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Sprained... ankle?
Just a sprained ankle?
Lin Zhe Xia was stunned.
“Six laps,” Chi Yao said, “How else could I get injured?”
After her initial shock, Lin Zhe Xia realized she had overreacted.
At this moment, the doctor walked in and reminded him again: “There’s no major issue; just rest for a bit. If you feel okay walking around, you can return to your team.”
Hearing the doctor’s reassurance, Lin Zhe Xia finally felt her heart settle.
The doctor had other matters to attend to—he needed to keep an eye on the training field in case of any emergencies.
Lin Zhe Xia sat by for a while, then prepared to leave: “Since you’re fine, I’ll head back first.”
Chi Yao: “Who said I’m fine?”
As he spoke, he tossed a piece of paper and a pen toward her from the desk.
Lin Zhe Xia held the paper and pen, unsure of what he meant.
Chi Yao: “Self-criticism essay.”
Only then did Lin Zhe Xia remember that, aside from making him run twenty laps, the chief instructor had also ordered him to write a self-criticism essay to submit.
She dreaded writing essays more than running laps, so she quoted something Chi Yao had once said: “It’s not that I don’t want to help you write it—it’s just that I’m embarrassed to pollute your paper with my failing language skills.”
Chi Yao sneered: “Does your dictionary even have the word ‘embarrassed’?”
Lin Zhe Xia: “I just learned it today.”
“Forget it,” Chi Yao reached out, gesturing for her to return the paper and pen. “I shouldn’t expect much from an illiterate person.”
But Lin Zhe Xia clutched the paper tightly: “You’re the illiterate one. When I do well, I’ve scored as high as fifty-eight points on my essays.”
Though she feared writing, provocation tactics were genuinely effective.
And she had indeed eaten the snacks Chi Yao bought for her, so helping him write a self-criticism essay didn’t seem unreasonable.
The afternoon training schedule was light, leaving her half an hour to write the essay in the infirmary.
Lin Zhe Xia wrote down the three characters: “Self-Criticism Essay.”
Chi Yao: “Don’t write so ugly.”
Lin Zhe Xia paused mid-penstroke: “To make sure the instructor can’t tell it’s me, I intentionally wrote sloppily. This is a tactic. If you’re not doing the work, shut up.”
Chi Yao fell silent for a moment.
A few minutes later, he read aloud what she had written: “... To be honest with the instructors, I’ve always lived under immense pressure.”
Chi Yao asked slowly: “I live under pressure?”
“Can you stop interrupting my creative process?” Lin Zhe Xia looked up.
Lin Zhe Xia continued: “You yourself said you went out for fresh air. I have to address why you went out for fresh air… because of the pressure.”
Chi Yao made an “oh” sound: “So why am I feeling pressured?”
Lin Zhe Xia: “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
After two minutes of thought, Lin Zhe Xia continued writing:
The reason I feel pressured is because I yearn for freedom. I, Chi Yao, am such an untamed person. Freedom! This eternal question humanity has explored since its inception—I’ve been pondering since I was young: What exactly is freedom?
Last night, I tried to find the answer beyond the wall.
Before she could finish writing the character “案” (answer), Chi Yao snatched the paper from her hands.
“The door is right there,” Chi Yao said. “Go out yourself.”
Starting was always the hardest part, but now that she had begun, Lin Zhe Xia felt reluctant to leave: “I was just getting into the flow of creativity...”
Chi Yao: “Out.”
“...Fine.”
If she didn’t want to stay, she wouldn’t.
Just as she stood up, the person lying on the sickbed let out a soft cough.
She was about to say, “If you have anything left to say, just spit it out,” but Chi Yao spoke in a tone completely different from before.
Most of the time, his speech carried a lazy, slightly mocking undertone, but this time, he reined it in. His voice softened, almost creating the illusion of tenderness.
“I’m fine,” Chi Yao said. “Don’t cry next time.”
________________________________________
Military training quickly entered its final day. As they prepared to leave, a strange chemistry developed between the students and their drill instructors.
The place they once longed to escape from now felt hard to part with.
Facing the instructors they had secretly cursed countless times in their hearts, they realized these instructors weren’t as hateful as they seemed.
