Unforgettable Touch - Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Pick Me, Quick

They stood too close, each trying to detect a crack in the other’s indifferent expression, but finding nothing.

Ran Buyue raised an eyebrow slightly. “President Shu wants to ask me out?”

Shu Zhenshan replied, “What is Director Ran’s schedule too full?”

“No one could be busier than the big CEO,” Ran Buyue teased.

Shu Zhenshan pretended not to catch the underlying meaning and answered flatly, “I am busy. I’ve got one more company to manage now.”

Then he smoothly shifted the topic. “So, how long do you plan to think it over?”

“President Shu Zhenshan is in such a rush,” Ran Buyue said.

He extended one finger and pressed it against Shu Zhenshan’s chest, the thin layer of fabric barely separating his fingertip from the man’s solid, warm pectorals.

Shu Zhenshan’s breath hitched slightly, though his tone remained cool. “Timing waits for no one. If you decline, I have plenty of other options.”

It was unclear whether he meant other designers or other bed partners.

“Mm, I’m aware,” Ran Buyue murmured, pushing forward with light pressure.

Shu Zhenshan allowed himself to be guided back half a step, then another, the distance between them slowly widening.

“When you’ve made up your mind, reply to my email,” Shu Zhenshan said.

“We’ll see.” Ran Buyue jumped down from the edge of the sink and walked toward the door.

With his long legs, Shu Zhenshan stepped forward and leaned lazily against the doorframe, casually blocking most of the exit. “Don’t forget—you agreed to apologize to me in person tomorrow at noon, remember?”

Then he added, “Your assistant should’ve confirmed it with you.”

“Oh… right. That does ring a bell.” Ran Buyue nodded. “See you tomorrow then.”

The two stood in silence for half a minute, tension thick in the air. Shu Zhenshan finally seemed to realize he was blocking the way and moved aside slowly like an automatic sliding door. Ran Buyue walked past him and left.

Ran Buyue disappeared behind the door almost instantly, as if eager to be gone.

The arc of his flowing hair and the image of the heavy door closing behind him became a slow-motion scene in Shu Zhenshan’s mind—like a butterfly slipping through his fingers, leaving only a glittering trace of dust behind.

Silence returned. Shu Zhenshan faced the mirror, staring at the spot where Ran Buyue had pressed his fingertip—just half an inch above his heart.

The one-centimeter-wide patch of skin still burned faintly. Why hadn’t it left a mark? It hadn’t felt like a mere touch just now—it felt like a bullet had pierced his chest. It should have left a bullet hole, at least something worth keeping as a souvenir.

Meanwhile, Ran Buyue strode confidently down the long hallway. Only after confirming Shu Zhenshan wasn’t following him did he finally exhale—like a drowning man who had finally broken the surface and could breathe again.

His heart was pounding.

Shu Zhenshan had suddenly extended two invitations—too much information at once for Ran Buyue to process.

One was a job offer, perfectly aligned with his interests. The other, however, was irritating.

Who would’ve thought he’d be propositioned by his ex? Shu Zhenshan must’ve grown bored of all the usual types and now wanted something more exciting.

That bastard. Ran Buyue cursed silently.

Back in the event hall, there was no sign of Li Yao—likely off handling some business.

Seeing it was getting late, Ran Buyue called Tian Xiaozhe to give him the night off, then got ready for his evening plans.

The person Ran Buyue was meeting was named Zhan Yuran, a Hong Kong native and a friend from his university days.

Zhan Yuran had been excited about Ran Buyue’s return to the country and had insisted on throwing him a welcome dinner. The timing happened to align with Ran Buyue attending a design exhibition in Hong Kong, and Zhan Yuran wasn’t filming in some remote backwater at the moment, so the two had agreed to meet for dinner.

Zhan Yuran had been mysterious about the restaurant, promising the food would be just his style.

Apparently, this was one of those places where you could show up in flip-flops and shorts and no one would care—except that tonight’s reservation was at an exclusive spot where money alone wasn’t enough to get in. So, he advised Ran Buyue to dress a bit nicer.

When they arrived, a waiter was already waiting at the door. Ran Buyue followed him upstairs, marveling at how such a cramped-looking building could conceal such an elaborate interior winding paths, flowing water, flowers and leaves veiling the way, and swirling mist. The place resembled a fairyland.

It was also highly private—they didn’t encounter a single other person along the way, suggesting each private room had a separate entrance.

When the waiter opened the door and stepped aside, Ran Buyue entered quickly. The man inside stood up to greet him.

Ran Buyue called him “Yuran,” while Zhan Yuran called him “Ranran.” The two burst out laughing at how cheesy they sounded, then hugged.

