Chapter 57 Soul Alliance

Chapter 57 Soul Pact

Tan Zhongshan hung up, and only then did Tan Youming regain his freedom. Just as he was about to confront Shen Zongnian, Shen Zongnian’s phone rang again. Thinking Tan Zhongshan had simply switched lines to continue scolding him, Tan Youming snatched the phone: “Dad, how dare you—”

“Young Mr. Tan?”

Tan Youming fell silent.

Qiao Rui chuckled. “It seems Mr. Shen’s phone has been commandeered again.”

Tan Youming wasn’t intimidated, nor was he ever one to feel embarrassed. He spoke without hesitation: “President Qiao, my apologies. I thought it was an elder summoning us home for dinner.”

“…” Shen Zongnian took the phone back from his hand.

As a co-organizer of the Maritime Trade Association, Huantu had recently hosted officials for communication and inspection.

Shen Zongnian had abstained from the Nordic energy project, and Qiao Rui had already secured the position, slated to be stationed in Europe soon. Afterwards, the two intended to pass this division to Zhong Manqing as her first major assignment after her promotion.

Shen Zongnian listened with downcast eyes as Qiao Rui reported. Tan Youming drifted over to Tan Duole, sitting casually but with his neck craned and ears perked.

The child rolled her eyes at him. Tan Youming spared her a sidelong glance—the children’s phone was still displaying Zeng Shaohui’s cringey profile. He coughed lightly. “Can’t blame your uncle, right?”

Tan Duole couldn’t have asked for more: “I’ll cover the design cost. I’ll pay you back when I grow up.”

“Hey, quite the ambition,” Tan Youming chuckled, though a bit exasperated. “Don’t tell your grand-uncle that, or he’ll say I’m a bad influence.”

The uncle and niece made a quick agreement. By the time Shen Zongnian hung up, Tan Youming was annoyed by how long he’d been on the phone, not to mention still holding a grudge over when he grabbed the phone. He glared and taunted: “What, are you going to lecture me too?”

“Don’t start trouble,” Shen Zongnian warned him.

The Zeng family scandal continued to escalate. From the dining table to the bedroom, their phones hadn’t stopped ringing.

Subordinates, colleagues, friends, partners from both families’ projects—some probing, some seeking instructions, some just gossiping, especially relatives—all bombarded them like a boiling pot, one after another.

Tan Youming refused to answer, so they targeted Shen Zongnian instead. Annoyed, Tan Youming shut off both their phones and tossed them aside, slammed his laptop shut, and stood up.

Tan Duole, who was doing homework, looked up. Shen Zongnian, still working, didn’t look up. “What are you doing?”

Tan Youming walked away, removing his watch. “Going for a swim.”

Shen Zongnian didn’t stop him. He waited until Tan Duole finished her last logic problem, estimating that Tan Youming had probably changed by then, and asked the child, “Can you manage on your own?”

Having just finished digging into her dad’s business, Tan Duole turned her curiosity to her uncle: “Uncle Zongnian, you’re not annoyed by Uncle Youming at all.”

Shen Zongnian coldly closed his folder. “I’m afraid he might collapse in the pool.” The doctor had advised easing into exercise after discharge. If Shen Zongnian hadn’t seen that Tan Youming genuinely needed to vent, he wouldn’t have allowed him in the water.

The Tan family’s outdoor pool was built halfway up the mountainside. To get there from Wan Jing Hall, one had to take a garden cart. Stone tower lights glowed year-round, casting a dim yellow light. In the distance, a stretch of dark blue marked the harbor, with towering buildings and bright lights like gold leaf scattered like foam.

Crickets chirped, birds sang. Tan Youming warmed up and slipped into the water. Despite the chaos elsewhere and the night clouds churning—he guarded this tranquil stretch of water alone.

Head up, breathe, dive. The cacophony of noise filtered away, the tangled web of relationships sorted itself out. After several focused laps, his thoughts were clear and smooth.

When he surfaced, he saw Shen Zongnian standing on the edge, hands in his pockets, looking down at him. Tan Youming swam even harder.