“You bunch of brats who can’t even march properly,” the instructor joked on the last day, “Study hard when you get back to school.”
This was break time. After the closing ceremony in the afternoon, they would board the bus back to school.
The class gathered together, chatting with the instructor for a while.
Tang Shuxuan took the initiative to ask: “Instructor, among the groups you’ve trained, are we considered relatively good performers?”
Instructor: “Sorry, you’re the worst group I’ve ever trained.”
The entire class burst into laughter.
Lin Zhe Xia sat under the shade of a tree. Class Seven faced Class One directly, and she could see the ranks of Class One across the way.
Amidst the layered crowd, Chi Yao sat at the very back.
The youth had taken off his military training jacket and was hiding in the rear rows, asleep.
Sunlight filtered through gaps in the shade, falling gently on him.
Someone nearby nudged him and said something. Chi Yao opened his eyes, and Lin Zhe Xia guessed the two words he mouthed—likely “don’t bother.”
Chen Lin leaned closer to her and whispered: “Did you know? Chi Yao’s become even more famous now.”
Lin Zhe Xia didn’t catch on: “Huh?”
Chen Lin: “Didn’t forums have a lot of posts about him at the start of the semester? Well, this time during training, another wave of posts appeared because of his punishment.”
Lin Zhe Xia couldn’t understand: “...Even though twenty laps is quite a lot, it doesn’t justify opening threads to hype him up.”
Chen Lin: “The focus isn’t on the twenty laps—it’s on climbing the wall.”
As a key district school, Cheng’an Second High wasn’t as strict as First High, but rule-breaking incidents were almost unheard of among its diligent student body. The idea of “climbing the wall” was somewhat unimaginable.
Chi Yao had transformed from being the handsome boy of Class One to the handsome boy who climbed walls at midnight.
All in all, it added a hint of danger to his reputation.
Lin Zhe Xia had never been comfortable with forum gossip, so after exchanging a few words, she steered the conversation elsewhere.
Just as she and Chen Lin discussed a newly serialized manga, someone lightly tapped her shoulder from behind.
Turning around, Lin Zhe Xia saw a classmate.
The girl had short hair and looked rather shy.
They weren’t close, so she seemed even more reserved, struggling for a while before finally managing: “Lin Zhe Xia, do you know Chi Yao?”
Lin Zhe Xia: “...”
She now understood what Chen Lin meant earlier by “more famous.”
The girl continued hesitantly: “I...”
“...I want...”
“...Your contact...”
Before Lin Zhe Xia could figure out how to respond—whether to give or not to give—the situation resolved itself.
Tang Shuxuan suddenly stood up from the front row.
Tang Shuxuan asked her: “You want Chi Yao’s contact information?”
The girl was stunned: “Ah.”
Tang Shuxuan suddenly declared with conviction: “Sister, don’t bother.”
“What’s the point of asking for contact info? That guy Chi Yao—what’s so special about him? Sure, he’s handsome—but—”
She spoke with the tone of a victim, ignoring the other girl’s shocked expression, earnestly advising: “Let me tell you sincerely—Chi Yao’s contact info, not even dogs want it.”
Three hours later, on the way back to school.
Chen Lin sat beside Lin Zhe Xia, still laughing uncontrollably at the memory of the scene from noon: “Forget about her—I was dumbfounded just listening from the side. A victim giving live testimony!”
Lin Zhe Xia sighed with relief: “I was racking my brain when she stepped up.”
Chen Lin: “Next time someone asks for his contact info, you can direct them to Shuxuan.”
Lin Zhe Xia thought about it and decided it wasn’t a bad idea.
After chatting for a while, she pulled out her phone to check the time.
She saw two messages from Lin He.
Lin He: Around what time will you be home?
Lin He: I’ve prepared dinner. Should I call Chi Yao over to eat together?
So Lin Zhe Xia tapped Chi Yao’s avatar.
After tapping, she guessed he’d reply with a question mark.
Indeed.
A moment later, a concise question mark appeared in the chat window.
-？
Lin Zhe Xia typed: Come over for dinner later.
-Oh.