Old friends always had endless things to talk about—especially when both worked in busy industries and lived far apart. The conversation flowed effortlessly.

Ran Buyue had met Zhan Yuran at a pivotal moment—right after breaking up with Shu Zhenshan.

Shu Zhenshan had already graduated and returned to China to fight his battles in the world of fame and fortune, while Ran Buyue was once again alone.

His labmates were all great people, and Ai Zilan, who knew the details, made sure to eat with him every day and curse out that heartless bastard Shu Zhenshan with him. But still, Ran Buyue couldn’t muster the energy to return to the lab—it simply held too many memories. Every teammate reminded him of Shu Zhenshan in some way.

So he stopped going to the lab so often. The benches by the Charles River became his refuge. He would sit in the sun with his sketchpad, sketching product designs in charcoal for hours at a time.

One afternoon, someone sat down beside him and asked, “Are you interested in designing for a movie?”

Ran Buyue turned and saw a handsome Chinese man with skin like white jade and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, scholarly and refined like a gentleman from the Republic era. He gave off an aura of warmth that made one instinctively feel at ease.

He introduced himself as Zhan Yuran, a director. He was planning a sci-fi road movie and needed industrial designers to create props like communication devices, buildings, and weapons. He had come to M University for a media exchange program and had seen Ran Buyue sketching for two days in a row. He figured this guy might be interested.

Turned out, he was right. Designing for a sci-fi film was exactly what Ran Buyue needed—no clients, no investors, no commercial constraints. He could let his imagination run wild and turn written concepts into visual designs.

Zhan Yuran was just a small-time director back then and didn’t have much money, but Ran Buyue found working with him to be a joy. Zhan Yuran had a calm, steady presence like a gentle stream. He was pleasant to be around and occasionally cracked some dry jokes, which made him fun company.

He also gave off this reliable, older-brother vibe, which made Ran Buyue—who rarely opened up—feel comfortable enough to confide in him about his breakup. Zhan Yuran didn’t ask for details. Just a few simple words from him helped Ran Buyue let go of a lot.

Later, Ran Buyue learned that Zhan Yuran’s “big brother” energy made perfect sense—he was a big brother. He had raised his younger brother on his own.

Once, while chatting, Zhan Yuran jokingly offered to set him up with some girls to help him move on.

Ran Buyue sent him a smiley face and replied, “Sorry, bro—I like men. It’s all your fault for speaking to me in Chinese all the time. There’s no gender in ‘ta.’ My ex was a boyfriend.”

Zhan Yuran replied with a string of ellipses, like rising bubbles.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m straight, so I never thought of that. Should’ve asked you first. Guess I won’t set you up with any guys—I haven’t met many decent ones. Oh, you’re an exception.”

“Try this,” Zhan Yuran said, pointing to a dish in front of Ran Buyue. “I had the chef create this just for you.”

The food was beautiful, like a golden moon. Ran Buyue took a bite—silky, fragrant, lingering on the tongue with a strong ginger finish that came only after he swallowed.

“Good?” Zhan Yuran asked.

Ran Buyue squinted with delight. “Delicious!”

Zhan Yuran beamed. “Eat up. I had the chef specially prepare it.”

Then he had the waiter bring out the remaining ten portions. It was the first time Ran Buyue had seen molecular cuisine served like barbecue in bulk.

They chatted and ate, and time flew.

Zhan Yuran glanced at his watch. “Still early—we just need to leave before 11:30.”

“This place has a time limit?” Ran Buyue was surprised.

Zhan Yuran shook his head, voice lowering. “After midnight, it transforms—you know, the kind of stuff rich people like.”

Ran Buyue had seen plenty over the years, so he knew exactly what that meant. In private clubs like this, there were no limits to what money could buy—but the confidentiality was top-notch.

“Of course,” Zhan Yuran added with a smirk. “If you want to pick out a couple of hot guys for the night, this place guarantees quality. It’s been years—have you moved on?”

Ran Buyue hadn’t gotten around to telling him about running into his ex back home. But since there was a good chance Director Zhan and CEO Shu knew each other, he spent extra time thinking about how to word it.

Zhan Yuran was resting his chin on his hand, clearly waiting for a story, when his phone suddenly buzzed violently.

The screen showed just one character: “弟” (little brother). Zhan Yuran glanced at it, his face darkened, and he hung up decisively.

“So, what’s the story?” he asked with a grin.

Ran Buyue started, “Well, it’s…”

The phone rang again—same caller. Zhan Yuran didn’t even look before hanging up again.

