Chapter 35: Saint Games Acquisition (Part 10)

Chapter 35 The Saint Games Acquisition (10)

The next day, Jing Hong woke to find it already bright outside.

The curtains hadn't been drawn, and when Jing Hong opened his eyes, the direct sunlight stung them.

At first, Jing Hong didn't realize this wasn't his suite. He turned over and dozed off again, but a few minutes later, sensing something wasn't right, he snapped awake.

Scattered fragments from the drunken night surfaced in his mind, and Jing Hong abruptly sat up, unable to believe it.

Him... and Zhou Chang?

They had kissed wildly, desperately...

His mind's eye froze on the final moment from last night.

He'd been sprawled on the floor, but Zhou Chang had pulled him up and kissed him again. Zhou Chang held him with one arm, pressing the other hand against the back of his head, leaving him no chance to struggle.

Zhou Chang's last kiss wasn't as fierce as the ones before—it was achingly tender. First, he traced Jing Hong's lips with his own, then coaxed them apart, and played with his tongue for a bit.

It was utterly absurd.

Jing Hong had never dreamed he could be so reckless.

It was like he'd been possessed.

His mind was a fog, yet Jing Hong could still mechanically get things in order. He threw off the covers, got up, pulled on his boxers and trousers, and buckled his belt.

The shirt's buttons had popped open, and it was sticky, with red wine stains smeared across the chest. Jing Hong tossed the white shirt into the trash can by the bed in disgust, leaving it for the hotel staff to throw away. He then strode to Zhou Chang's closet and yanked the door open, but was surprised to find it empty—Zhou Chang had likely already packed his bags the night before.

Jing Hong turned back and scanned the room, finally spotting only Zhou Chang's black shirt from last night lying on the carpet. A solid black shirt with an intricate gold pattern on the left chest—an eagle.

Jing Hong put it on; he didn't have much choice. Zhou Chang was almost 1.9 meters tall, so the shirt hung loose on Jing Hong. He casually knotted the two shirt tails together, and it worked well enough.

Then Jing Hong immediately called the hotel's front desk, asking them to send a speedboat to take him back to his suite, and telling them to have the bar bill ready—he'd check out in half an hour.

The front desk dutifully reminded him that "the daily rate runs until noon," and Jing Hong replied, "I'm leaving now."

Jing Hong also told the hotel that he didn't need the island staff to handle the checkout; he'd go to the front desk himself and then take the hotel helicopter straight back to Malé, not wanting to waste a single second.

The hotel agreed.

The suite's two bedrooms sat on opposite sides of the living room, far apart, so Zhou Chang didn't hear a thing from Jing Hong's side.

Jing Hong just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Ten minutes later, a speedboat idled at the dock in front of the suite. Jing Hong walked straight out the floor-to-ceiling window, practically fleeing. He strode to the water's edge and stepped onto the speedboat, and as it pulled away, he let out a long breath but couldn't help glancing back at the villa.

The sea breeze blew, and with the floor-to-ceiling window still open, the white curtains fluttered and danced.

On the speedboat, the driver, noticing Jing Hong was leaving the island, made small talk: "Had fun?"

Jing Hong gazed at the distant sea. So blue, so beautiful—yet Jing Hong said, "No."

His voice was swallowed by the engine's roar, but the driver read his lips. Taken aback by the unexpected answer, the driver didn't dare keep chatting. He shut up and silently ferried the guest back to the other private island.

Jing Hong opened his suite door, quickly shed his clothes, and headed into the bathroom. Rarely losing his cool, he cranked the water to full blast and set it scalding hot, scrubbing his body—the hickeys on his neck, of course, and those on his shoulders, plus the lingering marks on his thighs.

The water was scorching, and steam filled the bathroom. Jing Hong felt like every breath he took was burning. He found some comfort in it, as if the water were cleansing not just his skin, but his chest, his core, and the heart pounding inside.

As he scrubbed, Jing Hong kept repeating one word in his head: absurd.

Alcohol, bonfire, moonlight, waves, love songs, dance steps, young bodies, alluring eyes, lovers tangled together, newlyweds pledging forever—it was all so absurd.

Why did it have to be Zhou Chang?

How had it come to this?

That man was Zhou Chang.

The one person he could never get a handle on.

Jing Hong had always hated feeling out of control, and Zhou Chang was completely uncontrollable.

And on top of that, Zhou Chang was the Blade-Wielder of Qinghui!

His ambitions were plain to see—his gun and sword aimed squarely at Fanhai.

One ran Fanhai, the other ran Qinghui—they could only ever be adversaries.