After another lap, he stopped by the poolside. Shen Zongnian was already on a work call.

Damn, so all that freestyle seamlessly transitioning into butterfly was in vain. He slapped the water, scaring off a few low-flying dragonflies. Shen Zongnian turned and looked over.

He had taught the other how to swim himself—breathing, diving, movements—all strict and standard. There wasn’t much to worry about.

Shen Zongnian lifted an eyebrow, asking if he needed a towel.

Seeing that Shen Zongnian showed no intention of hanging up, Tan Youming, slightly irritated, dove back into the water gloomily. As he kicked, he wondered if Shen Zongnian was discussing that unfinished afternoon call with Qiao Rui.

Two laps later, the splashes he created rolled like waves. He was too immersed, swimming with full force.

By the time Shen Zongnian hung up and started replying to work messages, Tan Youming rolled his somewhat stiff ankle and moved over. Lifting his goggles, he said jokingly but with a hint of seriousness, “I think I might be cramping.”

Shen Zongnian frowned and scolded immediately: “Didn’t you warm up?”

Before Tan Youming could defend himself, a large hand grabbed his arm and pulled him ashore.

He was naturally pale, like a smooth piece of pale jade under the moonlight—flawless, precious. The frame of his shoulder blades and the contours of his limbs held both the relentless vitality of youth and the graceful poise of a young man.

Shen Zongnian threw a large towel over his beautiful waistline and long, toned legs, wrapping him tightly and drying him off briskly.

Water droplets dripped, dampening the hem of Shen Zongnian’s clothes. His grip tightened. Tan Youming cursed, “Can’t you be gentler? I’m still cramping.”

Shen Zongnian frowned, avoiding eye contact, pressed him down to sit, and began working the knots out of his muscles as he had when they were young.

Tan Youming familiarly rested his leg on Shen Zongnian’s knee, drying his hair while placing his foot in the other’s palm.

Since childhood, warm-ups before boxing and cool-downs after sword practice had all been supervised and assisted by Shen Zongnian. The other knew every inch of his muscles and bones, every source of his aches and pains.

Tan Youming let out a satisfied groan. Shen Zongnian swatted his pale calf and scolded softly, “Stop fidgeting.”

Tan Youming was about to retort but suddenly fell silent.

Shen Zongnian worriedly gripped the foot he tried to pull back and looked up. “Does it really hurt?”

His large hands were warm and calloused. Tan Youming’s legs were spread apart, his muscles kneaded, his blood inexplicably heating up.

Tan Youming’s red lips parted slightly, his expression dazed. This was something they’d done often before… Shen Zongnian frowned. “Talk.”

“Ah, no,” Tan Youming snapped out of it, snatching Shen Zongnian’s phone and teasing, “What American call took so long? You’re not secretly ratting me out to my dad, are you?”

Shen Zongnian lowered his head again. “Did the water waterlog your brain while swimming?”

Tan Youming snorted, scrolling through the phone but finding no trace of Qiao Rui—only the endless messages from relatives. “Why bother with them?”

Shen Zongnian didn’t explain, holding his foot steady and continuing to massage for a moment. “Try standing up.”

Before Shen Zongnian could agree, Tan Youming was already hopping on his back like a pro, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

His cold body no longer dripped, only separated by a thin layer of shirt, pressed against Shen Zongnian’s gradually warming skin. It was like fire heating cold jade, or magma melting snow. Shen Zongnian tried to turn away from the warm breath against his neck, but the spark had already ignited a wildfire.

The moonlight and banyan trees were silent. Tan Youming’s voice came from behind: “Do you also think I did wrong?”

Shen Zongnian piggybacked him, shoes in hand, walking steadily along the dark path. “What do you think?”

“Of course I didn’t do wrong.” He asked only to seek affirmation.

Amid the scrutiny of peers, the gossip of subordinates, the complaints and opposition of relatives, and even his parents’ potential disapproval, he wanted Shen Zongnian to stand by his side.

For the first time, Tan Youming clearly and strongly realized that he craved Shen Zongnian’s approval.