Ran Buyue barely got a word out before Zhan Yuran’s brother spam-called ten times in a row—ring, hang up, repeat. Zhan Yuran’s expression turned darker and darker.

Ran Buyue laughed. “Clingy much? You should just go home. It’s getting late. We’ll catch up another time.”

Zhan Yuran turned off his phone and tossed it aside. “That brat’s asking for a beating.”

With the mood ruined, they both stood and got ready to leave. The waiter opened the private room door for them.

But the moment they stepped out, Ran Buyue felt the atmosphere shift.

The lighting was dim and seductive, the air laced with a faint intoxicating fragrance. Though the view was obscured by floral screens, something about the place pulled at you, luring you to explore deeper.

Zhan Yuran noticed his expression and asked quietly, “Want to take a look?”

Ran Buyue didn’t answer directly.

“Go ahead, it’s fine. If you don’t like it, just leave. No one’s going to make you pay. Here, you’re God,” Zhan Yuran said. “Compared to those wild Western clubs, this is downright subtle. Nothing intense in the open areas—actually kind of beautiful.”

Ran Buyue suddenly recalled what Shu Zhenshan had said earlier: “I have plenty of other options.” Without knowing why, he gave a faint nod.

Zhan Yuran gave the waiter some instructions. The waiter brought Ran Buyue a mask encrusted with diamonds and pinned a black obsidian brooch on his chest—signifying his member status.

After saying goodbye, Ran Buyue followed the waiter through the maze-like indoor garden. The foliage grew thicker, the scent heavier.

Eventually, the path opened into a domed greenhouse. Inside, the air was filled with flowers. Above, a transparent dome revealed the deep blue night sky, speckled with stars.

Masked figures strolled among the blooms. The guests wore masks; the ones showing their faces were the “selections”—easy to distinguish.

Ran Buyue walked slowly, the rich scent lingering in the air, with violin music flowing like a stream around him.

A long, slender hand reached over and slipped a card into his br3ast pocket. The card carried a smoky ebony scent, matching its owner—a tall, handsome white man with deep, brooding eyes.

A few steps later, another card came—this one with the cold scent of cedar, from a refined Eastern man in leather gloves holding a riding crop.

The variety was impressive.

The waiter had explained the rules earlier. Depending on the gemstone in the brooch, certain selections would approach with their cards. After the stroll, if you liked anyone, you handed their card to the waiter and were taken to a private suite. If you didn’t want a suite, you could do it right there in the greenhouse.

If you picked two or fewer, it was straightforward. Three or more, and they’d sit down with you to go over the “options.”

Ran Buyue hadn’t even made it halfway before his pocket filled with cards, and the occasional gasps coming from the flowerbeds convinced him he’d had enough.

He’d never liked the idea of people being treated like commodities—even if this was the classiest version of it.

Turning to leave, he’d barely taken two steps when another hand reached out. Without looking, he waved it off. “No thanks.”

But the hand didn’t retreat.

He then noticed something different—the way this man offered the card wasn’t like the others.

No matter how high-class their personas, all the previous men had handed him their cards with clear deference, an attitude of service and submission.

But this one… held the card between two fingers like it was a dollar bill and tucked it into Ran Buyue’s br3ast pocket with practiced ease. The move was confident, seductive—and almost primal.

Ran Buyue followed the motion up to the man’s face.

Even though only the sharp jawline and thin lips were visible beneath the mask, Ran Buyue recognized him instantly. Goosebumps rose across his back.

The man stepped closer, and Ran Buyue instinctively stepped back.

The man removed his mask, revealing sharp, predatory eyes filled with amusement.

He said softly, “Director Ran’s schedule is quite full, after all.”

Ran Buyue sneered, “President Shu is no slouch himself.”

Shu Zhenshan reached out and removed the brooch from Ran Buyue’s chest. “Clearly, no one told you—without this, no one will bother you.”

“Touching someone’s things without permission is very rude,” Ran Buyue said coldly, snatching the brooch back and pinning it on again. He was satisfied to see Shu Zhenshan’s expression darken slightly.

Ran Buyue pulled out his stack of cards and deliberately leafed through them. “Bevis, Geoffrey, Owen…”

Each card had a distinct scent and a name printed in elegant script.

The last one was a standard business card—

Shu Zhenshan, CEO of Yanchuan Group.

Ran Buyue spread the cards like a poker hand and said teasingly, “Which one should I choose…”

A large, practiced hand slid over his and, like a magic trick, whisked away all the other cards.

In the blink of an eye, Ran Buyue was holding only one.

That single card had the bold, dangerous scent of leather and spice—unlike any of the others.

“I’ve chosen,” Shu Zhenshan said.