Chapter 14

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When Qiu Baozhu returned to the sports field, the PE teacher had just finished organizing the teams. He stood absentmindedly in his original spot, his face pale as if repeatedly washed with disinfectant.

“Let’s warm up first!” Old Mo raised his hand and clapped twice.

The teams dispersed, and he turned his back to lead the warm-up, loudly calling out, “One, two, three, four! Two, two, three, four!”

Qiu Baozhu watched Old Mo’s movements in a daze, his limbs only half-heartedly mimicking the motions.

He arrived at the Wei family’s estate near the end of his sophomore year. At that time, he and Wei Shu were both about to turn twenty that summer.

Coincidentally, Qiu Baozhu and Wei Shu shared the exact same birthday—same year, month, and day. The difference was that Wei Shu was born at night, while Qiu Baozhu came into the world at dawn.

The Wei estate was a villa complex built on Qingyu Mountain, far from the Ningkang city center. The residences were arranged outward from the patriarch’s home, all inhabited by members of the Wei family.

Qiu Baozhu settled into the heart of the villa cluster. At first, he thought Qingyu Mountain was too far from school and worried he wouldn’t make it in time for early classes. Later, he realized his fears were unfounded.

Wei Shu never intended for him to leave Qingyu Mountain again.

But it took Qiu Baozhu a long time to understand this.

It was like biting into a green plum soaked in honey for too long—sweet to the point of cloying, the skin and flesh infused with syrup, until reaching the core, which suddenly turned sour and bitter, making both tongue and heart recoil—a cruel deception.

By the time Qiu Baozhu snapped back to reality, Old Mo had finished teaching serving and receiving.

He twisted the cap of his thermos. “Groups of four, practice on your own.”

Most classmates already knew how to play tennis, differing only in skill level.

Those skilled quickly gathered friends, while those less proficient still found teammates easily. Yet Qiu Baozhu’s group was short one player.

Xiao You sat by a nearby flowerbed, balancing a tennis racket under his foot, chin lifted casually as he watched across the court.

Qiu Baozhu fingered the strings of his racket a few times. “It’s just the three of us then.”

A touch from Wei Shu’s back sent a chill through him. Right now, he just wanted to bounce, jump, sweat freely—to confirm that he was alive and free again.

Pan Sheng’an looked worried.

Qiu Fei pulled out a racket. “My brother’s really good at tennis. If your level’s average, he can handle both of us easily.”

“You too…” Pan Sheng’an began, meaning to ask if she was also not skilled.

“I don’t play,” Qiu Fei replied.

“…”

“If you need a player, count me in.” A slender, pale leg stepped down from the flowerbed behind them. Zeng Mingmei extended her hand to Qiu Baozhu. “I transferred into your class. Nice to meet you, I’m Zeng Mingmei.”

Qiu Baozhu knew Zeng Mingmei, though they weren’t close, just like with Pan Sheng’an.

“Hello.” He shook her hand.

Zeng Mingmei was Zeng Mingxi’s younger sister. After graduating high school, she studied abroad in the United States.

Upon returning, she married the daughter of Wei Shu’s uncle.

Less than three years into the marriage, she was caught in bed with a young female celebrity, causing a scandal that shook the entire city and threw the Wei family into chaos.

The Wei family was strictly traditional. Although Wei Shu was an illegitimate child, his father only married Li Caiping five years after the death of his first wife.

At such times, everyone would openly spit on Zeng Mingmei.

Qiu Baozhu sat cross-legged on the second-floor corridor, stretching his head through the railings, curiously watching below.

Suddenly, Zeng Mingmei, who had been sitting upright, jumped up. She pointed at her wife, then at others.

“You Wei family members are all so devoted! You are! You too! You all are!”

After shouting hoarsely, she suddenly pointed up to the second floor, at Qiu Baozhu and behind him.

Qiu Baozhu looked puzzled and met her gaze.

