Chapter 3: The Veil of Maya (3)
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It was common knowledge among acquaintances that Tan Zhao had a bad temper, specifically reflected in his refusal to accommodate others while expecting others to accommodate him. In short, he was the classic case of a prince syndrome.
The source of this “prince syndrome” naturally stemmed from his “prince” status, but at its root lay family circumstances.
Tan Zhao’s father was the youngest son of Tan Yingzhuo, the richest man in the Alliance. In his youth, he loved to travel and explore various customs and cultures, often accompanied by his wife. When Tan Zhao was five years old, the couple took a private plane across the Pacific but tragically crashed and died, leaving the poor little Tan Zhao to be raised by his grandfather.
Because of this tragedy, Tan Zhao was doted on excessively by his grandfather.
The entire Tan family was well aware that no one could afford to offend the young master—he was Tan Yingzhuo’s treasured gem. He could get away with murder, but no one dared to disobey him even slightly.
Fortunately, although Tan Zhao was spoiled and arrogant, he generally did not engage in particularly outrageous or debauched behavior. It was just hard on his friends, who had to patiently soothe the young master.
Usually, Tan Zhao wouldn’t get angry without reason, but tonight he showed displeasure repeatedly, which clearly indicated that a bad night’s sleep was affecting his mood.
Li Yue was not afraid of his anger but worried about Tan Zhao’s prince syndrome scaring Wen Mingwei. He immediately suggested, “If you really can’t sleep, don’t struggle. Why not change places and play cards? We can play cards and get you a room to rest.”
Tan Zhao was about to flare up: “Then what the hell am I following you all for? Can’t I just go home and sleep?”
Li Yue was a little embarrassed. He had considered this but felt that if Tan Zhao left, it would be like losing a bridge; he felt awkward taking Wen Mingwei to play cards alone.
Tan Zhao saw through him at once and mockingly retorted, “Brother-in-law, you’re giving up? What about cousin?”
Li Yue was speechless.
Is it okay to switch affections? Don’t expose me.
The atmosphere grew a bit tense. Tan Zhao, seemingly genuinely displeased, suddenly stood up from the sofa, straightened his clothes, and said, “Do as you please, I’m going back.”
With that, he turned and left without a trace of mercy. Li Yue hurriedly reached out to pull him back, but before he could, a fair and slender hand caught the corner of Tan Zhao’s clothes.
“Tan Zhao,” Wen Mingwei tightened his grip and slightly raised his head, “won’t you have one more drink with me? It’s rare we meet.”
His eyes held a smile; it was a casual invitation but carried an unmistakable feeling of reluctance and a lingering tenderness.
Tan Zhao lowered his gaze to look at him, casting a condescending glance but gave no response.
Li Yue quickly tried to smooth things over, forcibly pushing Tan Zhao back onto the sofa: “I beg you, young master, don’t treat our Mingwei brother like this, okay? If something’s bothering you, take it out on me.”
Tan Zhao was speechless: “How am I treating him? Why are you acting like a protector of flowers?”
“All right, all right,” Wen Mingwei soothed, “It’s my fault for barging in and disturbing your gathering—whose birthday is it today? Why is there a cake on the table?”
It was a half-eaten cake, cut unevenly, with a few candles toppled over, and the cream had melted.
“It’s mine,” Li Yue said. “I’m twenty-four today, Mingwei.”
“Happy birthday,” Wen Mingwei smiled. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a gift right now, but I’ll make it up to you.”
Li Yue was pleasantly surprised. “Wow, no need to bother, you’re so kind... You must be quite popular, right? Lots of admirers? Are you single?”
He asked bluntly, with no attempt to hide his intent. Wen Mingwei replied, “No, no one pursues me. I’ve always been single.”
Li Yue didn’t believe him. “Really?”
Wen Mingwei said nothing, only smiled.
His smile was gentle, as if considerate of everyone who looked at him, yet it carried a seasoned air of superiority, a light disdain mixed with indulgence, subtle and tantalizing. It made one want to steal a glance, then another, trying to decipher his thoughts.
Li Yue got carried away after a few words, feeling dizzy and tingling all over, like he was drugged, suspecting that talking to Wen Mingwei any longer might make him foolish. He forced himself to calm down and looked down to drink.
Li Yue fell silent. Wen Mingwei’s gaze drifted again to Tan Zhao, suddenly teasing, “Tan Zhao, do you think I’m a good person too?”
Tan Zhao replied indifferently, “Why ask me? You’re not giving me a gift.”
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Wen Mingwei readily agreed, “I’ll give you one too. When’s your birthday?”
“No need,” Tan Zhao said. “I get too many gifts every year; I can’t even open them all. I don’t need yours.”
Wen Mingwei seemed a little hurt. “Are you like this with everyone you talk to?”
“…”
Tan Zhao paused, about to respond, but Li Yue answered for him: “Yeah, he’s like that. Mingwei, don’t take it personally.”
Tan Zhao’s face darkened, as if Li Yue had falsely accused him, but it was hardly an accusation.
He had nothing to say and leaned deeply back into the sofa, resuming his unfinished business of trying to sleep. He was stubborn about it, but just as he closed his eyes and was about to summon sleep, he suddenly heard Wen Mingwei say, “It’s late. I have things to do tomorrow and need to rest early. You guys continue chatting; I won’t keep you.”
Wen Mingwei stood and bid farewell to those present. Rarely without a smile, this time he looked genuinely hurt by Tan Zhao’s earlier remark, his mood low.
