Sprained… foot?

Just a sprained foot?

Lin Zhexia was stunned.

“Running six laps,” Chi Yao said. “How else could I get injured?”

After her initial shock, Lin Zhexia realized she had overreacted.

At that moment, the doctor entered the room, and Chi Yao added: “Nothing serious, just need some rest. See how you feel—if walking doesn’t hurt, you can return to your unit.”

Hearing the doctor’s words, Lin Zhexia’s anxious heart finally settled back down.

The doctor had other matters to attend to; he needed to supervise the training ground to prevent any unusual situations.

Lin Zhexia sat at the side for a while, then prepared to leave. “Since you’re fine, I’ll go first.”

Chi Yao: “Who said I’m fine?”

As he spoke, he tossed a sheet of paper and a pen to her from the desk.

Lin Zhexia held the paper and pen, unsure what he meant.

Chi Yao: “Self-criticism report.”

Only then did Lin Zhexia remember that the chief instructor, besides making him run twenty laps, also required him to write a self-criticism report.

She dreaded writing essays and would prefer running laps, so she used Chi Yao’s own words against him: “It’s not that I don’t want to help you write, it’s that I’m embarrassed to contaminate this paper with my failing language skills.”

Chi Yao snickered: “I didn’t know ’embarrassed’ was in your vocabulary.”

Lin Zhexia: “Just learned it today.”

“Forget it,” Chi Yao extended his hand, gesturing for her to return the paper and pen. “I shouldn’t expect anything from someone illiterate.”

But Lin Zhexia held onto the paper tightly: “Who are you calling illiterate? I’ve scored as high as fifty-eight on essays when I’m in good form.”

Although she dreaded writing essays, the reverse psychology worked.

Besides, she had eaten the food Chi Yao bought, so helping him write a self-criticism report didn’t seem unreasonable.

The afternoon training schedule was sparse, giving her half an hour to write in the infirmary.

Lin Zhexia wrote down “Self-Criticism Report.”

Chi Yao: “Don’t write so ugly.”

The pen in Lin Zhexia’s hand paused: “I’m deliberately writing messily so the instructor can’t recognize it. It’s a tactical move. If you’re not helping, keep quiet.”

Chi Yao remained silent for a moment.

A few minutes later, he read aloud what she had written: “…To be honest with all the instructors, I’ve always lived a repressed life.”

Chi Yao slowly asked: “I live a repressed life?”

“Can you not interrupt my creative process?” Lin Zhexia looked up.

She continued: “You said yourself you went out for fresh air. I need to address the theme—why go out for fresh air… because of repression.”

Chi Yao responded with an “Oh” and asked: “So why am I repressed?”

Lin Zhexia: “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

After thinking for two minutes, Lin Zhexia continued writing:

The reason I’m repressed is that I yearn for freedom. I, Chi Yao, am just such an unrestrained person.

Freedom! This subject that humans have explored unceasingly since the dawn of mankind, from a very young age, I’ve pondered: What exactly is freedom?

Last night, I tried to seek this answer beyond the wall.

Before she could complete the character for “answer” (still missing the “wood” radical), Chi Yao snatched the paper from Lin Zhexia’s hand.

“The door is right there,” Chi Yao said. “See yourself out.”

All beginnings are difficult, but having started, Lin Zhexia felt somewhat reluctant to stop: “I just got into the creative flow…”

Chi Yao: “Get out.”

“…”

Fine, she would leave.

She didn’t want to stay anyway.

Just as she stood up, the person on the sickbed gave a light cough.

She was about to say, “Just spit out whatever else you have to say,” but Chi Yao spoke in a tone completely different from before.

This person usually spoke in a languid tone, with a hint of subtle mockery, but when he said this sentence, he put those aside and lowered his voice, creating an almost tender illusion.

“I’m fine,” Chi Yao said. “Next time, don’t cry.”

Military training quickly entered its final day. As parting approached, a curious chemical reaction developed between students and instructors.

The place they had once eagerly wanted to escape now filled them with reluctance to leave.

Facing the instructors they had secretly cursed a thousand times in their hearts, they discovered these people weren’t so detestable after all.