The woman curled her crimson lips, as if watching a spectacle about to unfold. “That one on the second floor is a hopeless romantic too, but he locks you up day after day, making you neither human nor ghost. He calls it love…” Before finishing, she was grabbed by the shoulder and escorted out the front gate.

Inside the living room, everyone looked up with the same slightly alarmed expression, staring at Qiu Baozhu.

He gripped the railings beside his ears and looked back at them.

A moment later, a tense, watchful atmosphere settled behind him.

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A dry, cool hand gently rubbed Qiu Baozhu’s head from above.

Wei Shu’s voice appeared calmly beside him, “Baozhu, this world is dangerous. I’m doing this for your own good.”

Under the shimmering afternoon sunlight, the boy recalled the past and looked at the still-bright girl before him, shivering inexplicably.

Qiu Baozhu picked up a tennis ball, weighing it in his hand, then passed it to Qiu Fei. “Your serve?”

Qiu Fei shook her head.

Zeng Mingmei generously said, “Pan Sheng’an, let’s go to the other side.”

“You can play?” Pan Sheng’an glanced at the girl’s miniskirt, blushing slightly.

“Of course.”

They walked together to the opposite side of the net, Pan Sheng’an still hesitant.

Qiu Baozhu served.

Before serving, he tossed the ball twice in his hand. The tennis ball was heavy, unlike a shuttlecock; when it fell back into his palm, his hand sank slightly.

The ball was thrown into the air. The youth leapt lightly, his well-shaped calf muscles under his shorts aiding the power, rising half a meter off the ground. His upper body arched back slightly, forming a long, flowing curve.

The racket strings sparkled like green waves under the sun. Qiu Baozhu’s hair and eyelashes fluttered together in the breeze.

His serve looked effortless, but the green ball shot across the court like an arrow released from a bow.

Pan Sheng’an watched the ball and even stepped back.

Zeng Mingmei clicked her tongue, pushed him aside, and swung her racket forcefully.

Qiu Fei stepped aside, watching Zeng Mingmei’s powerful hit.

Qiu Baozhu took a few quick steps and returned the ball with ease.

The ball kept striking rackets, making crisp, strong sounds that echoed across the sports field.

Many of the beginner classmates unknowingly gathered around to watch.

Old Mo stood nearby, arms crossed, occasionally pointing and nodding.

“Nice return.”

As Qiu Baozhu jumped again, the ball skimmed over the net. Zeng Mingmei missed it and screamed, wiping sweat from her face. “I’ll take a break, Pan Sheng’an!” She asked him to substitute.

“Me?”

Seeing no room for negotiation, Pan Sheng’an picked up the racket resting on his knees.

He slowly walked to Zeng Mingmei’s previous position, glancing involuntarily across the net.

Qiu Baozhu looked different than usual. His eyes, always gentle, now shone bright green, sweat hanging on his lashes making them sparkle with vitality—like a feline caught in the thrill of the hunt.

No, Pan Sheng’an thought, scanning the crowd nervously. His calves trembled. “I—I can’t play.” He stammered.

Old Mo noticed and clapped enthusiastically to encourage him.

Qiu Baozhu knew Pan Sheng’an genuinely didn’t know how to play. He looked toward Old Mo, about to speak for him.

At that moment, a casual voice interrupted suddenly and perfectly, “I’ll play with you.”

The shadow stretched long beneath the net, cast by the setting sun.

The figure held a worn tennis racket with a patch in the center, its edges blurred, the strings’ color different around it.

This was the racket Wei Shu had first used to teach Qiu Baozhu tennis.

—

The ball was at Wei Shu’s feet. He bent to pick it up but did not serve. Instead, he tossed it to Qiu Baozhu and said lightly, “You serve.”

Qiu Baozhu caught the ball; his palm inexplicably warmed.

Probably from nervousness and fear.

Because most of his tennis skills had been taught by Wei Shu.

In his previous life, after his family went bankrupt, few classmates wanted to team up with Qiu Baozhu. Even when Old Mo forcibly arranged teams, the balls Qiu Baozhu served would roll alone on the ground, as no one would catch them, even easy ones.