Only adversaries.

Finally, Jing Hong grabbed a small stool. He propped one foot on the stool, aimed the hotel showerhead at his thighs, and sprayed them relentlessly while scrubbing with body wash, over and over, until the skin turned raw.

Jing Hong could even make out faint red blood spots rising beneath the skin.

He scrubbed for a long time before finally, weakly, turning off the shower. His ankle muscles gave way, and he slumped onto the stool. He dragged his hands through his hair, watching the soapy water spiral down the drain, hit by a dizzying sense of not knowing where he was going.

"..." After a long pause, Jing Hong finally got to his feet. He packed his bags efficiently, checking only his wallet, passport, laptop, and phone to make sure nothing important was left behind, then had the bellhop load his bags onto the speedboat and headed to the front desk.

Anything else could be lost, but his laptop and phone held important company files.

At the main island's front desk, the hotel bill was already ready.

Even though he was in a rush, Jing Hong carefully went through each line on the bill.

As he scanned it, Jing Hong frowned and asked the clerk, "What's this $20 charge?"

The clerk explained, and he asked again, "And what's this $4 one?"

...

That morning, Zhou Chang went for a run around the island.

After his run, he showered again, called the island staff back to get breakfast ready, and then went to knock on Jing Hong's door.

No response.

Zhou Chang knocked for a while, then, as if sensing something, went straight for the bedroom doorknob.

Just like the night before, the door wasn't locked.

Zhou Chang pushed the door open and found Jing Hong already gone. The underwear and trousers on the carpet were gone, and the white shirt had been tossed in the trash like garbage.

The bed was a rumpled mess; he touched it, and the sheets were already cold.

The floor-to-ceiling window stood wide open, white curtains billowing out. The morning sea breeze drifted in, salty and sharp, but nothing like the tender, lingering air of last night.

Figuring Jing Hong would check out right away, Zhou Chang hesitated, then decided to try to catch him one last time.

Just up and leaving like that, no rhyme or reason—what's that supposed to be?

Zhou Chang turned and made a beeline for the main island, then hurried to the dock.

The locals said the earliest seaplane back to Malé departed at 10 a.m. Zhou Chang didn't spot Jing Hong at the dock, so he figured he'd try his luck at the little wooden hut that served as the hotel front desk.

And sure enough, there Jing Hong was.

Jing Hong had changed into a fresh shirt, also crisp white. He wasn't sitting—just standing there, slightly hunched, eyes down, one hand flat on the counter, the index finger of the other tapping a line on the bill, asking, "And this line... what's this $16 for? Four bucks a day." Then he looked up at the guy.

Jing Hong had always had a commanding presence—terse, decisive, not taking any pushback, forceful but methodical, and even the period at the end of his sentences carried an invisible weight.

The guy across from him, standing behind the desk, hunched over like a shrimp to take a look, then said, "This is an environmental fund..." His English, being a local, wasn't exactly standard.

"Environmental fund?" Jing Hong asked. "Did any of the materials mention this being a mandatory charge?"

"Uh..." The guy was stunned—clearly never expected a guest staying at the Maldives' most luxurious resort, on its most expensive private island, with the most professional Ambassadeurs, who'd just tipped $2,000 flat, to be this hung up on $16.

In the past, no guest who'd ever set foot here had griped about that four bucks a day—not even the regular office workers who'd scraped together their salaries for a honeymoon.

Jing Hong glanced at his watch and went on, "If it truly is an environmental fund, then fine. But I need proof that this money flows into the fund." His English was fluent and easy on the ears.

"..." The front desk guy said, "Let me go get my manager."

After a bit, the manager came out—a white guy—and said, "Uh, there used to be an environmental fund, but looks like the new finance person forgot to pay it monthly. We'll refund you first, and I'll flag this issue... Thanks so much for pointing out our mistake... Okay, it's already back on your card."

Jing Hong pulled out his phone, opened the app, and actually checked to make sure the refund had gone through.

Zhou Chang had been watching the whole thing, thoroughly amused.

Watching Jing Hong do all that, Zhou Chang found himself thinking of words that had nothing to do with the name "Jing Hong"—like... cute?

A sudden softness welled up in his chest.

If anyone knew he'd just thought that, they'd be floored. Jing Hong himself probably would be, too.

Once he'd confirmed the $16 refund, Jing Hong said a quick "Alright," said goodbye to the guy, locked his phone, turned—and there was Zhou Chang.

Zhou Chang was hard to miss, and anyway, they were already standing right in front of each other.

