Chapter Forty-One

“What did you write? You know my brain doesn’t work that well—I’ll never be able to guess what you mean. Impossible.” Huang Feifan shook out his hand; his fingers were starting to ache from typing so fast.

On the other end, Chen Siyu patted her forehead in exasperation. How could he be so clueless? Those three simple words had made it abundantly clear—any child would have guessed the answer. With that, Chen Siyu lost all interest in continuing the conversation and replied, “I’m tired. Let’s talk another day.” Her profile icon turned gray, indicating she had gone offline. Huang Feifan stared at her message, sensing that she wasn’t in the best of moods. Had he upset her somehow? But he hadn’t said anything out of line—Chen Siyu wasn’t the type to get angry for no reason. That’s what he told himself.

Just as Chen Siyu logged off, Xiao Jian’s icon lit up. Huang Feifan switched over to chat with him, opening with the same line he’d sent to Chen Siyu: “Are you there? Chat with me.”

“If you’ve got time to chat with me, you’d be better off playing games and honing your skills,” Xiao Jian quipped.

“I’m bored with games. I’m just not in the mood. Is it really that hard to find someone to talk to?” Huang Feifan asked.

“Go find Rain, he’s more talkative.”

“Come on, he’s busy and not online. Right now, you’re the only one I can chat with. I’m so heartbroken.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll chat with you. Happy now?”

Xiao Jian agreed, but Huang Feifan had already exhausted all his conversation topics with Chen Siyu, leaving nothing much to say. Xiao Jian, however, had something to discuss, piquing Huang Feifan’s interest.

“A few days ago, I met a girl. She’s really something,” Xiao Jian began.

“Really? What does she look like? Is she good-looking?”

“I just told you she’s really something—what do you think?”

“Are you serious?” Huang Feifan was skeptical. “Feels like you’re just making things up to mess with me.”

“I’m not! I helped her out with something, and she added me on WeChat. I’ll send you a picture.”

Xiao Jian sent a screenshot of Lin Xinxin smiling. Huang Feifan still didn’t believe him. “As if you could fool me with just some random profile picture. I’m not that gullible.”

“I’m telling you, it’s real. You have to believe me!” Xiao Jian replied.

Huang Feifan mulled it over for a long time. He really didn’t care about the girl Xiao Jian mentioned—it was none of his business, and romance was something he had long since grown immune to. Sweet words held no sway over him anymore.

As for Xiao Jian, that was another story. He dreamed of having a girlfriend, but being so dense, he sometimes made girls cry without meaning to—something he had experienced firsthand. If he and Lin Xinxin ever got together, he’d be overjoyed, though he had no idea she was Lin Zimo’s sister.

“Alright, I’ll believe you this once, Senior. If you meet up, don’t forget to invite me,” Huang Feifan replied.

“You’re so nosy. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taught you that Fast Kick technique,” Xiao Jian responded.

“Well, it’s not a bad thing to learn a few odds and ends. If you do meet up, make sure you call me—I want to see if she’s really as beautiful as you say.”

“What, just because I mentioned a girl, now you’re interested?” Xiao Jian teased, all the while keeping his WeChat running in the background, waiting for Lin Xinxin to come online.

“Senior Xiao, if you don’t mind, why not let me have her?” Huang Feifan joked.

Xiao Jian couldn’t help but respond with a voice message, tinged with annoyance: “What’s wrong with you? Are you some kind of pervert? Don’t tell me you’re going to harass her.”

Huang Feifan shot back with a voice message of his own: “Who said anything about harassment? I just meant I’m interested in her, so why not let me have a chance? I’m not a creep.”

“Well, that depends on whether she agrees. I’ve got something to do, so I’m logging off now.”

“Don’t forget to invite me if you meet up.” Huang Feifan got in one last word, but Xiao Jian was already offline. So much information today. Who could this so-called stunning girl be? It was intriguing.

He set his phone aside and headed up to the roof to practice. Even with the pandemic, exercise was good for immunity. Huang Feifan wasn’t working on just any routine, but the Fast Kick technique created by Rain Star Moon.

He went through every move—Scatter, Loose Sand, and the like—becoming ever more attuned to the essence of the form. It was starting to feel too simple, and he was considering developing a new set of kicks for more practical combat.

He wasn’t the only one practicing. Zhang Yi had begun training as well. Though his injury hadn’t fully healed, he refused to let his right arm become an excuse for self-pity—he couldn’t let down Rain Star Moon’s expectations for him and Huang Feifan.

Not far from Zhang Yi’s door, someone was watching him: Li Li. She was astonished by Zhang Yi’s footwork. To her eyes, his moves were unpredictable and dazzling; she couldn’t grasp their true power but could sense the speed.

Li Li thought to herself: This guy really isn’t ordinary. Could he be a member of the Sky Source Team?

She wasn’t stupid. The reason she suspected Zhang Yi was part of that team was because she’d seen them on TV—albeit by sneaking peeks at someone else’s television. In a broadcast of a Sky Source Team match, the camera had briefly panned to Zhang Yi. Li Li had only managed to commit his face to memory for a moment, but watching his kicks now, she felt a sense of familiarity.

Halfway through his practice, Zhang Yi had to stop. Too much time indoors had sapped his stamina, and he went back inside to rest. He just sat on the sofa in the living room, not even making it to his bed.

Li Li quietly slipped into his room, peering out through a crack in the door. Zhang Yi lay on the sofa for a long time before standing and moving out of her line of sight. After a while, he returned, carrying a medical kit, which he set on the table—he was about to apply medicine to his right arm.

He unwrapped the bandage, revealing a red, inflamed arm. The pain had turned it crimson, but Zhang Yi bore it and practiced anyway. Only now, back in the living room, did the pain really set in.

He slowly took off his shirt, exposing his upper body. To brace himself for the pain of applying the medicine, he took a pencil from the table and clamped it between his teeth—biting down would help him endure.

“Ah!” He cried out as the medicine stung, biting so hard on the pencil that deep grooves appeared in the wood. Sweat covered his face.

Is his arm still not healed? It looks so painful! Li Li was deeply affected; seeing his raw, red arm sent a shock through her heart.

Zhang Yi gritted his teeth and pressed on. The next part was the worst—applying medicine to the most painful spot. He managed the rest with some effort, but that one wound was agony.

In his left hand was the medicinal wine; the doctor had said to start applying it ten days after leaving the hospital. It had already been ten days—his mother had applied it once before. Now it was time again, every three days. With his parents gone, Zhang Yi had to do it himself.

Li Li couldn’t watch any longer. Seeing him suffer while she hid and watched made her feel utterly heartless. She slipped out of his room.

When Zhang Yi saw Li Li emerge, he was startled, but quickly regained his composure. “You’re here,” he said, the pencil dropping from his mouth. Despite the pain in his arm, he forced a smile—though it looked more like a grimace than a smile.

“Seeing you in so much pain, I thought I’d help,” Li Li said seriously. “Sit down. Let me do it.”

She sat beside Zhang Yi, took the medicinal wine from his hand, and gently applied it to the sorest spot on his arm. Zhang Yi’s pain was palpable, but he could only grit his teeth and bear it.

Li Li was meticulous; she was no stranger to cuts and bruises, often suffering them from her own escapades. She understood the process of healing all too well, and had tended wounds far worse than Zhang Yi’s.