Shen Moting’s Rules

After Ji Beichen’s car disappeared around the corner, the remaining customers in the coffee shop finally dared to breathe out loud.

Someone quietly uploaded the video recorded just now onto Weibo, with the caption “Ji Beichen clashed with someone in a coffee shop!!!” followed by three exclamation marks, and the retweets broke ten thousand in less than five minutes.

Fans argued in a mess within the comment section—some said it was harassment from a paparazzi fan, some said it was a quarrel between friends, and others said the profile of the youth enveloped in Ji Beichen’s embrace in the video looked too handsome to be real.

But the most popular comment had only four words: [Who is that person?]

No one answered, because those few seconds of video capturing Lin Xingmian’s face were deleted in less than three minutes after being posted.

It was not deleted by the platform, but by a newly registered account with zero followers that messaged the poster directly, its tone polite yet unrejectable: Please delete the footage involving Mr. Lin Xingmian, otherwise a portrait rights lawsuit will be filed. The signature read “Shen Group Legal Department.”

The person who posted the video was terrified and deleted it in a hurry.

Shen Moting’s efficiency was always like this.

He was currently sitting in the office on the top floor of the Shen Building, and the photo Ji Beichen sent into the group chat was frozen on the computer screen before him.

He had already looked at this photo for twelve full minutes.

The photo was taken very clearly—Gu Hanzhou’s arm encircled Lin Xingmian’s waist, his chin resting against the top of his head, and Lin Xingmian leaned against his chest completely, their posture as intimate as a couple in a passionate love affair.

The glass window of the coffee shop could be seen in the corner, reflecting the blurry shadow of Ji Beichen taking the picture.

Shen Moting zoomed in on the photo, zooming in further and further.

The cursor stopped on Lin Xingmian’s profile—the tip of his ear carried an unnatural red hue, and his lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but was interrupted by something else.

Within those eyes, there was panic, helplessness, and a type of unfamiliar emotion Shen Moting had never seen on his face before.

That was dependence.

A damned dependence toward Gu Hanzhou.

Shen Moting closed the laptop and picked up the internal line telephone: “Change the private room booking of Wangjiang Pavilion to tonight, and notice the kitchen to cook what he likes to eat.”

The secretary on the other end of the phone asked carefully, “President Shen, which guests are you referring to?”

“It is not multiple people,” Shen Moting stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked at the continuous flow of traffic downstairs.

“It is one person, the rest are just uninvited.”

He hung up the phone and picked up his coat.

When walking to the door, he looked back at the photo frame on the desk—it was a group photo from his university opening ceremony, where he and Lin Xingmian stood at the auditorium entrance, he carried a stiff face while Lin Xingmian smiled until his eyes narrowed, looking more dazzling than sunlight.

“Nineteen years,” Shen Moting spoke to the empty office.

“I have waited for nineteen years, guy named Gu, on what grounds do you think you can just take him?”

At seven o’clock in the evening, Wangjiang Pavilion.

This was the most expensive private restaurant in the city, opened inside a standalone small Western-style building by the river.

It only received three tables of guests every day, and reservations were lined up until three months later.

But Shen Moting could come whenever he wanted—because he bought this small building three years ago.

When Lin Xingmian received Shen Moting’s call, he was sitting in the car returning home with Gu Hanzhou.

The phone screen lit up, displaying the three words “Shen Moting,” and he hesitated for a moment before pressing reject.

In the next second, a text message came in:

[Seven o’clock at Wangjiang Pavilion, if you do not come, I will go to Emerald Lake Bay to invite you myself, you choose.]

Lin Xingmian stared at that text message, recalling the last time Shen Moting said “you choose” was during his second year of high school.

He had quarreled with Shen Moting—he had already forgotten why they quarreled—and they were in a cold war for a week.

Shen Moting ultimately blocked him at the classroom door, saying in front of the entire class, “You come out to speak with me, or I come in to speak with you, you choose.”

That day, Shen Moting stood at the door for forty minutes until Lin Xingmian walked out with a red face.

Within this person’s dictionary, the word “give up” never existed.

“What is it?” Gu Hanzhou tilted his head to look at his phone.

“Shen Moting,” Lin Xingmian did not hide it.

“He asked me out for dinner tonight.”

Gu Hanzhou went silent for a few seconds.

Lin Xingmian thought he would say “you are not allowed to go,” but he did not.

He just covered the back of Lin Xingmian’s hand with his own hand, his thumb gently pressing the inner side of his wrist—the place where he was grabbed by Ji Beichen during the day, where a faint red mark still remained on the skin.