Zhou Chang ribbed him, "Man, you really are President Jing through and through—can't let anyone get a penny over on you."

"..." Jing Hong went quiet for a beat, then said, "President Zhou."

Zhou Chang arched an eyebrow, a little stung by Jing Hong's frosty tone, and shot back with a teasing look, "Didn't we agree that on this island, it's 'Jing Hong'? We're supposed to use first names."

Jing Hong said evenly, "I just checked out. Vacation's over. What happens on vacation stays on vacation."

The message was clear: everything from the Maldives stays in the Maldives—forever in the Indian Ocean, forever on that island.

"I see," Zhou Chang said, just as unbothered on the surface. "So when's President Jing's next vacation?"

"Hard to say," Jing Hong replied, still polite but distant. "In the seven and a half years since I graduated, this is the only break I've taken."

Which meant: there wouldn't be a next vacation.

Zhou Chang just looked down at Jing Hong, saying nothing.

"Alright, President Zhou," Jing Hong said, glancing at his watch. "I've gotta go. No time to talk." He didn't even bother with a goodbye.

Zhou Chang's jaw stayed tight. After a few seconds, he nodded toward the dock and said, "Go on."

Zhou Chang wasn't exactly gracious, but Jing Hong didn't take the bait. Without another word, he brushed past him.

Zhou Chang stood there for a beat, not turning around. They parted on a sour note.

At the dock, the seaplane was just about to take off. The island's service team had already hauled Jing Hong's luggage over to the plane, and the moment they saw him, they scrambled to load it on.

Jing Hong got on the seaplane, which started taxiing across the water before lifting off.

Once the plane was in the air, Jing Hong looked back at the island through the window next to him.

He spotted Zhou Chang out on the empty stretch of sand in front of the front desk hut—black shirt, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, head tilted up, watching the plane go. His figure was tiny, and getting tinier.

Jing Hong couldn't read Zhou Chang's expression, but it was probably blank.

The moment he left that little island behind, all the strength seemed to drain out of Jing Hong.

He leaned against the window, eyes going out of focus, thinking: If he hadn't made a fuss over that $16, would he have run into Zhou Chang?

But it was a habit. Jing Hong hated being taken advantage of—whether it was his trust, his carelessness, or his impatience... even if the payoff was only $16.

He liked having absolute control over everything.

Back in Malé, right on schedule, Jing Hong got a video call request from one of his company's senior execs.

Everything felt normal again.

"President Jing," said Jiang Rengui, the GM of the cloud computing group. He could tell Jing Hong was in a bad mood but didn't dare ask—just stuck to business. "About that cloud education product we talked about—here's what I'm thinking. We pull people from the other three teams to form a new group, each handling the parts closest to what they already do. And conveniently, those departments all have some extra headcount, so the setup works out well. For the lead, I'd use so-and-so—technically really strong, and also—"

"..." The sight of Jiang Rengui instantly reminded Jing Hong of that whole business about "replacing the cloud computing group president along with Qinghui," and his mind drifted for a second. But he quickly forced himself to focus, looked at the screen, tapped his knuckles on the desk, mulled it over for a second, and said, "Don't pull anyone. Just hand it straight to Maurice's team."

The guy froze for a second. "Straight to Maurice's team? President Jing, is this project really that high a priority?"

"Yes," Jing Hong said. "If we pull people, I'm worried about the new team's integration issues. They don't know each other, don't understand each other—it affects efficiency. Pulling from three departments could even lead to factions, internal conflicts, and the lead might not truly command all the subordinates. I want a team, not a gang. Besides, if we form a temporary team, members won't feel a sense of belonging—they might even see themselves as expendable, and that mindset is wrong."

"But..." the other hesitated, "Maurice's team, first of all, isn't very familiar with two of the parts—no overlap in past business. Secondly—"

Jing Hong cut him off: "If they don't know it, they'll learn. Nothing can't be learned."

Compared to attitude and communication issues, this was no longer a problem. Jing Hong wanted this product to be long-term. Maurice's team had been established for years, with core members all personally trained by him, all loyal and admiring of him—one of Fanhai's most efficient and excellent teams.

The other raised another point, insisting on voicing his full consideration: "Secondly, Maurice's team already has a ton of projects. Their time is fully booked."

Jing Hong remained decisive: "Let him decide for himself. Have him drop the one he considers least important at this stage."

"Alright." After a pause, the general manager added, "I hear Qinghui is also working on a 'cloud education' project, and they started even earlier than us."

At the mention of "Qinghui," Jing Hong's heart tightened for a moment.