“You bunch of brats who can’t even march properly,” the instructor said with a smile on the last day. “Study hard when you get back to school.”

It was break time now. After the closing ceremony in the afternoon, they would board the buses back to school.

The class sat in a circle, chatting with their instructor for a while.

Tang Shuxuan asked proactively: “Instructor, among the units you’ve trained, were we one of the better ones?”

Instructor: “Sorry to say, you’re the worst batch I’ve ever trained.”

The whole class burst into laughter.

Lin Zhexia sat under the shade of a tree. The seventh class faced the first class, allowing her to see the first class’s formation with just a glance.

Among the layered crowd, Chi Yao sat in the last row.

The young man had taken off his military training jacket and was napping in the back row.

Sunlight filtered through gaps in the shade, falling upon him.

The classmate beside him, who had a decent relationship with him, nudged him and said something. Chi Yao opened his eyes and, judging by his lip movements, said two words.

Lin Zhexia guessed those two words were likely “don’t bother.”

Chen Lin moved closer to her and said, “Did you know Chi Yao is even more famous now?”

Lin Zhexia didn’t immediately understand: “Huh?”

Chen Lin: “There were already many forum posts about him when school started, but now, because of his punishment, there’s a new wave of posts.”

Lin Zhexia couldn’t comprehend: “…Although twenty laps is quite a lot, it’s not worth making posts to hype it up.”

Chen Lin: “The focus isn’t the twenty laps—it’s climbing over the wall.”

As a key district school, Cheng’an No. 2 High School’s management wasn’t as strict as No. 1 High School, but there had rarely been records of violations. Among a group of well-behaved students focused on their studies, the term “climbing over the wall” somewhat exceeded imagination.

Chi Yao transformed from “that good-looking guy from Class 1” to “the good-looking guy who climbs walls at night.”

In short, he acquired a hint of dangerous charm.

Lin Zhexia had never adapted well to these forum gossip, so after a brief exchange, she changed the subject.

Just as she and Chen Lin were discussing a newly serialized manga, someone lightly tapped her shoulder from behind.

Lin Zhexia turned around to find a classmate.

The girl had short hair and appeared rather shy.

Since they weren’t familiar, she looked even more constrained, struggling for a while before finally uttering: “Lin Zhexia, do you know Chi Yao?”

Lin Zhexia: “…”

She now understood what Chen Lin meant by “more famous.”

The girl continued to struggle: “I…”

…

“I want…”

…

“To get his cont—”

Before Lin Zhexia could figure out how to respond—neither giving nor refusing seemed appropriate—while she was contemplating a strategy, the words “contact information” hadn’t even fully left the girl’s mouth when Tang Shuxuan, sitting in the front row, suddenly stood up.

Tang Shuxuan asked her: “You want Chi Yao’s contact information?”

The girl responded blankly: “Ah.”

Tang Shuxuan suddenly burst out with full vigor: “Sister, don’t do it!”

“What contact information? That Chi Yao, what’s worth thinking about him? Just because he’s a bit handsome—”

Speaking entirely as a victim, disregarding the other’s shocked expression, she earnestly advised: “I sincerely urge you, even dogs wouldn’t want Chi Yao’s contact information.”

Three hours later, on the way back to school.

Chen Lin sat with Lin Zhexia, recalling the scene from noon, still laughing uncontrollably: “Never mind her, even I was stunned standing there—a victim providing a firsthand account.”

Lin Zhexia, feeling as if she’d survived a disaster: “I was just worrying about how to respond when she stood up.”

Chen Lin: “In the future, if anyone asks you for his contact information, you can just direct them to Shuxuan.”

Lin Zhexia thought this sounded like an excellent idea.

After chatting for a while, she took out her phone to check the time.

She saw two messages from Lin He.

Lin He: What time will you be home?

Lin He: I’ve prepared dinner. Invite Chi Yao to join us.

So Lin Zhexia tapped on Chi Yao’s profile picture.

After tapping, she guessed the other side would respond with a question mark.

Sure enough.

The next second, a concise question mark appeared in the chat box—?

Lin Zhexia typed a reply: Come to my house for dinner later.