Afraid Chi Yao might misunderstand, she quickly explained: It’s not me inviting you—it’s my mom.
Chi Yao replied: Got it.
After delivering the message, Lin Zhe Xia was about to close the chat window.
Her finger paused, recalling the scene from noon, and she finally typed: I think... you should try being human.
At this moment, the bus rounded the wall and headed toward the school. Soon, the military training base became distant and blurred.
When Chi Yao returned home, put away his things, and showered, Lin Zhe Xia dragged him toward her house.
Chi Yao’s hair was still wet as he followed her: “Are you a reincarnation of a starving ghost?”
Lin Zhe Xia didn’t turn her head: “I’m really hungry. Walk faster.”
She tugged at the corner of Chi Yao’s shirt and pushed open the door, shouting: “Mom—I brought him. Serve the food!”
Compared to Chi Yao’s cold and quiet home, Lin’s house felt lively.
Wei Ping sat on the sofa studying his newly purchased telescope. Seeing Chi Yao, he adjusted his glasses and called out: “Chi Yao, come sit here. Let Uncle check how this telescope works.”
Lin He bustled in the kitchen, ladling soup from the pot.
Lin Zhe Xia said, “Mom, I’ll help you,” but instead sneaked into the kitchen to steal a cola chicken wing.
Lin He called out: “Did you wash your hands?”
Lin Zhe Xia mumbled through a mouthful of chicken: “I tied them.”
Lin He: “Wash your hands.”
Lin Zhe Xia: “Chicken arrived.”
Once the dishes were served, everyone gathered around the table to eat.
Chi Yao picked up his chopsticks: “Thank you, Aunt Lin.”
Lin He smiled: “No need to be so polite. Eat more. I made all your favorites today.”
Lin Zhe Xia thought to herself: No wonder most of the dishes on the table were different from usual except for the cola chicken wings. “Who’s the biological child here? What about my favorites?”
Lin He chuckled and smacked her head, this time with a smirk: “You should be grateful you even get to eat.”
“...Fine.”
Chi Yao actually often ate at their house.
When Chi Yao was the frail “sickly kid” of his childhood, his meals were always bland. Every time he came over, she had to endure tasteless food alongside him.
By the time dinner ended, it was already dark outside.
Lin Zhe Xia grabbed two popsicles from the fridge, handing one to Chi Yao. The two strolled around the neighborhood to digest their meal.
She had grabbed them randomly and asked: “What flavor’s yours?”
Chi Yao: “Look for yourself.”
For some reason, Lin Zhe Xia felt like his popsicle must taste better: “Let’s trade.”
Chi Yao didn’t react.
Lin Zhe Xia thought for a moment and then proposed another idea: “Or, how about you don’t eat it?”
Chi Yao reacted this time. He raised his hand and made a pinching motion near the back of Lin Zhe Xia’s neck.
His fingers, still cool from holding the popsicle, lightly brushed against her skin. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down her spine, causing her to instinctively shrink her neck.
The two walked side by side, just as they happened to run into He Yang.
He Yang had also just finished military training, and his skin was tanned almost black from the sun. “Whoa, did you two skip military training?” he blurted out.
Lin Zhe Xia: “We went, all five days.”
He Yang pointed at Chi Yao: “He went too?”
“So why haven’t you guys gotten tanned—” He Yang gestured at himself, “I even wore sunscreen, but I still got this dark. What’s up with you two? Why is life so unfair?”
Lin Zhe Xia couldn’t bear to tell him that Chi Yao hadn’t even used sunscreen.
She patted He Yang’s shoulder and, as she passed by, snapped the popsicle in Chi Yao’s hand in half, giving one piece to He Yang: “Next time, try a different sunscreen brand. The one you bought probably doesn’t work well.”
He Yang looked at Chi Yao: “Really? Is it the sunscreen? What brand do you use? Recommend something.”
Chi Yao glanced at him: “I suggest you reincarnate.”
He Yang: “...What?”
________________________________________
After the three of them gathered, they ended up walking together toward Chi Yao’s house.
After finishing her popsicle, Lin Zhe Xia sat on the couch for a while, then suddenly punched He Yang.
He Yang was utterly baffled: “What was that for?”