But quickly, he said calmly, "I know. Then we'll do it better than Qinghui and surpass them."

Jing Hong had high hopes for the cloud education product.

Chinese people were placing more and more importance on "education," and with more money in their pockets, they were bound to seek more efficient tutoring methods. This product could integrate teachers, students, and parents, covering pre-class, in-class, and post-class phases, and automatically analyze students' strengths and weaknesses.

Jing Hong had a vague premonition that something major would happen in a year or two, and that "cloud office" and "cloud education" would be a flashpoint—perhaps even crucial to all of China.

And his gut feelings had never been wrong.

Since Qinghui was also working on it, the only move was to outdo them.

Hearing Jing Hong's words, the other guy chuckled and said, "Of course."

After the video call ended, Jing Hong had a one-on-one meeting with Zhao Hanqing.

Zhao Hanqing beamed with delight and said, "Mr. Jing, just now, the CEO of XX came to me, wanting to stop competing and, using the key strategy that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend,' team up to take on Qinghui's livestreaming business." This company was the top player among the up-and-coming livestreaming companies.

"Oh?" Jing Hong was intrigued. "Tell me more."

"So here's the deal," Zhao Hanqing continued. "They're looking to go public on the NYSE. But they're facing competition from Qinghui, from Fanhai, and also from their same-tier rival XXXX, plus a bunch of random small fry on the sidelines. Wall Street isn't thrilled about them being boxed in. They want to quickly knock out one major competitor, reducing their primary 'enemies' from three to two—especially not wanting to get squeezed between Fanhai and Qinghui. In livestreaming, Qinghui is the clear leader right now, so they think the two of us should team up."

"What form would it take?" Jing Hong thought: teaming up while they're prepping for their IPO is a smart play.

"We'd throw in a token investment for a few points—I'm thinking we put in 5%. After that, since their big early streamers' contracts are all up soon, they want Fanhai to give them a traffic pipeline so these streams can run on both platforms at the same time, boosting traffic and helping them lock in renewals. Once other big streamers see those numbers, they'll jump on board. For streams in this setup, Fanhai takes 50%. And they can share their traffic sources with us too. Our categories are different, so this lets us broaden our lineup and hit Qinghui together."

Jing Hong rubbed his lower lip, thinking it through calmly: "Alright, go for it."

"Got it."

After lining up several strikes against Qinghui, even if it wasn't on purpose, Jing Hong felt the heavy, restless weight in his chest start to lift, and his mood finally lightened.

Everything felt like it was back on track.

Fanhai vs. Qinghui, him vs. Zhou Chang—they were still rivals, and that's all they could ever be.

He didn't want to deal with messy relationships.

............

On the other side, Zhou Chang hung around the main island for a bit before finally heading back to his suite.

Two breakfasts were still sitting on the table, stone cold by now.

Not knowing what Jing Hong liked, Zhou Chang had asked the island's service team to prepare a whole spread, even making three kinds of fried eggs—well-done, medium, and soft-boiled.

Zhou Chang barely glanced at them before walking around the table.

The fingerprints on the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room were still clearly visible.

Last night, the two of them had been bare before each other in that spot, kissing, touching, and...

So wanton.

Zhou Chang didn't want to dwell on it. He turned and headed toward the room he'd slept in last night.

As he reached the door, though he didn't want to be unilaterally pulled along, led by the nose, as if tugged by an invisible thread, Zhou Chang gave in with a hint of self-abandonment, lifted his leg again, and crossed the living room into the empty room where Jing Hong had previously slept.

It was no different from usual.

Except...

Zhou Chang crouched by the bedside trash can, staring down for a long moment, then reached in and pulled out the white shirt.

The buttons had all popped off—he'd torn them off himself. The chest area was covered in red wine, exuding a rich, fragrant aroma.

California's "Screaming Eagle," Zhou Chang remembered the logo featured a soaring eagle. And this red wine was called "Cabernet Sauvignon."

It had a slight astringency on the first sip, but then came layers of fruit notes—blackberry, blackcurrant, black plum... Not exactly bright and charming, but carrying a sweetness beneath its bold intensity.

Zhou Chang recalled that this winery also had a famous white wine called "Sauvignon Blanc."

His throat suddenly felt dry. Zhou Chang crouched by the floor-to-ceiling window, lifting the shirt to his nose, and gently inhaled the scent of the red stain on the chest.

Author's note:

Zhou Yongri (previous chapter): My wife is here! I have a wife!

Zhou Yongri (this chapter): My wife ran away! I don't have a wife again!