Unforgettable Touch - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: A Secret Confrontation

All of a sudden, Ran Buyue lost interest in talking.

From their reunion until now—whether in front of others or alone—Shu Zhenshan had been deliberately avoiding their past. He claimed not to know Ran Buyue, said they were merely alumni and fellow townsmen.

It was as if he had completely forgotten they were once together. Once so close they breathed in each other’s air. Once argued all night in the lab over a tiny component.

Ran Buyue had given him openings, but Shu Zhenshan never took them. He only kept insisting they had no connection.

Maybe, six years ago, when Shu Zhenshan abruptly quit their robotics team—letting all their joint effort go to waste—and decided to abandon their shared dream for the family business, the Shu Zhenshan he once knew had completely vanished.

And their past had evaporated like water in the desert, leaving not a single trace in the life of the corporate heir.

Maybe Shu Zhenshan wasn’t avoiding it. Maybe he had truly forgotten.

Six years in the business world, rising to the top. He’d seen it all by now. It was enough to forget a life of dull routines.

The thought left Ran Buyue with a bitter taste.

Fine. Let them be nothing more than acquaintances at a party.

“Ready to head back?” Shu Zhenshan asked.

“Sure,” Ran Buyue replied, putting both hands on the jet ski’s handlebars.

“I’ll drive,” Shu Zhenshan said, placing his hands outside Ran Buyue’s, essentially encircling him in an embrace.

Ran Buyue frowned slightly and shifted forward, avoiding any suggestive contact.

Who knew how many people he’d held like this before?

Shu Zhenshan handled the controls with ease, speeding back to the yacht.

Most of the rich kids were already back, their jet skis lined neatly in the dock.

As Ran Buyue removed his life vest, he noticed he was soaked through like he’d been fished out of the sea. Shu Zhenshan, on the other hand, had the foresight to wear a wetsuit that concealed any wetness.

Just as they stepped back onto the deck, champagne sprayed over them. Gorgeous girls swarmed around, pulling Ran Buyue and Shu Zhenshan into the party.

The deck throbbed with pent-up testosterone after the jet ski races. The EDM music was loud and wild, shaking the yacht. A twin-tailed DJ girl popped gum as she mixed beats. Models surrounded the trust fund kids on the dance floor. The men had long lost their shirts, grinding and jumping bare-skinned. Several women had their bikini strings undone, what little fabric remained swinging uselessly. Men and women danced like deranged characters in a surreal, hedonistic carnival.

Hao Le was sprawled out on a sofa by the dance floor. He waved at them. “Ah Shu Zhenshan! Ah Ran Buyue!”

Ran Buyue walked over like a man rescued from a warzone and sat next to Hao Le. Shu Zhenshan followed and sat on Hao Le’s other side.

“The Paris–Brest pastry made by his private chef is amazing. You guys want to try it?” Hao Le burped, surrounded by no less than five empty dessert plates.

Ran Buyue glanced from the decadent chaos to Li Hao. “You were really hungry.”

 Hao Le clutched Ran Buyue with one hand and Shu Zhenshan with the other, eyes watery and voice concerned. “So? After your romantic ride, did you two feel the suspension bridge effect? Forgiveness? A love reborn?”

“…” Ran Buyue was speechless. “  Hao Le, I think you’re a bit drunk.”

Shu Zhenshan said calmly, “He had five whiskey-flavored caramel puddings.”

“Bullshit! I had six!”  Hao Le corrected proudly, still clinging to them. “So what happened between you two?”

Ran Buyue smiled faintly. “President Shu Zhenshan still remembers I owe him money.”

Shu Zhenshan replied, “Shouldn’t you repay it?”

Ran Buyue: “Of course I should. It was my fault—I ruined something important to President Shu Zhenshan.”

Shu Zhenshan: “Pay up, and we’re even.”

Even. What a word.

Ran Buyue thought  every mess in his life was tangled up with Shu Zhenshan, and now Shu got to declare them even with such ease.

Maintaining strained politeness, Ran Buyue said, “Then I’ll trouble you to send the invoice promptly.”

Their words were calm, but each sentence cut like a blade, exchanging barbs back and forth. Hao Le rubbed his temple. “Seriously, this all started from some tiny issue. How are you two still arguing about it?”

Shu Zhenshan thought:You don’t get it.

And it wasn’t a tiny issue.

The three of them sat stiffly amid the wild party, completely out of place. Second Young Master Zheng noticed this and, not one to be ignored at his own party, waved over some girls to drag them onto the dance floor. No one was allowed to stay stiff-faced on his yacht.

The girls, like butterflies, swarmed toward Ran Buyue—the one who looked the shyest—and dragged him into the colorful chaos.