Oh

Afraid Chi Yao might overthink, she further explained: It’s not me inviting you, it’s my mom.

Chi Yao replied: Got it.

Having delivered the message, Lin Zhexia was about to close the chat window.

Her finger paused, remembering the scene at noon, and finally typed: I think, in the future, you should try to be a decent person.

At that moment, the bus circled the enclosing wall, heading toward the school, and soon the military training base became distant and blurred.

After Chi Yao went home to put away his things and take a shower, Lin Zhexia dragged him toward her house.

Chi Yao’s hair was still wet as he followed behind her: “Are you reincarnated from a starving ghost?”

Lin Zhexia didn’t look back: “I am very hungry, walk faster.”

She pulled Chi Yao by the edge of his clothes all the way, then pushed open the door and called out: “Mom—I’ve brought him, let’s eat quickly.”

Compared to Chi Yao’s cold and quiet home, the Lin household appeared much more lively.

Wei Ping sat on the sofa, examining his newly purchased telescope. Seeing Chi Yao arrive, he pushed his glasses and greeted: “Chi Yao, come sit here, help uncle figure out how to use this telescope.”

Lin He was busy in the kitchen, ladling soup from the pot.

Lin Zhexia said, “Mom, let me help you,” but sneaked into the kitchen to steal a piece of Coca-Cola chicken wing.

Lin He called out, “Did you wash your hands?”

Lin Zhexia mumbled with the chicken wing in her mouth: “I did.”

Lin He: “As if! Go wash your hands now.”

Lin Zhexia: “Too late now.”

When all the dishes were served, everyone gathered around the table for dinner.

Chi Yao accepted the chopsticks: “Thank you, Auntie Lin.”

Lin He smiled: “No need for such formality. Eat more; today I made all your favorites.”

Lin Zhexia thought to herself that no wonder, besides the Coca-Cola chicken wings, the other dishes on the table were somewhat different from usual: “Who’s the biological child here? What about my favorites?”

Lin He laughed and lightly tapped her head, only this time it was a cold laugh: “You should be grateful to have anything to eat.”

“…”

Chi Yao often ate at their home.

When they were young, the “sickly” Chi Yao ate very bland food. Whenever he came to her house, she had to eat those tasteless dishes alongside him.

By the time they finished dinner, it was already dark.

Lin Zhexia took two popsicles from the refrigerator, gave one to Chi Yao, and the two walked around the neighborhood to aid digestion.

She had grabbed them randomly, so she asked: “What flavor is yours?”

Chi Yao: “See for yourself.”

For some reason, Lin Zhexia always felt his popsicle seemed tastier: “Let’s swap.”

Chi Yao did not react.

Lin Zhexia thought for a moment and proposed a new suggestion: “How about you just don’t eat it?”

This time, Chi Yao reacted; he raised his hand and made a gesture as if to pinch the back of Lin Zhexia’s neck.

His fingers had just been holding the popsicle, so his fingertips carried a distinct coolness. He pinched very lightly, the weight falling like a feather. Lin Zhexia shrank her neck, feeling cold.

The two walked side by side and happened to meet He Yang.

He Yang had also just finished military training, his entire person tanned like a coal ball: “Damn, you two didn’t go to military training?”

Lin Zhexia: “We did, five days.”

He Yang pointed at Chi Yao again: “He went too?”

“Then how come neither of you got tanned?” He Yang pointed at himself. “I applied sunscreen, but still got tanned like this. What’s with you two? Why is it so unfair?”

Lin Zhexia didn’t have the heart to tell him that Chi Yao hadn’t even used sunscreen.

She patted He Yang’s shoulder, and as she passed by, she broke off half of the crushed ice popsicle from Chi Yao’s hand and gave it to him: “Try a different sunscreen brand next time. The one you bought might not be very effective.”

He Yang looked toward Chi Yao: “Really? Is it the sunscreen’s problem? Which sunscreen do you use? Recommend one.”

Chi Yao glanced at him: “I suggest you reincarnate.”

He Yang: “…”

After the three gathered together, their stroll led them to Chi Yao’s home.

Lin Zhexia, having finished her popsicle, sat idly on the sofa for a while, then suddenly punched He Yang.

