"Of course." Zhou Chang knew a thing or two about it. "Stanford's tennis program has always been strong—the starters probably went pro after graduating, right?"

"Not necessarily," Jing Hong said. "There are too many talented people. Some knew their limits and became programmers instead. In fact, our number one seed back then... his highest ATP ranking ever was 141." He paused, then added, "When I first found out, I was a little taken aback. The guys I could never beat no matter what—they couldn't even crack the top hundred in the world. There's always someone better."

"...Yeah." Zhou Chang knew exactly what Jing Hong was getting at.

Too many talented people—same in tennis, same in tech. They were at the top, sure, but that didn't mean their abilities were truly unmatched. They needed to recognize that luck had played a part in getting them there.

A rare moment of clarity.

"Clarity" wasn't easy, actually. In this industry, successful people love to credit their success to themselves, preaching the gospel of success while deliberately or unconsciously ignoring what might be the most important factor.

They were on the same page again.

Jing Hong asked Zhou Chang, "I don't know much about swimming. But your butterfly—that looked professional too?"

Zhou Chang said, "I can occasionally break 2:05 in the 200 fly. And I mean occasionally. Improving by even one second takes a huge toll. I don't have the time. Forget it."

Jing Hong nodded: "That's normal. I understand." Over the years, tennis had gradually become just a hobby for him too—the dopamine was released elsewhere now.

After Jing Hong left, Zhou Chang watched him go.

He really hadn't expected Jing Hong to be that good at tennis.

He was always in a suit and tie, but just now he'd been in a T-shirt and shorts, stroke after stroke, his movements fluid and easy. Still, from those strokes, Zhou Chang could read a lot about Jing Hong's character—patient, playing the long game, but the moment he saw an opening, he turned fierce and aggressive, biting down until his opponent couldn't recover.

…………

After tennis, Jing Hong said goodbye to Zhou Chang and returned to his suite. He didn't go out again after that, just sat at the round table in the study, alternating between gazing at the sea outside the window and flipping through the book in his hands. It was actually a pleasure read—a director's autobiography—that Jing Hong had been reading for six months. He simply never had the free time.

But it looked like he'd finish it that afternoon, and his mood lifted considerably.

Jing Hong wasn't rushing any itinerary. The most common Maldivian activities—snorkeling, scuba diving, surfing, deep-sea fishing—he did none of them. He just wanted to relax, even though he could handle most water activities at least a little.

These past few days, he'd just gone for walks. But he'd already covered the main island, even hitting both the wine museum and the jewelry museum.

As it turned out, given even a little time, a pleasure read could be finished in no time.

The director thanked his wife, saying that if not for her, the man full of aggression would probably be in prison now, not on a film set—she had saved him.

After finishing, Jing Hong set the book down, let it sink in for a moment, then walked to the floor-to-ceiling window in the study, slid it open, and let the sea breeze wash over him.

How should he spend the evening?

Just then, the phone in his room rang a few times.

Jing Hong assumed it was hotel services, but when he picked up, it was Zhou Chang.

"Jing Hong," Zhou Chang called him by name as agreed, "there's a bonfire party on the main island tonight. You heard about it?"

Jing Hong asked back: "Bonfire party?" Clearly, he didn't.

"Yeah," Zhou Chang replied, "organized by the hotel—it's an event. A few well-known musicians will come to play, guitar and stuff. The hotel will also open some good wines from the museum." The main island had a wine museum stocked with rare vintages.

Jing Hong was a little interested and asked, "What time?"

"Eight in the evening."

"Alright. I'll check it out." Jing Hong agreed. "It's not like I have anything else to do anyway—I'm heading back to Beijing tomorrow. You?" Waves, sand, bonfire, wine, guitar, dancing—it was the perfect side dish for the last day of the vacation.

Zhou Chang replied, "I'll come take a look too."

"See you then."

"See you then."

At eight, the main island's beach was indeed completely transformed from how it looked during the day.

On the soft sand by the sea, dozens of bonfire pits ringed a large circular clearing. The pits were filled with local firewood, flames blazing fiercely. The metal fire pit walls were carved with hollowed-out patterns—moons and stars. Through those moons and stars, the orange-red flames within danced and leaped continuously. At the center of the venue stood an even larger bonfire pit.

