Unforgettable Touch - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Intense Reactions

Zheng Ershao reluctantly opened three bottles of his prized collection, yet had to act as if he were delighted to do so. By the end, everyone on the deck was dead drunk, the air thick with the rotting sweetness of overripe tropical fruit. Things had gotten wild.

Shu Zhenshan sat quietly in a secluded corner, with a clear view of the entire deck.

Hao Le slumped beside him, surrounded by at least eight empty plates on the table. He rubbed his belly contentedly. “If it weren’t for craving the Zheng family’s private chef again, I wouldn’t have come. Just watching them party is exhausting. That pole-dancing girl is spinning me dizzy.”

“Mm,” Shu Zhenshan responded calmly, typing away while occasionally glancing up at the crowd—not clear what he was looking at.

Hao Le leaned over to peek at what Shu Zhenshan was doing. His eyes lit up, and he lowered his voice in surprise. “The board approved the robot project?”

Shu Zhenshan gave a soft “Mm.”

“Then what are you still working for? Go celebrate! Pop some champagne!” Hao Le shoved him lightly.

Shu Zhenshan said, “There’s still a lot to do before assembling the team.”

“…” Hao Le sighed dramatically. “Ah, A-Zhen, take a break. The robot’s not going to hatch overnight. Why wear yourself out like a high schooler cramming for exams? It’s not like you’re taking the Gaokao.”

Shu Zhenshan replied, “But I am.”

Hao Le blinked like a meme: “Huh? Since when are you taking it?”

It was a ridiculous question, yet Shu Zhenshan actually answered, “Within three weeks.”

Alright then. Hao Le murmured to himself, I can never keep with you.

In recent years, Chengyan Group had been steadily expanding its investments in the tech sector. The investments weren’t massive, and operations were kept low-profile. But President Shu Zhenshan had a sharp eye—almost every project he backed succeeded. For years, Hao Le had sensed Shu Zhenshan’s ambition—or perhaps, his long-concealed ideals.

Sometimes Hao Le would joke, “A-Zhen, you graduated from the world’s top engineering school just to come back and play rich landlord? What a waste. You should be inventing cutting-edge tech and leading humanity into the cyber age!”

Shu Zhenshan would retort, “Didn’t you also say I should be a male model?”

Hao Le would just shrug: “Fair. Work however you like, but couldn’t you work back at the office? Look around—does this look like a productive environment? Aren’t you afraid some rich kid might steal your files and leak trade secrets?”

Indeed, this was far from an ideal work setting. Shu Zhenshan looked at the kaleidoscopic lights of the dance floor, the chaotic crowd of devils and angels… and the white butterfly gliding under the spotlight.

No matter what party games they played or how wild things got, Ran Biyue fit in perfectly. Even with new games he’d never seen before, Ran picked them up after observing one round. He knew when to hold back and when to strike. Sharp and adaptable, he navigated the crowd of seasoned socialites like a natural. He didn’t drink a drop himself but cleverly managed to get many others drunk.

A few genuinely competent rich kids noticed Ran’s skill and invited him to join their private clubs afterward. Ran just smiled without committing, like a sprite no one could quite grasp, then turned to join the girls’ singing and dancing.

His wine-soaked shirt was long gone. Someone had draped a rhinestone-studded sleeveless top over him, and a diamond crown had been placed on his head. He looked like a prince of high society, dancing freely, beautiful without trying, drawing every eye like a flame.

Shu Zhenshan had never realized Ran Buyue could be so magnetic. In his mind, Ran Buyue was still that nervous freshman at parties, masking his awkwardness with a cold expression, secretly asking how to fold a pocket square, following behind Shu Zhenshan like a spoiled, sharp-tongued little bird.

Now, perfumes from the girls clung to his boy. Arms of rich boys were slung casually around his boy. Priceless liquors fell like rain, soaking Ran Buyue and those strangers’ faces in slow-motion smiles.

For the first time, Shu Zhenshan saw it clearly—since that balloon-filled afternoon to now, from the boy who loved his lab to the social butterfly mastering the crowd, Ran Buyue had walked a long road alone.

And in that slow-motion scene dusted with gold glitter, Shu Zhenshan had only one thought—

Ran Buyue must have suffered a lot, in all those places Shu Zhenshan didn’t see.