Not agreement based on friendship, not bias born of habit, but genuine recognition and appreciation—approval of his actions, and even more, approval of who he was.

Even though he hadn't fully recognized that such approval equated to a kind of spiritual connection and emotional submission.

"It's not a matter of right or wrong," Shen Zongnian told him calmly under the glow of the streetlamp, which cast two intertwined shadows. "This is the hardest path to take. You don’t have to do it this way."

The difficulty wasn’t about openly challenging external pressures, but about ripping apart family warmth with his own hands, overturning internal rules, and reshaping deep-rooted order.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with two hollows at his waist and hips, Tan Youming had grown accustomed to hooking his legs around Shen Zongnian’s hip bones whenever he was carried on his back. It was like mortise and tenon, a perfect fit, as if that spot had been made just for him.

After a moment of silence, amid the endless chorus of cicadas, Tan Youming said quietly, "But you managed to do it when you were only eighteen."

Shen Zongnian hesitated slightly.

It had been so long ago that even he had nearly forgotten.

But Tan Youming remembered for him: "Back then, you could’ve just kicked Shen Xiaochang aside and reaped the benefits."

Instead, Shen Zongnian had taken on the pressure of offending shareholders and directors, carried out top-down reforms at headquarters, reshaped the company’s structure despite huge market risks, and spent countless sleepless nights changing Huantu’s trajectory.

"It’s different," Shen Zongnian said, gripping the back of Tan Youming’s knees and lowering his head to watch their overlapping shadows on the stone path. "You don’t need to do it this way." There was no need to choose the hardest path.

"It’s not that different," Tan Youming insisted confidently, though his tone still carried a hint of dependence. "I can do it, but you have to stand by me."

The opinions of others, the noise from the outside world—none of it mattered. Tan Youming only needed Shen Zongnian to feel limitless confidence and courage.

But Shen Zongnian remained silent.

Tan Youming’s voice held a warning tone. "Shen Zongnian?"

In the past, this would have been a given, something that didn’t even need to be spoken aloud. But now, without any reassurance, Tan Youming grew anxious and impatient. "You’re not agreeing?"

Shen Zongnian tilted his head slightly, slipping free of Tan Youming's one-armed hold.

Tan Youming tightened his legs around Shen Zongnian’s waist. "What do you want?"

Only then did Shen Zongnian state his terms: "Next week, come for the company's health screening and mental health evaluation at the industrial park."

Huantu’s previous contract with the psychological counseling clinic had expired this year. During the weekly meeting, a few new candidates had been routinely reviewed. Matters like these usually didn’t require Shen Zongnian’s attention, but Zhuo Zhixuan’s words outside the hospital room lingered in his mind like an undercurrent beneath calm seas—persistent and unsettling.

Shen Zongnian had directly instructed the executive office to look into Monica’s psychology practice. Specializing in neuropsychology and psychotherapy, her clinic met all of Huantu’s standards, and the two parties had reached a cooperation agreement.

Hearing this, Tan Youming breathed a quiet sigh of relief but still felt puzzled and impatient. "Why this again? I already told you I’m not sick."

"Oh, so only sick people go for check-ups?"

"..." Tan Youming locked his arms around Shen Zongnian’s neck in passive resistance. "I’m not even part of Huantu. Why should I join your company physical?"

Shen Zongnian let out an "oh." "I thought you were one of Huantu’s board members and shareholders."

After all, Tan Youming had weighed in authoritatively on the Nordic project, arranged work with the Maritime Trade Association, and even criticized the board of directors as worthless—something even actual Huantu shareholders wouldn’t dare say so boldly.

Tan Youming choked back a retort, still riding triumphantly on his back. "Shen Zongnian, what do you mean by that? Right now, you’re the one asking me for a favor."

Shen Zongnian carried him steadily and chided gently, "Stop fidgeting."

Tan Youming settled down but then, for some reason, leaned close to Shen Zongnian’s ear and asked, "Is your right-hand man, Vice President Qiao, going?"

Shen Zongnian didn’t know and didn’t care. He tilted his head slightly to avoid Tan Youming’s warm breath. "I don’t know. Ask him yourself."