“Go ahead,” Gu Hanzhou said.

Lin Xingmian looked at him with surprise.

“One by one,” Gu Hanzhou retracted his hand, leaning against the seat as he watched the city lights flowing outside the car window.

“After seeing Ji Beichen and Shen Moting today, tomorrow there is still Fu Xici, Lu Shiyan has already been seen, and there is only one left—” He paused.

“That one named Rong Du.”

He spoke these words with a very calm tone, as if managing a project.

But Lin Xingmian noticed that Gu Hanzhou’s fingers resting on his knee tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white.

“You…” Lin Xingmian tested, “Are not stopping me?”

“Can I stop you?” Gu Hanzhou turned his head to look at him, the corner of his lip bending into an extremely faint arc that wasn’t quite a smile, yet it softened his cold profile slightly.

“You have known them for over a decade, and you have known me for four days, if I stop you, what will you think in your heart?”

Lin Xingmian did not speak.

“Go ahead, go see them if you want to see them, but remember—”

The car stopped in the underground garage of Emerald Lake Bay.

Gu Hanzhou turned off the engine but did not get out of the car immediately.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, turned around, and propped one hand on Lin Xingmian’s seat back, wrapping him within his shadow.

“No matter where you are, who you are with, or what you are eating,” he lowered his head, his lips almost touching Lin Xingmian’s forehead, his voice low like a dream.

“You must return at night, this is my rule.”

Lin Xingmian’s heart thumped heavily against his ribs, feeling a bit painful.

“…Understood.”

Wangjiang Pavilion only opened one table tonight.

The private room was on the third floor, with an entire wall made of floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing a full view of the river bay night scenery.

The river water glinted under the night sky, and the cross-river bridge in the distance lit up with warm yellow lights, looking like a river of stars suspended in the air.

Shen Moting sat at the main seat, a table full of dishes placed before him: crab meat lion’s head, steamed reeves shad, Longjing shrimp, and matsutake chicken soup—all of them were Lin Xingmian’s favorites.

He hadn’t moved his chopsticks at all, but just looked out the window, his fingers casually spinning the wine glass on the table.

When the private room door was pushed open, he turned his head over.

Lin Xingmian stood at the door, wearing that light blue shirt prepared for him by Gu Hanzhou, which made his entire presence look as slender as a young bamboo stalk that hadn’t fully grown.

Shen Moting’s secretary followed behind with an apologetic face, “President Shen, Mr. Lin has arrived.”

Shen Moting waved his hand, and the secretary retreated out, closing the door.

Only two people remained in the private room.

“Sit,” Shen Moting pointed at the position opposite him.

Lin Xingmian sat down, his gaze shifting slightly upon seeing the table full of dishes.

Shen Moting noticed it, the corner of his mouth hooking up a little as he scooped a bowl of matsutake chicken soup and pushed it in front of him.

“Drink some soup first, you have lost weight.”

Lin Xingmian lowered his head to take a sip.

The soup was piping hot and savory to just the right degree, warming up his entire stomach the moment it entered.

He indeed hadn’t eaten a proper meal for a long time—during his final days in the Lin family, the atmosphere at the dining table was depressing enough to make one unable to swallow anything.

Once at Gu Hanzhou’s place, he didn’t eat if he wasn’t hungry, and Gu Hanzhou didn’t force him either.

“Does it taste good?” Shen Moting asked.

“Yes.”

“Then why not finish it?”

Lin Xingmian looked up at him.

Shen Moting leaned against the seat back, his hands folded over his knees with a composed posture, yet his expression didn’t look like he was having a meal.

The way he looked at Lin Xingmian was like examining an important commercial contract—scrutinizing, evaluating, and waiting.

“You did not invite me just for a meal,” Lin Xingmian set down the spoon.

“Correct,” Shen Moting admitted very directly.

He picked up his phone, clicked on a photo, and turned the screen toward Lin Xingmian.

It was the one Ji Beichen snapped in the coffee shop, showing Gu Hanzhou holding Lin Xingmian with an intimate posture.

“Explain this.”

“Explain what?”

“Explain why you had to lean in that man’s embrace, explain why you live at his house, and explain why you do not answer my calls, do not reply to my messages, and do not accept the hotel I booked for you.” Every sentence Shen Moting spoke made his voice turn a fraction colder, sounding like tapping on ice by the end.

“Lin Xingmian, I sent you thirteen messages, and you did not reply to a single one.”

“I…”

“I thought something happened to you,” Shen Moting interrupted him, his voice raising by half an inch suddenly before he lowered it back down quickly to recover his usual calmness, but his fingers gripping the wine glass turned white section by section.

