“I’ll handcuff you when we meet.”
Chen Zemian agreed without hesitation.
He knew how strong Lu Zhuonian’s desire for control was, and he also knew that Lu Zhuonian didn’t like things to go beyond his expectations.
Faced with his repeated failure to keep his word and the unexpected things that happened one after another, Lu Zhuonian should have had a lot to say — for example, he should keep his promises, pay attention to safety, and not worry himself again and again.
But in the end, Lu Zhuonian didn’t say any of these.
Not only did he handle it with care, but he was also reluctant to admit that he felt bad.
Because he knew very well that Chen Zemian had a poor ability to withstand pressure, excellent dodging skills, and was an expert at backing out of confrontations.
Chen Zemian could accept control, but that was within Lu Zhuonian’s reach. Lu Zhuonian could catch him, watch him, and control him.
But not now.
The practical problems brought by distance cannot be ignored. Lu Zhuonian is out of reach and cannot participate in the initial scene immediately. Excessive care and intervention will become burdensome and ineffective, like a wet garment clinging heavily. Besides adding pressure, it will have no positive effect.
In this case, some words are better left unsaid.
If you can’t solve the problem, don’t create one.
If you can’t share the workload with those who stay up late working overtime, don’t persuade them to go to bed early, citing concerns for their health.
Human emotions and words are often self-centered. When a problem cannot be solved, words of concern and persuasion often serve only as self-comfort and pressure transfer.
As we all know, Chen Zemian’s tendency to hide when encountering trouble—like an ostrich or turtle—is well known, and he has an excellent record of venting his anger.
Seeing Chen Zemian involved in right and wrong and sinking deeper, Lu Zhuonian felt helpless—like watching tofu fall into an ash nest—can’t blow, can’t hit. There is nothing he can do.
All his worries and reluctance were finally expressed in just a few words.
Chen Zemian’s heart suddenly softened.
He leaned against a willow tree on the street, holding his phone and looking up at the sky through the swaying branches. “Lu Zhuonian, there is no moon in the Beijing night sky tonight.”
Lu Zhuonian replied, “I miss you too.”
Chen Zemian: “…”
“Why are you so silent?” Lu Zhuonian’s voice was tinged with a smile that was hard to hide. “Is it because I predicted what you were going to say?”
Chen Zemian wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction. “You’re so disappointing!”
Lu Zhuonian followed suit. “Okay, then say it again.”
“But you interrupted my mood.” Chen Zemian took out his headphones, put them on, and tapped the screen a few times. “Lu Zhuonian, check your mailbox.”
An email reminder popped up on Lu Zhuonian’s phone screen.
There was no text in the email, only a link for download.
After the download completed, an app icon appeared on Lu Zhuonian’s home screen, resembling a game called “Transcendental Engine.”
Chen Zemian said: “This is a new game made by our studio— a racing game that combines realistic driving with science fiction elements.”
A racing game?
Lu Zhuonian was slightly surprised.
The latest project promoted by Chen Zemian’s studio was a series of Chinese horror stories. I had never heard him mention working on a racing game.
Is it customized by investors?
Lu Zhuonian opened the game and took a look. The graphics were beautiful, and the controls intuitive. There are two main modes: driving mode and career mode.
The driving mode features a classic racing car, with options for single-player and multiplayer. Maps and cars can be obtained through upgrades, sign-ins, and lotteries. The career mode is relatively new. Players can design and build cars themselves—from engines to various accessories. The almost endless combinations and choices are irresistible.
After the tutorial, the novice gift package includes a luxury supercar.
Looking at the sports car with familiar colors on the screen, Lu Zhuonian paused briefly before clicking to receive it, then zoomed in to examine the details.
It was exactly the same as his Pagani Fengshen.
Lu Zhuonian’s heartbeat gradually accelerated, and a strange hypothesis formed in his mind.
He suppressed his pounding heart and said nonchalantly, “Giving Fengshen as a gift at the start? Mr. Chen is really generous.”
“Because this is the first car you gave me, I wanted to record this moment in a special way.”
Chen Zemian revealed the design concept behind the game.
“On the night Koenigsegg crashed, I thought that no matter what I gave you, it might be damaged in an accident. So I made a game for you and made it available for players worldwide to download.”
From then on, every player becomes a part of a larger whole, continuing to create traces within the game itself.
One after another, electronic data, screenshots, strategy videos, forum Q&A posts, and peripheral models will quietly grow around the world like mushrooms after rain.
In this way, even if the game is shut down someday—or the players disappear—these traces will never be completely erased.
Even as time passes, the stars fade, and years pass ruthlessly, these marks will remain in history.
Chen Zemian looked up at the vast night sky. “Even if we are gone someday, I want the world to remember that I loved you.”
Every tiny trace is a witness.
Like the sky and the moon, they remain unchanged forever.
Lu Zhuonian was silent for a long time.
Only the faint sound of breathing could be heard beside the headphones.
Chen Zemian’s affection was not limited to this. He had never liked anyone so much before. He expressed his love immersively, unaware of the change in his breathing.
“Lu Zhuonian, open the Racing Atlas.”
In the Racing Atlas, there are two sets of numbers below each racing car: market value and points-for-coupons exchange price. The market value marked on almost all cars matches their market price. The only exception is a Koenigsegg One:1 in black and pink.
Like a tiny bug, its price is double the market value.
It was the same car that crashed at Maple Forest Circuit, but with a slightly different color scheme.
How clever Lu Zhuonian was.
When he saw the ‘Wind God’ in the novice gift package, he guessed that Chen Zemian had given him this game.
So, when he noticed that the Koenigsegg’s price was wrong, he immediately understood why the car’s value was doubled in the records. Chen Zemian had bought him another one.
