Chapter 65: Rose Shards (3)

Wen Mingwei had not celebrated his birthday for several consecutive years, and taking a trip specifically for a vacation was a rare occurrence.

In his view, a vacation was merely changing to another place to rest, and the environment was not necessarily more comfortable than home.

However, what one person is reluctant to do can feel very different when done with two. Tan Zhao was someone who always managed to surprise him, though not always with "pleasurable" surprises.

They planned to set sail on December 29th. Before that, there was still some work to briefly take care of.

Staying indoors, Wen Mingwei directed Jian Xinning remotely, arranging everything that needed to be scheduled. Ever since his entanglement with Wen Mingzhe came to an end, Tan Zhao had redirected his energy back to his own company, conscientiously reporting to work on time.

On one occasion, Wen Mingwei asked him, "By the way, I heard your corporate group has been doing charity work lately?"

At the time, Wen Mingwei was sitting upright on the sofa drinking tea. Tan Zhao was at the kitchen entrance discussing the evening menu with the chef, and upon hearing this, he turned back, looking somewhat puzzled: "What charity?"

Wen Mingwei said, "Sprinkling money on small companies. It is said they have already handed out billions. Is that true?"

"..." Tan Zhao turned around, gave the chef a few pointers, and after a moment walked back to Wen Mingwei's side, explaining, "Just a minor investment. Haven't there been policies recently regarding mutual enterprise support? We throw in a bit of loose change in exchange for a portion of tax exemptions. Billions are just a fraction of our annual tax payments."

Wen Mingwei knew about this policy. It was spearheaded by the People's Party and had received widespread praise.

However, there was a cap on tax exemption limits. Given Wen Mingwei's understanding of the People's Party, the caps between different companies likely varied. In other words, there was a certain degree of operational float, which facilitated corruption. Therefore, exactly how much tax the Tan family enterprise could ultimately evade was a financial secret in every sense, and outsiders could never easily investigate it.

Since it was led by the People's Party, the main person in charge on the Tan side probably wasn't Tan Zhao, but his eldest uncle.

Wen Mingwei changed the subject and asked, "Has your eldest uncle been giving you a hard time lately?"

"Are you actually hoping he gives me a hard time?" Tan Zhao sat down beside him, leaning against him like a boneless creature to act spoiled—ever since the mention of marriage, the young master had grown more clingy by the day. "Don't I have a certain Mr. Wen backing me up? Who would dare bully me?"

Wen Mingwei let out a laugh, and before he knew it, he was pressed down into the sofa. The person on top of him suddenly grew hard bones, locking him firmly in place, and kissed him for a full two minutes before stopping.

Finally, as December 29th arrived, they departed in the morning, taking a plane first and then transferring to a yacht, arriving at dusk on the artificial island that resembled a science-fiction metropolis.

Wen Mingwei's birthday was January 1st.

However, this date was not accurate.

Tan Zhao had not managed to get many details out of Gu Jing; Wen Mingwei himself explained it: "Wasn't I born in an orphanage?"

The yacht docked, and he steadied himself on Tan Zhao's hand as he stepped ashore. It was raining on the island, and the dense clusters of buildings before them were shrouded in a rust-colored mist of rain and all-pervading holographic projections.

Wen Mingwei opened an umbrella and softly said, "When my biological parents abandoned me at the orphanage, it was early January. The director didn't know my exact birthdate, so she designated January 1st as my birthday. I still remember her saying back then that no day was more filled with hope than the very first day of the year, making it the best day of all."

Wen Mingwei smiled faintly. "Later, when I went to Longdu and became 'Wen Mingwei,' I spent two birthdays a year—one fake, and one uncertain."

"Is that why you dislike celebrating birthdays?"

Wen Mingwei nodded. "I loved it for a few years when I was a child, but now it doesn't matter to me."

They walked out of the pier with Tan Zhao. The ground was made of smooth cement, and a narrow commercial street clustered with tall buildings extended from before their eyes to the edge of the island. Various shop billboards glowed with colorful lights in the rainy night.

Wen Mingwei reached his hand out from under the umbrella to touch the rust-colored rainwater, but before he could catch even two drops, Tan Zhao pulled it down.

"It's polluted," Tan Zhao reminded him.

This was a resort island built around a "cyberpunk city" theme, aimed at giving guests an immersive experience where reality and illusion were hard to distinguish. The polluted rain was part of the experience.

Judged purely by its aesthetic style, this theme was not entirely fresh, but the effects presented through games and movies ultimately remained at a visual level, falling far short of the shock given by a real city.

Wen Mingwei felt a slight sense of unreality.

From the moment he stepped off the boat, he noticed that even though it was only just dusk, the island felt as though it had already entered the dead of night—the deliberately engineered time difference severed the connection between people and reality. The electronic clocks hanging on the walls of the roadside shops each ticked away on their own, with no two showing the same time, giving a subtle sense of disorientation.

He and Tan Zhao were free to explore without any staff members greeting them. This, too, was part of the experience.

Other than the two of them, there wasn't a third pedestrian on the street. However, those shops were open for business. Passing by a video arcade whose sign was written in strange lettering, the door was open, and one could see that inside, devoid of patrons, a lonely waiter leaned against an arcade cabinet and yawned, looking at first glance neither quite human nor fully bionic.

"Does this place make money?" Wen Mingwei looked around. "Why are there no tourists?"

The young master took off the sunglasses from his face. "I booked the whole place out. For half a month."

Wen Mingwei: "..."