Back then, Wei Shu teamed up with him, teaching him how to serve, receive, predict a ball’s trajectory, and how to swing differently according to each path.

Qiu Baozhu learned quickly. By the end of the semester, he ranked first in the class’s tennis exam, even scoring higher than Wei Shu.

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“First place!” Qiu Baozhu pulled Wei Shu into a corner by the teaching building, spreading his hands. “Reward!”

Wei Shu casually pulled him into his arms, kissed him, and quietly slipped a pretty stone into his hand.

The pretty stones were always gently placed in Qiu Baozhu’s palm or given in various surprising ways.

The boy loved pretty stones—not necessarily beautiful on the outside, but always beautiful inside. Wei Shu knew how to cater to his tastes.

A pale green ball shot out like a phantom, flying toward Wei Shu with lightning speed.

Later, bored at the Wei estate, Qiu Baozhu honed many of his talents into extraordinary skills. Even though Wei Shu was once a teacher, he might not be able to beat him now.

Wei Shu remained calm. As the ball reached him, he turned his racket, sending it back along the original path.

His returns to Qiu Baozhu weren’t difficult, as if negotiating.

Some classmates gasped quietly, surprised that Qiu Baozhu could play tennis—and that Wei Shu seemed skilled too.

Qiu Baozhu paid no attention to their reactions. He gripped his racket, eyes blazing.

Facing off, the boy showed no mercy, returning Wei Shu’s shots with even trickier balls.

Each powerful hit made the whole racket vibrate.

The tennis ball soared over the net like a meteor, trailing a tail, carrying a deadly momentum.

Qiu Baozhu slammed the ball onto the ground at Wei Shu’s feet.

He played with abandon, releasing a deep sigh of frustration.

The challenge laid bare by the youth made Wei Shu involuntarily smirk.

Old Mo scratched his chin, wondering if there was some deep grudge between the two.

Pan Sheng’an whispered nervously to Qiu Fei, “If it were me, I’d probably have walked nearly thirty thousand steps after a match like this.”

“…”

The class bell rang, and Old Mo blew his whistle to stop the game.

“Dismissed. Remember to go to the locker room to shower and change. Don’t return to class all sweaty and stinky.”

Qiu Baozhu stood still, his arm holding the racket trembling uncontrollably. Both arms were aching heavily, though he hadn’t felt it during play.

Sweat dripped not only down his chin but also down his calves.

His entire being seemed to glow—whatever color the sun was now, that was his color.

Without looking across the net, he turned and called to Qiu Fei, “Qiu Fei, let’s go change.”

“I’m going to buy two bottles of water first.” Qiu Fei did not follow.

Pan Sheng’an looked anxiously at the approaching Xiao You and Chen Chen, who seemed unfriendly. His heart sank. He turned and followed Qiu Baozhu.

The crowd around the court gradually dispersed, leaving only a few stragglers moving about as class ended.

Zeng Mingxi came over carrying two bottles of soda and handed one to Wei Shu.

“You know, Qiu Baozhu’s fierce playing style reminds me a lot of you,” Zeng Mingxi said with a cryptic smile, teasing, “But you seem to be holding back on him?”

Wei Shu put down his racket, took a long drink, and looked deeply into the distance. “I’m not holding back.”

“Ha!” Zeng Mingxi laughed, but the laughter faltered.

Because in Wei Shu’s cold expression, he saw something previously unknown.

It looked like great joy, yet also great sorrow—an indescribable feeling.

The setting sun glowed dimly red, like the moment between yin and yang, filled with eerie silence.

Zeng Mingxi’s fingertips slowly lost warmth from the cold soda.

“Wei Shu…” he began, uneasy and unsettled.

Qiu Baozhu, who had reached the school building’s entrance, inexplicably looked back. His eyes half-open, his lamb-like face both proud and distant.

At that moment, Wei Shu suddenly smiled—a smile quietly hidden in his eyes.

Still so obedient.