“I went to the Lin family, and the Lin family people said you were taken away by Gu Hanzhou, I went to Gu Hanzhou’s company, and the front desk would not let me enter, I searched for you for two days.”

He looked at Lin Xingmian, his eyes bloodshot, looking as if he hadn’t slept much over these past two days.

“Do you know what I hate the most?”

Lin Xingmian knew.

Shen Moting hated losing control the most.

His life since the age of fifteen had been a schedule precise down to the minute, with every step treading inside the boxes he drew for himself.

Lin Xingmian was the only variable on his schedule, the only existence for whom he was willing to break all rules.

Yet this variable was no longer managed by him now.

“Moting,” Lin Xingmian spoke softly, “You do not need to take care of me, I can do it myself—”

“You cannot.”

Shen Moting stood up, walked around the table, and stood in front of Lin Xingmian.

He was very tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, and the shadow he cast enveloped Lin Xingmian completely.

Then he did something Lin Xingmian didn’t expect—

He knelt down.

Shen Moting, the youngest leader of the Shen Group, a man possessing wealth worth tens of billions, was currently kneeling on one knee in front of Lin Xingmian’s chair, his vision looking at him from bottom to top.

This posture made his usual powerful aura turn into a stance that looked almost humble, yet his gaze remained sharp, like a knife hidden within silk.

“You can live at my place.”

When he said this sentence, his tone wasn’t making a discussion.

“I will not stuff a key into your hand like Ji Beichen did, nor will I exchange sarcastic remarks with Gu Hanzhou like Lu Shiyan did, my method is very simple—” He paused, pulled out a black card from his pocket, and placed it on the table by Lin Xingmian’s hand.

“This is my supplementary card, there is no limit, you hold it and go wherever you want, live at Wangjiang Pavilion if you want to live at Wangjiang Pavilion, and live in a presidential suite if you want to live in a presidential suite.”

Then he pulled out a document, placing it side by side with the black card.

“This is an offer letter from the Shen Group, you come be my personal assistant, you name the monthly salary and you determine the work content, you do not need to do anything, as long as you appear within my sight daily.”

Finally, he placed his phone beside the document.

A draft contract with only three lines of words was displayed on the screen.

“Or, I will sign a gambling agreement directly, Gu Hanzhou’s company is currently doing a Series A financing round, I will invest thirty million, and the condition is—”

He raised his head, looking straight into Lin Xingmian’s eyes.

“That you move out of his house.”

The private room remained quiet for a long time.

Outside the window, the river water flowed smoothly, and the traffic on the cross-river bridge looked like a string of flowing pearls.

The city appeared gentle and vast within the night sky, but the air inside the private room was taut like a string pulled to its limit.

Lin Xingmian looked at the black card, offer letter, and phone laid out in sequence on the table.

Every item was worth a massive amount, and every item represented the highest chip Shen Moting could offer.

This man’s method was indeed different from the others—he did not act spoiled, did not complain, and did not hijack things using old sentiments.

He turned affection into commercial clauses, wrote possessiveness into contract terms, and weighed everything on a scale before telling the other party: Look, what I can give you, he cannot.

Yet he did not know that Lin Xingmian was never a person he could measure with any clauses.

“Moting,” Lin Xingmian pushed the black card back, pushed the offer letter back, and pushed the phone back.

“I am very grateful for these things of yours, but I do not need them.”

Shen Moting’s expression didn’t change, but his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Then what do you need?”

Lin Xingmian stood up.

He was nearly a head shorter than Shen Moting, but since he was standing now while Shen Moting was kneeling, it turned into him looking down at the other party instead.

“I need you to be like before,” he said.

“Be that Shen Moting who quarrels with me, finds trouble for me, but never wants to control me.”

Shen Moting looked up at him.

The lights overhead cast a heavy shadow on his face, and those bloodshot eyes surged with emotions that were too complex—there was anger, unwillingness, grievance, and a type of scalping, soft vulnerability he himself was unwilling to admit, which only appeared when facing this person.

“We cannot go back,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.

“Before, I did not know you would belong to someone else, but now I know.”

He stood up slowly.

The distance between the two turned very close suddenly, close enough that Lin Xingmian could smell the faint scent of cigars mixed with cologne on his body.

“You can choose not to pick me,” Shen Moting looked down at him, his finger raising to hover beside Lin Xingmian’s cheek, hesitating for an instant before ultimately just adjusting his collar for him.

“But do not let me see you leaning in someone else’s embrace either.”