Lin Zhe Xia: “Nothing much. I just suddenly remembered how annoying you were as a kid.”
He Yang: “???”
He Yang: “That was ages ago! How do you still remember that?”
Lin Zhe Xia wanted to say it was because Chi Yao had ended up in the infirmary, but she didn’t voice that thought. Instead, she simply said: “I just remember. I’m petty like that. Sometimes when I think about it, I still feel like punching you.”
He Yang: “Are you insane?!”
Their friendship with He Yang hadn’t been born out of any particular event.
They had fought and fought, year after year, until many of their childish grievances faded away with time.
Their parents knew each other, and they were neighbors.
He Yang’s mother was a cheerful woman who often sent things over through He Yang.
At first, He Yang delivered these items awkwardly. After all, they had fought before, and if not for his mother’s orders, he wouldn’t have come willingly.
He usually left the items at the door and ran off.
After this happened several times, Lin Zhe Xia occasionally struck up a conversation with him: “Why do you act like a thief?”
He Yang’s neck turned red: “You’re the thief!”
Lin Zhe Xia: “Next time, knock on the door. Knock on Chi Yao’s door too.”
He Yang: “...”
Lin Zhe Xia: “Then say, ‘Hello, this is for you.’”
He Yang: “Why should I talk to him?”
Lin Zhe Xia: “If you don’t, you’re acting like a thief.”
He Yang: “I’m not!”
Lin Zhe Xia: “Then go talk!”
And so, besides Lin Zhe Xia, someone else began knocking on Chi Yao’s door.
The first time He Yang spoke to Chi Yao, he held a basket of oranges: “Um... hello. I’m not a thief. My mom asked me to bring you these oranges. They’re from our countryside orchard. You... you can eat them if you want.”
At the time, He Yang expected Chi Yao to give him a cold look.
But the once sickly boy simply said, “Thank you.”
When Lin Zhe Xia brought this up now, He Yang also recalled some childhood memories, including the earlier version of Chi Yao.
He glanced at the sofa. These days, Chi Yao’s hair had grown longer, and he lounged casually, one leg bent, holding a gaming console with ease.
Her “Big Brother Summer” squeezed in beside him, eager to play but clueless.
Lin Zhe Xia: “What game is this?”
Chi Yao: “King of Fighters.”
Lin Zhe Xia: “What does this button do? And that one? How do I punch? Why does he keep hitting me no matter where I move?”
Chi Yao: “Dodge. Press this one.”
Chi Yao pointed to another button.
Lin Zhe Xia pressed it, and the character on the screen jumped.
Lin Zhe Xia: “Got it. Watch me unleash a combo. He’ll be dead in three moves.”
He Yang watched the two and thought to himself: Aside from his slightly pale complexion, it was hard to associate the current Chi Yao with the frail boy from before.
Though slender, Chi Yao’s figure hinted at subtle contours beneath his thin clothing.
He Yang remembered that Chi Yao even had abs.
He couldn’t recall exactly when it was—several years ago—but one day, he had gone to Chi Yao’s house to play games. That day, the door hadn’t been locked, and he had walked in unprepared to find Chi Yao doing push-ups. His upper body was bare, and sweat dripped down his jawline.
At the time, Chi Yao wasn’t as tall as he was now, but he already stood out. He Yang’s gaze traveled from the boy’s lean waist to the faint outline of his abs.
When Chi Yao noticed it was him, he muttered a quiet “damn” and said, “Close the door.”
He Yang dumbly closed the door.
When had it started?
He vaguely remembered that something must have happened before that day.
But it was so long ago—he couldn’t quite recall what it was anymore.
The noisy chatter inside quickly pulled He Yang back to the present.
Her “Big Brother Summer” obviously hadn’t defeated her opponent in three moves and was now making excuses: “I let him win a few moves. I wanted to give him a chance.”
Chi Yao: “Oh.”
Lin Zhe Xia: “I’m serious.”
Chi Yao: “Mm.”
Lin Zhe Xia: “You don’t believe me. You think I suck.”
Chi Yao: “Good that you realize it.”
He Yang: “...”
These two—they were still the same as ever.
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