Tan Zhao glanced at him but didn’t react. Li Yue awkwardly stood up as well, apologizing for his friend, “Hey, Mingwei, he’s not targeting you…”
“I know,” Wen Mingwei said understandingly. “I do have things tomorrow. Staying longer would be too late.”
Li Yue was at a loss: “Okay… Did you drive here? Is your place far? Need me to give you a ride?”
Since self-driving cars were available, there was no worry about drinking and driving as long as he had a car. Wen Mingwei replied, “I didn’t drive, but it would be a hassle for you. Tonight’s your birthday after all…”
He glanced at the others, implying that it was inappropriate for the birthday boy to leave his friends early.
Li Yue wanted to be helpful, but he had more than just the few people on the second floor to accompany; there was a group downstairs at the club, so he really couldn’t leave.
He grew anxious, as if Wen Mingwei couldn’t get home without his help. Looking around, his eyes landed on Tan Zhao, and suddenly he had an idea. “Young master, could you give Mingwei a ride?”
“…”
“Come on—don’t be so awkward. You two know each other better than I do. What’s the fuss?” Li Yue pulled Tan Zhao up. “After you drop him off, you can go wherever you want to sleep, come back or not.”
Tan Zhao looked unwilling but was probably swayed by the words “sleep.” He didn’t want to waste more time at the bar and, after some thought, agreed, “Let’s go. Where do you live?”
Wen Mingwei sent a location on his phone. “Thank you.”
**
After getting in the car, the atmosphere finally softened a bit.
Tan Zhao’s car, like him, had a temper. It had undergone extensive modifications inside and out, making it unrecognizable. Even the position of the passenger seatbelt was adjusted. Wen Mingwei fiddled for a while before finally pulling the belt and fastening it. When he looked up, he saw Tan Zhao touching the steering wheel.
—The car had no artificial intelligence system; the young master was actually driving it himself.
“Did you drink just now?” Wen Mingwei asked.
“No.”
“What did you drink then?”
“...A beverage,” Tan Zhao said unexpectedly. “I’m allergic to alcohol.”
Wen Mingwei chuckled.
This was information Gu Jing had never shared.
“So when you used to go to bars, various parties, gatherings with friends... you were drinking beverages?”
Wen Mingwei seemed to have discovered a new species.
Tan Zhao’s face darkened. “So what? What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, very healthy.”
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Tan Zhao was silent while driving, ignoring Wen Mingwei for about ten minutes.
Without Li Yue to liven things up, there was little to talk about between them. The driver stayed focused; the passenger had nothing to do. Suddenly, Wen Mingwei had a whim and opened Tan Zhao’s social media account, scrolling from the beginning.
He had looked before but not daily. Four new posts had been added, the latest one from today at the airport, a photo of food at some restaurant in the waiting lounge, captioned with two words: “Tastes awful.”
Wen Mingwei smiled as he looked, thinking that after twelve years old, Tan Zhao probably wouldn’t post such meaningless ramblings online. Of course, he hadn’t posted many before he turned twelve either.
Tan Zhao noticed Wen Mingwei smiling after a while and was very displeased. “Why are you sneaking a look at my account? Isn’t that rude?”
“I’m looking openly,” Wen Mingwei showed him his own homepage with his ID. “Want to follow each other?”
Tan Zhao quickly glanced over while driving. “What’s the point of following you if you never post anything?”
“For me to see your friend circle,” Wen Mingwei said casually, then asked uncertainly, “Do you ever post content visible only to friends?”
Tan Zhao remained silent.
Wen Mingwei pressed on. “Some personal thoughts, secrets, or occasionally posting photos of yourself, maybe?”
“…”
Wen Mingwei’s voice was always low and deep, yet in the confined car space it was extraordinarily clear, even his breathing was noticeable. His gaze and voice wove a subtle, almost ambiguous aura that wrapped around Tan Zhao densely.
Tan Zhao felt a bit uncomfortable and subconsciously loosened his collar.
Then he noticed Wen Mingwei’s eyes following his fingers sliding from his collar to his prominent Adam’s apple, lingering for a few seconds.
This atmosphere was not the place to be explicit, but Tan Zhao had no such awareness and bluntly asked, “What are you looking at?”
“Looking at you,” Wen Mingwei said casually. “What’s wrong with that?”
“…”
Tan Zhao was speechless, choked for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t post friend-only content.”
That was a polite refusal to follow each other. Wen Mingwei didn’t mind. “That’s okay.”
The next few minutes were especially silent, with no topics discussed.
Wen Mingwei claimed to be an obscure pharmaceutical company owner, but his residence was very upscale—a sky-high priced residential area on the East Coast of Xijing City, with entry restrictions. The residents were all wealthy or noble; ordinary people, even if rich, couldn’t get in.
Tan Zhao had copied the location into his navigation without much thought. Only when the car neared did he come to and glance at Wen Mingwei suspiciously.
“Not far from my place,” he said, parking in front of a white villa hidden in a rainforest garden. “You actually live here? How come I never ran into you before?”
“Maybe just bad timing,” Wen Mingwei said, lowering his head to unbuckle the seatbelt. His smooth long hair slipped along his cheek like flowing water.
Suddenly he said, “Tan Zhao, do me a favor.”
“What’s up?”
“My hair’s stuck.”
For some reason, Wen Mingwei pressed the seatbelt release button but didn’t manage to undo it, as if he couldn’t free himself from the taut strap.
His hair was too long and spread everywhere. The car’s lighting was dim, and Tan Zhao couldn’t even see where the ends of his hair were. He leaned over and asked, “Where’s it stuck?”