He Yang was bewildered by the punch: “What are you doing?”

Lin Zhexia: “Nothing, just suddenly remembered that you were quite annoying when you were little.”

He Yang: “???”

He Yang: “That was so many years ago, why do you still remember it?”

Lin Zhexia wanted to say it was because Chi Yao had gone to the infirmary, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she only said: “I just remember. I’m petty like that. Occasionally, when I remember, I still want to hit you.”

He Yang: “Are you sick?!”

Their friendship with He Yang hadn’t developed through any particularly special event.

As they fought and grew year by year, many childish memories from the past were silently reconciled with time.

Their parents knew each other and were neighbors.

He Yang’s mother was very cheerful and often had He Yang deliver things to them.

Initially, He Yang delivered things awkwardly—after all, they had fought before—and if not for his mother’s unbreakable orders, he wouldn’t have wanted to come.

He often left things at the doorstep and ran away immediately.

After numerous occurrences, Lin Zhexia occasionally exchanged a few words with him: “Why do you act like a thief?”

The chubby He Yang reddened his neck: “You’re the thief!”

Lin Zhexia: “Then next time, knock on the door when you come. You should knock on Chi Yao’s door too.”

Chubby He Yang: “…”

Lin Zhexia: “Then say ‘hello, this is for you.'”

Chubby He Yang: “Why should I say anything to him?”

Lin Zhexia: “Then you’re acting like a thief.”

Chubby He Yang: “I am not!”

Lin Zhexia: “Then go say it!”

So, besides Lin Zhexia, Chi Yao’s door gained another knocker.

The first time He Yang spoke to Chi Yao, he was holding a basket of oranges: “Y-you… hello, I’m not a thief. My mom asked me to give these to you. Homegrown oranges from the countryside. T-take them or leave them.”

At the time, he thought Chi Yao wouldn’t give him a pleasant look.

But that sickly boy said, “Thank you.”

Prompted by Lin Zhexia, He Yang recalled some childhood memories, including the former Chi Yao.

He looked toward the sofa. These days, Chi Yao’s hair had grown longer. He had one leg bent, holding a game console casually in his hand.

His “summer sister” peeked over wanting to play too, but had no idea how.

Lin Zhexia: “What game is this?”

Chi Yao: “King of Fighters.”

Lin Zhexia: “What does this button do? And that one? How do I punch? How come he can hit me no matter where I move?”

Chi Yao: “Dodge, press this.”

Chi Yao pointed to another button.

Lin Zhexia pressed it, and the character on the screen jumped.

Lin Zhexia: “Alright, I’ve got it. Watch me execute a combo. He’ll be dead in three moves.”

Watching them, He Yang thought that the current Chi Yao, apart from his slightly pale complexion, was hard to associate with the sickly boy from before.

Though the young man had a slim waist, through the thin fabric of his clothes, one could faintly glimpse the subtle contours beneath.

He Yang recalled that Chi Yao even had abs.

He couldn’t remember exactly when it was, but several years ago, he came to Chi Yao’s house to play games. For some reason, the door wasn’t locked that day. He pushed it open without warning and saw Chi Yao doing push-ups with his upper body bare. Sweat gathered along his jawline and dripped down.

At that time, Chi Yao wasn’t as tall as now, but he was already quite striking. His gaze moved from the young man’s lean waist, finally landing on those abdominal contours.

Seeing it was him, Chi Yao muttered “fuck” then said: “Close the door.”

He Yang dazedly closed the door.

When had it started?

He always remembered that before that day, something seemed to have happened.

But too much time had passed, and he really couldn’t recall.

The noisy sounds from inside quickly pulled He Yang back to the present.

His “summer sister” clearly hadn’t defeated her opponent in three moves and was making excuses: “I let him have a few moves just now. I wanted to give him a chance.”

Chi Yao: “Oh.”

Lin Zhexia: “I’m serious.”

Chi Yao: “Mm-hmm.”

Lin Zhexia: “You don’t believe me. You think I’m bad at this.”

Chi Yao: “Good that you know.”

He Yang: “…”

These two were still the same as always.