His fingertip touched that small patch of skin above Lin Xingmian’s collarbone, feeling slightly cool.

“Next time,” he said, “I will not just show you a contract.”

He did not say what he would do, but Lin Xingmian read a type of resolution from his eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

The dinner ended very quickly, and Shen Moting did not force him further, but just accompanied him to finish the entire meal in silence.

When paying the bill—even though this place was Shen Moting’s own territory—he still signed a slip out of habit.

His handwriting was rigid and sharp, completely different from Lu Shiyan’s neat and gentle style.

“I will send you back,” Shen Moting stood up.

“No need, I can go myself—”

“He has come.”

Shen Moting stood by the window, looking downstairs.

Lin Xingmian followed his gaze down—that black Maybach had stopped at the entrance of Wangjiang Pavilion at some unknown point.

The car windows were tightly shut, but Lin Xingmian could feel that gaze passing through the glass, through the night sky, and passing through that thin layer of ribs in his chest to pin itself straight onto his heart.

Gu Hanzhou.

He had been there the entire time.

“He certainly keeps a close watch,” Shen Moting turned around, pulling open the door of the private room for Lin Xingmian.

“But it does not matter.”

He walked side by side with Lin Xingmian out of the room, stopping suddenly when reaching the stairs entrance to look sideways at him.

The lights from downstairs diffused up, cutting a clear boundary of light and dark on Shen Moting’s face.

“He picks you back, but he cannot guarantee you will never leave,” he said, his voice recovering its usual calmness, as if stating a commercial judgment.

“While me—I will always be here, you can come back to find me anytime. No black card needed, no offer letter needed, nothing needed. As long as you come, I am here.”

“This is Shen Moting’s promise.”

After saying that, he turned back into the private room, not sending him further.

Lin Xingmian walked down the stairs alone.

When pushing open the main door of Wangjiang Pavilion, the river wind rushed over his face, carrying moisture and chilliness.

Gu Hanzhou leaned against the car door, holding an unlit cigarette in his hand, and upon seeing Lin Xingmian come out, he stored the cigarette away to pull open the car door for him.

“Full?”

“Yes.”

“Get in the car.”

Lin Xingmian bent down to sit inside, Gu Hanzhou closed the door, and walked around to the driver’s seat.

The sound of the engine starting felt exceptionally clear by the quiet riverside.

He did not step on the accelerator immediately, but turned his body sideways to fasten the seatbelt for Lin Xingmian.

When his fingers pulled the seatbelt across, his knuckles inadvertently brushed past Lin Xingmian’s collarbone—the exact patch of skin Shen Moting had touched.

Gu Hanzhou paused for a moment.

“He touched you,” he said.

It was not a question.

Lin Xingmian did not speak, and Gu Hanzhou did not need his answer either.

He buckled the seatbelt securely, but did not retreat back immediately.

Maintaining this leaning posture, he raised his hand, his thumb lightly covering that touched patch of skin to rub it with a pressure that was neither heavy nor light.

Then he retracted his hand, said nothing, and started the car.

The Maybach drove away from Wangjiang Pavilion, driving onto the cross-river bridge.

The river water outside the window reflected the thousands of lights of the city, flowing with bright colors.

Lin Xingmian’s phone vibrated for an instant.

He lowered his head to look—it was a message from Shen Moting, with only a single sentence:

[My promise has no expiration date.]

He flipped the phone over, placing it face down on his knee.

Gu Hanzhou glanced at him from the rearview mirror and did not speak, but when coming down the bridge, he freed up one hand to cover the back of Lin Xingmian’s hand, giving it a squeeze before letting go.

It was very short, but very warm.

Outside the car window, the city night expanded gently, while on the other side of the city, inside an esports training room, Fu Xici was staring blankly at the computer screen.

The live stream room had already opened, and the bullet comments were scrolling rapidly, filled with fans urging him to start broadcasting.

But he was just staring at his phone screen—the photo sent by Ji Beichen had been viewed countless times by every single person in the group chat.

He saved the photo, opened a photo editing software, and cropped Gu Hanzhou out.

Then he set the remaining half of the photo containing only Lin Xingmian as his lock screen.

“Captain? Captain? Are we still starting the stream or not?” The urgency from his teammates came through the headset.

Fu Xici placed his phone face down on the table, put on his headset, and adjusted the microphone.

“Starting,” he said, his voice sounding lazy, yet carrying a dangerous type of lightheartedness.

“Playing custom matches with fans tonight, I will pick the people myself. By the way—does anyone in the bullet comments know which district Emerald Lake Bay is in?”

The bullet comments exploded instantly.