There was only one car in existence, yet it cost twice as much, so the game record showed its price as doubled.
Unaware that his plan had been exposed, Chen Zemian decided to perform a little magic trick for Lu Zhuonian.
Lu Zhuonian walked out of the school holding his phone. “Chen Zemian, I’m addicted to sex.”
“…”
Chen Zemian raised his hand and called a taxi: “I’m going home now and will video chat with you.”
The two were thousands of miles apart, and the effect of video therapy was limited.
The main issue was that, although Lu Zhuonian was unwell, he wasn’t so sick as to lose his mind or refuse self-touch, so he finally took paroxetine.
After taking the medication, he put his phone to his ear, listened to Chen Zemian talking, and soon fell asleep.
His illness was less severe than before, and he often recovered after half a day of medication and rest.
Chen Zemian, exhausted after tossing and turning all night, soon fell into a deep sleep while listening to Lu Zhuonian’s heavy breathing.
He had talked on the phone all night, and when he woke the next day, his phone was out of power.
He charged it, turned it on, and saw Lu Zhuonian’s message saying he was fine and asking him not to worry.
Originally, Chen Zemian planned to go to Boston to see Lu Zhuonian, but after some reflection, he realized they had only been apart for a week.
Forget it—no need to toss and turn over this.
He promised Lu Zhuonian he wouldn’t go to Fanlou, and he really didn’t.
During this period, his main focus was on the game studio.
The promotion of the racing game went more smoothly than expected.
He thought users would tire of racing games, but he didn’t expect classics to last forever.
A few days later, Xue Duo contacted Chen Zemian, saying Fu Tingchao was riding horses at a golf course in the western suburbs that afternoon, and asked if he wanted to join.
Golf and horse riding.
Officer Fu’s younger brother really has a creative streak.
Aren’t you afraid the horse will step in a hole and sprain an ankle?
Chen Zemian replied, “Let’s go,” then got up, took a shower, changed clothes, and headed to meet Xue Duo.
Xue Duo and Fu Tingchao weren’t exactly familiar with each other. Fu Tingchao was several years older, and they usually moved in different circles. Chen Zemian only socialized among the second-generation wealthy and didn’t participate in the internal affairs of the rich, so he had never met them before.
But in fact, the Fu brothers are quite famous.
The older brother, Fu Guanlan, is exemplary in both character and learning. He became a policeman after graduation and, although young, has been in criminal investigation for seven or eight years. Promotion is imminent. The younger brother, Fu Tingchao, is a playboy who neither takes over the family business nor has other career plans—he’s a well-known ‘sea king’ in Beijing circles.
Chen Zemian couldn’t get any information about Xiaojin Pills from Fu Guanlan, so he decided to adopt a roundabout tactic and find a breakthrough through Fu Tingchao.
Fu Guanlan used his brother’s identity to investigate the case. Fu Tingchao was aware of this, and judging by how skilled Fu Guanlan was at playing the dandy that night, it was obviously not the first time.
According to Chen Zemian’s intuition, Fu Tingchao was not as simple as he appeared.
Sure enough, when Fu Tingchao met Chen Zemian, he asked, “Are you the relative my brother handcuffed a few days ago?”
Chen Zemian: “…”
It seemed the brothers had some behind-the-scenes connection.
The exchange of information was quick.
It appeared Fu Guanlan and he shared the same goal: both wanted to use Fu Tingchao as an intermediary to get the information they needed.
Fu Tingchao rode his horse, studying Chen Zemian from head to toe, with an expression that was not very polite—as if he were inspecting a commodity. “Lu Zhuonian has good taste.”
Chen Zemian was unfazed and looked back at Fu Tingchao. “You and Officer Fu don’t look very alike.”
Fu Tingchao squeezed the horse’s belly and slowly moved forward. “He is fat.”
Chen Zemian said, “Well, he is strong.”
Fu Tingchao pulled the reins, leaned over, and used his whip to hook Chen Zemian’s chin. “I don’t like strong people. I prefer you like this—you’re pretty.”
Chen Zemian was forced to look up, squinting into the sun. “My face isn’t suited for looking from top to bottom. The straight-on view is more beautiful, and the upward angle is the most perfect.”
Fu Tingchao: “?”
He didn’t immediately understand what Chen Zemian meant.
Xue Duo, following behind, understood immediately and skillfully took out his phone to turn on the camera.
Chen Zemian raised his head, placed his hand on Fu Tingchao’s arm, and smiled at him.
Fu Tingchao was momentarily distracted.
The next second, his arm suddenly sank, and the sensation of weightlessness followed!
He was thrown off the horse suddenly, drawing a semicircular arc in the air like a watch hand, with his right arm as the pivot, bypassing Chen Zemian and falling onto the grass on the other side.
To prevent Fu Tingchao from being stepped on by the horse, Chen Zemian deliberately threw him far away. Still, everything happened in a flash.
Chen Zemian moved too quickly; Fu Tingchao didn’t react, and even the horse was caught off guard.
It wasn’t until Fu Tingchao landed with a “bang” that the horse, startled, moved its ears, raised its hooves, and paced in place. Chen Zemian held the reins and gently pressed the horse’s head, instantly calming it.
Fu Tingchao lay in the soft grass, gazing at the vast blue sky and the moist grass scent at his nose.
This fall wasn’t painful, but it was shockingly sudden and fast.
He looked at Chen Zemian in shock.
The bright sunlight, as if brushed in gold ink, outlined a hazy golden halo around Chen Zemian.
Chen Zemian stood tall, holding the reins with one hand, arrogant and unconcerned. He was radiant and striking, like a jade tree swaying in the wind.
The blue sky, white clouds, green grass, and the horse all became a backdrop for him.
Chen Zemian looked down at Fu Tingchao and asked, “Isn’t this perfect?”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