Above the clearing, dozens of yellow light strings were strung from the bonfire pits up into the air, converging at a point—one string stretched between every pair of pits. The lights formed a canopy, gently, softly draping down over the dance floor below. The whole area was bright as day, while just beyond lay the dark, vast sea.

Moonlight reflected on the water's surface, carving a narrow silver path across the sea. The waves rippled like shimmering scales. The moon was bright, occasionally veiled by drifting clouds, making it seem shy and coy. Waves crashed softly, sea breeze blowing.

At the edge of the venue stood a bar. It was three-sided, with chairs lining the outside and the innermost side reserved for servers to move in and out attending to guests.

Beside the bar, a band played guitar and bass, with other musicians on piano and accordion.

At the bar, Jing Hong found Zhou Chang. Zhou Chang was still wearing a casual shirt, with a patch of golden dark pattern on the left chest—something like an eagle. He sat at one side of the bar, facing the venue, back to the counter, a glass of wine in hand, long legs propped against the ground, looking utterly languid.

Jing Hong walked over and said, "Hey."

Zhou Chang lifted his eyelids: "You're here?"

"Yeah." Jing Hong took the stool next to Zhou Chang, pulled over the drink menu, glanced at it, and ordered one. On this resort island, the two of them who knew each other could hardly stay apart.

Zhou Chang gave a light glance, smirked, and said, "That one's strong. It's called a cocktail, but it's full of tequila."

"Doesn't matter." Back in the day, toasting clients, he'd downed one glass of baijiu after another—no big deal.

Zhou Chang smiled and said nothing more.

The drinks arrived, a purple-pink hue, clear and beautiful, with a sharp kick and a sweet finish, tasting quite good.

The dancing officially kicked off soon after.

The band played a lively, upbeat tune, and people by the bar and on the distant beach made their way over, heading out onto the floor.

Forward, backward, side-step, spin, lift a leg, raise an arm, sway hips, turn. The men held their partners' waists while the women rested their hands on their shoulders. Their hands clasped tightly together, unwilling to let go.

When the song ended, everyone froze mid-pose, then slowly loosening up after a few seconds, quietly waiting for the next tune.

Soon the next song started, and everyone was moving again.

Smiling, completely in sync, their steps perfectly matched.

After a few drinks, Jing Hong's face was burning.

He hadn't realized his tolerance could slip like this. In recent years, he'd stopped socializing and drinking, and now his head was spinning, his nerves shot, his thoughts stuck in a fog.

Zhou Chang had clearly been drinking too—the staff had already whisked away several of his empty glasses.

Jing Hong pressed his glass against his cheek to cool it, then asked Zhou Chang, "Wanna go check it out?"

Zhou Chang set down his glass and nodded. "Sure."

So they walked to the edge of the dance floor, facing the ocean, watching the crowd through the lively flames of a nearby bonfire.

Everyone was dancing beautifully.

The women wore elegant gowns, showing off smooth arms and toned calves, flaunting their beauty without a care.

A few were especially skilled dancers, their bodies sultry and sensual, like fireflies, far more alive in motion than at rest.

"The mortal world—fools in love, men and women pining," Zhou Chang said suddenly. "But there are also moments like this, when they dance together."

He'd been drinking plenty too—whiskey just as strong as the tequila.

As the night wore on, people drifted off the floor to drink and rest, then came back, then rested again—wave after wave.

Gradually, everyone had a few drinks, and the mood swung between heated and tender.

The air started to thicken with pheromones.

Beyond the dance floor, the Indian Ocean's soft, sultry heat still hung in the air.

Thick and clinging, like words left unsaid.

One particular song felt especially heavy and slow.

The song was slow, drifting through the tropical breeze like pieces of a half-remembered dream.

The air seemed to pull into threads, tangling and spreading out. Couples' intertwined hands slowly came undone, women sliding both hands onto their partners' shoulders, men letting theirs settle on their partners' waists, swaying gently together in pairs with the music.

As the slow, tender music played, some couples started kissing while they danced, gazes locked, full of adoration. The rest of the world disappeared—there was only each other.

They swayed, and among them, two brazen South American couples in the corner got even bolder, the men's hands sliding lower. The couples swayed gently to the music, eyes locked only on each other, heavy and languid, stealing kisses every so often.

The Maldives was always a honeymoon hotspot, packed with newlyweds, the air thick with the salty, heady scent of pheromones.