Ran Buyue seemed to stumble mid-step, not even having put down his wine glass yet.

The kite string jerked hard—Shu Zhenshan stood up instantly. But before he could move, a tall, handsome young male model caught Ran and asked gently if he was okay, his smile soft.

The model brought him a cup of warm water. Ran Buyue didn’t refuse it. From the shape of his lips, he even said, “Thank you.” Then they sat side by side on a low bench, arms brushing, chatting and laughing.

It felt like a blunt weapon hit Shu Zhenshan’s head, and he couldn’t take a single step forward.

What would he do now? Pull them apart? Based on what identity, what right?

Ran Buyue had just smiled and asked, President Shu, I drink what I want—what does that have to do with you?

Exactly. Other than owing him an absurd cleaning bill, Ran Buyue had nothing to do with Shu Zhenshan now.

They’d been apart for six years. How many people had Ran Buyue dated, kissed, slept with, loved, or even planned a future with?

—None of it had anything to do with Shu Zhenshan.

Damn it.

A wild fire surged across the barren plains of his heart. The impulse he’d barely managed to suppress came roaring back. An anxious heat gnawed at him, and cold sweat beaded across his body.

Almost in a panic, Shu Zhenshan pulled something from the inner pocket of his suit and clutched it tightly, rubbing its coarse fabric with trembling fingers like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

He didn’t know if it was because of their breakup six years ago or something else, but he had developed this habit. A paradox—craving human touch yet recoiling from it. Wanting to possess something deeply, yet terrified of loss. In the worst times, it even led to self-destructive behavior.

That’s why when Ran Buyue touched him earlier, he instinctively recoiled—not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t trust what he might do.

He forced himself to look away, to the deep, dark sea, repeating techniques his therapist had taught him. Breathe, redirect attention away from touch. Safe. Calm. Relax the hands. Calm…

With iron will, Shu Zhenshan pried open his fist. In his palm lay a crumpled, wine-stained handkerchief.

When he came to, the model was gone from Ran’s side. Shu Zhenshan exhaled slightly in relief, his heartbeat easing.

“What? The white truffles on the ship are all gone?” Hao Le sounded outraged, then reluctantly said, “Fine, whatever. Make me the black truffle chopped chili fish head.”

He turned and jumped. “A-Zhen, are you okay?”

Shu Zhenshan looked at him with a strange expression and murmured, “Good thing the Hao family didn’t go into the culinary business.”

“Hey! Don’t you dare question my taste in food!” Hao Le huffed. “The ship’s heading back. If you want anything else, order now before the chef calls it a night.”

“Thank you, Master Hao Le, for the reminder,” Shu Zhenshan replied sincerely.

The ship turning back meant the party was ending.

The drunken young men would probably spend the night in their beach mansions with models. Shu Zhenshan and food-coma Hao Le clearly weren’t in that crowd.

In just a moment, Ran Buyue was gone.

Shu Zhenshan stood. “I’m going to change. Getting ready to disembark.”

Hao Le waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m waiting for my fish head.”

Shu Zhenshan had a clear goal—he headed straight for the public changing rooms below deck.

Ran Buyue had no clean clothes left. With his cleanliness obsession, he would definitely change before leaving. The private cabins’ bathrooms were likely all occupied by the rich kids, and Ran Buyue wouldn’t barge in. So he could only be in the public changing rooms.

In stark contrast to the chaos above, the lower deck changing room was quiet, dimly lit with vintage-style sconces that cast a warm golden glow, like a classical oil painting.

And within that oil painting, a long-haired man stood with his back to the door. He raised his hand to remove the crown from his head and peeled off the glittering sleeveless top, tossing it aside.

His smooth, creamy back came into view. His shoulder blades, like serpent bones, tensed and then relaxed with the motion. His waist was narrow and elegant, with faint indentations where two shallow dimples curved—like a Greco-Roman sculpture.

Shu Zhenshan forgot to breathe, afraid to disturb the dream-like image before him.

He didn’t even remember how he quietly locked the door and approached Ran Buyue from behind.

But he was sure he’d made some sound.

Because Ran Buyue tensed all over and.