Having done his research in advance, Tan Zhao knew which direction to walk, and recognizing the street signs, he said, "When this island was first approved a dozen years ago, they asked my grandfather for investment, but he wasn't interested at the time."

"But you're very interested?" Wen Mingwei guessed what he was about to say.

Tan Zhao tacitly admitted, "When I was a kid, I liked reading science fiction. I read a story called *Holographic Rose Fragments*. It was very short, with no complicated plot, and didn't appeal to me then since I preferred thrilling and exciting stories. I forgot the content after reading it, but I was deeply impressed by a fictional 'sensory experience device' in the story."

Tan Zhao looked at Wen Mingwei, asking with his eyes whether he had also read the book.

Wen Mingwei read frequently, but his bookshelves were lined with various works of religion, philosophy, and psychology; science fiction apparently did not fall within the scope of his preferences.

Sure enough, Wen Mingwei shook his head.

"It's a kind of... advanced video recorder?" Tan Zhao pondered how to describe it. "It can record a person's sensory experiences experienced at a certain moment, including what they saw with their eyes, heard with their ears, felt with their touch, everything... recorded onto a magnetic tape like a movie, and then another person connects to this tape through a sensory device, allowing them to experience everything the other person experienced from their perspective and understand what they felt at that time."

"Very interesting," Wen Mingwei said. "Difficult to achieve technically."

"Right."

That story was written in the twentieth century, a science fiction fantasy from nearly two hundred years ago, and still unrealized today.

"But we can simulate and get as close to that effect as possible," Tan Zhao said. "The most famous service on this island is 'simulated sensory experience.' Back then, I was captivated and badgered my grandfather into investing money in them. Unfortunately, the final result fell short of expectations, like a holographic cinema wrapped in new packaging. But recently I heard there's been a breakthrough in the technology."

Tan Zhao took the umbrella from Wen Mingwei's hand and tilted it slightly upward, widening their field of vision. Wen Mingwei looked up and saw a gigantic billboard that read "Sensory Experience," shrouded in misty rain with a soft halo of light coating the neon lamps.

They walked up to the door, and Tan Zhao suddenly said, "Wen Mingwei, do you remember what we're doing?"

"Taking a vacation." Wen Mingwei looked at him with a smile.

Perhaps because they had entered a special environment, Tan Zhao's state of mind tonight was somewhat unusual.

"No," Tan Zhao said. "We're dating."

He held Wen Mingwei's hand under the umbrella, hesitated for a moment, and said, "I've been thinking for a few days whether I should have a showdown with you..."

"'A showdown'?" Wen Mingwei raised an eyebrow slightly. "Is there something you've been keeping from me?"

Tan Zhao didn't answer his question, continuing on his own, "A little over three months ago, you said you didn't want to treat me as a substitute anymore, that we should try dating properly and maybe things would develop differently—"

Realizing what he was about to say, Wen Mingwei fell silent for a moment and let out an affirmative hum through his nose.

"At the time, I didn't have any other choice either; I could only agree and make up with you."

Tan Zhao moved closer, the slender umbrella handle separating them, the bright light of the billboard piercing through the translucent umbrella canopy to fall upon the bridge of his prominent nose.

"I confess, I had the intention of deceiving you," Tan Zhao said. "At the very beginning, when I said I wanted to help you catch Wen Mingzhe, I was lying to you. Actually, my real plan was to get in touch with Wen Mingzhe and look for a chance to break free from your control..."

"..." Wen Mingwei wasn't too surprised; what surprised him was that he was actually willing to admit it. He also leaned a bit closer toward him, and strands of hair blown by the wind fluttered against the back of Tan Zhao's tense hand.

"But while I was lying to you, perhaps I was also lying to myself. Without finding a 'legitimate reason,' how could I persuade myself to shamelessly and with a clear conscience forgive you and date you?"

Tan Zhao spoke in a low voice, "Later on, sometimes I couldn't even tell which words were lies and which were me brainwashing myself. Anyway, I couldn't hold it in anymore; I want to speak frankly with you, Wen Mingwei—"

Tan Zhao still preferred calling him by his full name, their lips and teeth brushing together in a lingering murmur as he said, "I want to confess. What about you? What is the result of you trying out this relationship? Did you genuinely... forget that person and fall in love with me?"

His eye rims were slightly red. He was entirely caught up in his own monologue, not giving Wen Mingwei any space to answer, continuing in one breath: "You always say you need me, that you won't leave me, and that I'm your medicine. But I've never felt any real sense of it; I can't see through you. You tolerate me, and you also doubt me, but it seems you never get nervous or heartbroken for me, let alone feel—like I do—suffocated and choked with pressure at the mere thought that you might not love me as much, all while having to force a calm composure—forcing myself to act like a dignified person and salvage a shred of self-respect."

"..."

"For a while, I even thought," Tan Zhao embraced him, "I could be just like you, facing my desires calmly, grabbing whatever I need by any means necessary, without caring about debts or rights and wrongs, so that everything I do is completely justified and I don't need to blame myself..."

Speaking too much caused a sensation of oxygen deprivation, and Tan Zhao hugged Wen Mingwei tightly as if gripping an oxygen tank, breathing in the fragrance of his hair.

However, the rainwater here was too heavily polluted, and the strong smell of rust in the air overpowered Wen Mingwei's scent. He inhaled nothing, and instinctively scooped up a handful of long hair, clenching it tightly in his palm.

"Can you answer me, Wen Mingwei?" Tan Zhao caught his breath and said. "During these past three months or so, while we've been trying to date, what on earth have you experienced?"