Yearning eyes, silent lips, alluring waists, backs, legs, and high heels tapping to the beat.

Jing Hong was already lightheaded, and the night breeze off the ocean only made it worse.

Zhou Chang's words echoed in his head: the mortal world, fools in love.

After all these years as "President Jing," those words felt worlds away.

Right in front of him, in that thick, syrupy music, a couple standing close by finally started kissing, sipping at each other's lips, soft and unhurried. They didn't care who was watching—like they were the only two people on earth.

And somehow, at the exact same moment, both Jing Hong and Zhou Chang turned to look at each other.

Jing Hong could see the bonfire flames flickering in Zhou Chang's eyes.

They weren't standing close—both outside the ring, a few steps apart along the curve.

A string of lights hung between them, annoyingly in the way.

And still, for some reason, Jing Hong curved his lips into a smile aimed at Zhou Chang.

Not a polite smile—a slow, deliberate one, eyes locked on him the whole time.

Why was he smiling? Jing Hong asked himself, though he had a sinking feeling this smile was going to cause trouble.

Sure enough, the moment he saw that smile, Zhou Chang walked straight over, his voice carried on the night breeze as he asked, taking the lead, "President Jing... Jing Hong, do you want to dance too?"

Jing Hong nodded.

Zhou Chang added, "Somewhere else?"

Everyone out there was dancing with the opposite sex. Jing Hong's brain was moving in slow motion, but he knew they were both recognizable and couldn't risk being seen.

So Jing Hong nodded again.

Behind the dance floor ran a long, narrow sandy path. Zhou Chang remembered it led to a small circular clearing with a swing set.

Zhou Chang walked ahead, Jing Hong behind. Jing Hong knew he could still turn back, but he didn't—he simply followed silently.

Time felt like it was flying and crawling at the same time.

When they reached the clearing, Zhou Chang asked Jing Hong, "Is this okay?"

A small circular clearing, sandy ground underfoot, surrounded by tall coconut trees, with a small swing between two of them. It was close to the sea, and beyond a few rows of coconut trees lay the bonfire and dance floor. They could still hear the musicians' melodious tunes, the faint murmur of voices by the bar, and the relentless wash of the night waves.

Jing Hong wore only a simple white shirt. He glanced around, then nodded, meaning "It's fine."

Perhaps at the guests' request, the previous tune began to play again, its melody flowing like lovers' whispers.

Zhou Chang reached for Jing Hong's hand, but Jing Hong pulled back. Both of them only knew the lead's steps, yet they moved in strange harmony, each with one hand on the other's waist and one on the other's shoulder, an awkward posture that somehow melded together.

The sand crunched clearly underfoot.

They swayed gently to the music, and then, consciously or not, their gazes both fell on each other's lips.

Both had drunk plenty. Jing Hong's cocktail contained fruit juice and syrup, and under the moonlight, his lips were a vivid red, moist and full, with a small bead on the upper lip and a plump lower lip—the most striking sight in the pale moonlight.

Zhou Chang's lips were pressed tightly together, two thin lines with a perfect curve, usually appearing overly cold, but not now. Stained by the wine he'd drunk, they gleamed prominently in the moonlight.

They swayed, gazing at each other, seeing only the other's intense eyes and rich lips.

Then, neither knowing who moved first—perhaps both at once—they began kissing fiercely.

At first it was tentative, touching and pulling away quickly, but soon the kisses came thick as raindrops, one after another without pause, each one sucking lightly, making soft smacking sounds, and then it escalated into deep, frantic tongue-kissing.

They swept through the remnants of alcohol in each other's mouths, the taste was sharp yet sweet, just like the man himself.

Instinct came before reason.

Whether spurred by the alcohol or lured by the waves, they almost simultaneously sensed the restlessness in each other's hearts, and then instinctively responded to one another.

The music gradually neared its end. They held each other in the grove, kissing wildly, unwilling to part, and as if vaguely sensing that the kiss was about to end, they only pressed harder, more desperately, their tongues sweeping frantically, trying to seize this final indulgence. The air grew warmer, and their breathing became increasingly fervent with the rhythm of the kiss.

They kissed until the music stopped, their tongues numb and their breath coming in short gasps, before Zhou Chang asked Jing Hong, "Want to go to my room for another drink?"