Someone shouted, “Punishment drink! Punishment drink!” And the crowd picked up the chant. Even Li Yao joined in, clearly drunk.

“Isn’t our designer Ran Buyue fresh from the States?” someone yelled. “Y’all play wilder stuff over there, right? Come on, the Dentist’s Chair!”

The crowd chanted, “Dentist’s Chair! Dentist’s Chair!”

Ran Buyue casually glanced at someone, then turned to the model with the liquor bottle and crooked a finger bring it.

Cheers exploded.

The model strutted forward, raising a gleaming bottle of limited-edition Oval Vodka—decorated with 7000 Swarovski crystals and boasting a 45% alcohol volume.

Ran Buyue slouched into the barstool, tilted his head back, and opened his mouth.

The fiery vodka poured from a long metal spout directly into his throat.

The name “Dentist’s Chair” comes from the pose—head tilted back, mouth open, like during a dental checkup.

The model, trained for effect, deliberately raised the bottle high, letting some liquor spill over his lips and down his chin, soaking his shirt.

His semi-damp white shirt clung to his body, now thoroughly drenched, outlining faint muscle curves—youthful and wanton. Mesmerizing.

Screams rang out. Ran Buyue calmly undid the shirt buttons. His glowing pale skin peeked through; long black hair dripped across his chest like a siren rising from the sea—utterly intoxicating. Hao Le sat up straight, eyes wide. “Holy sh… Ah Ran Buyue’s got moves.”

On the side, silent until now, Shu Zhenshan suddenly dropped his silver fork with a clang and stood up abruptly.

“Hey—where are you going?”  Hao Le tried to stop him, but Shu Zhenshan brushed past him coldly.

His voice, deadly calm: “To pour him one.”

 Hao Le instantly sobered and yelled, No! Don’t!

“Another round! Another round!” the crowd roared.

The model looked to Ran for approval. He smiled, opened his mouth again—tongue glowing red and glistening like a diamond stud.

Three-second pour, each second counted slowly.

The crowd’s cheers and the sting of liquor surged through him. Ran Buyue closed his eyes, feeling a rare, wild euphoria.

Countless eyes were on him, and he didn’t care if one of them belonged to that man.

As the dizziness hit, Ran Buyue opened his eyes to scan the crowd—but couldn’t see Shu Zhenshan. Instead, Li Yao was screaming louder than anyone, probably shouting, “One more! One more!”

He’d drunk at least two ounces of vodka already. The buzz came fast. Ran knew he should stop, but his adrenaline was too high.

He opened his mouth for round three.

Just as the model tilted the bottle again, a hand seized it tightly.

The next moment, Shu Zhenshan had the bottle.

Ran Buyue tilted his head, unexpectedly locking eyes with Shu’s furious face—and laughed even harder, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Shu Zhenshan stepped in front of him, his tall frame shielding him completely.

He grabbed Ran Buyue’s chin, forcing his face upward. His breath, hot and beastly, seared Ran Buyue’s ear, making goosebumps erupt across his skin.

Holding the bottle away, Shu Zhenshan muttered low and deadly:
“Ran Buyue, do you have a death wish?”

Ran Buyue smiled brightly, whispering, “Oh? President Shu Zhenshan, so you do know my name?”

Shu Zhenshan’s voice was hoarse. “They’ll drink you to death.”

Ran Buyue laughed harder. “President Shu Zhenshan, I’m drinking my drink. What’s it to you?”

Shu Zhenshan didn’t answer. His fingers trembled faintly around the bottle.

They stared each other down, nose to nose.

“Hey, hey, what’s Shu Zhenshan the Great CEO doing barging in like this?” Second Young Master Zheng grumbled.

Hao Le squeezed through the crowd like a groundhog. “He’s gonna pour Ah Ran Buyue! Don’t do it, Ah Zhen—Ah Ran can’t handle it!”

Shu Zhenshan had poured shots down someone’s throat like this before—non-stop for a full minute, hospitalizing the poor guy. But that guy had it coming. Ran certainly hadn’t done anything so extreme… yet.

“Ohhh, you wanna pour me a shot now, President Shu Zhenshan?” Ran Buyue feigned enlightenment. “You could’ve just said so. What’s with all the drama?”

Ran Buyue reached for the bottle in Shu Zhenshan’s hand. Shu simply held it higher, just out of reach.

Annoyed, Ran Buyue hooked an arm around Shu Zhenshan’s neck, lifted himself off the stool, and coiled his long legs around Shu Zhenshan’s waist like a predatory sea snake.

His pale fingers slid up Shu Zhenshan’s strong tanned arm.