More of this thoughtless nonsense. Li Qingchi remained utterly unruffled. This insufferable beta was always so good at this. He didn’t respond, didn’t want to respond, just quietly watched the other man.
The rain wasn’t heavy, a fine, drizzling patter, but it had successfully trapped the two of them in this small pavilion. Along with the falling threads of rain, the sky gradually darkened. Far off in the distance stood an old streetlamp, its dim light casting a faint glow not far from the pavilion.
Li Qingchi looked at the person standing face-to-face with him, idly leaning against the pavilion pillar. The other man was looking back at him, a faint glimmer in his eyes.
“Li Qingchi.” He heard Wen Zhiyu call his name, his voice carrying a casual familiarity. “You seem a little different from how you were in high school.” Another completely unrelated topic, brought up with no preamble, suddenly mentioning high school as if the two of them had ever had any real connection back then.
“Did we know each other in high school?” Li Qingchi had this strange feeling that the person who had been watching him in high school was now the one pestering him again. Because in his memories of those years, this person simply didn’t exist. Yet the other man acted as if he knew him so well, and Li Qingchi resented that. “What’s different? In your eyes, what was I like in high school? And how can you be sure the person you saw back then was the real me?”
Wen Zhiyu thought for a moment, then answered seriously: “We crossed paths, but I wouldn’t say we knew each other. Just one of those brush-by moments, a chance glance in passing. You didn’t know my name, and you probably didn’t remember my face either. That’s all it was.” His tone was light, as if he didn’t care at all whether he’d been noticed, merely speaking as if in casual conversation.
He then addressed the later questions: “You were pretty much the same in high school as you are now, cold to everyone, but serious about your work, meticulous to the last detail.”
Li Qingchi’s lips curved into a faint arc, impossible to tell whether it was mockery or self-deprecation. “That sounds like a fairly positive assessment, so should I say thank you for the compliment?”
“No need for that,” Wen Zhiyu said. “I was just stating your strengths as they are. There’s nothing exaggerated or flattering about it.”
Li Qingchi’s gaze locked onto him. “So you still haven’t said, what’s different between the high school me and the current me?”
He was almost curious what earth-shattering, heaven-mourning evaluation this beta could possibly come up with.
“Hmm…” Wen Zhiyu lowered his gaze, his lashes casting a shadow across his face. Soon, he looked back up at the person before him, speaking with great seriousness: “You were a bit cuter in high school than you are now.”
“Cuter?” Li Qingchi let out a light scoff, as if he found the description amusing.
“Yeah.” Wen Zhiyu’s gaze settled on Li Qingchi’s face, as if he hadn’t noticed the absurdity flickering in the other man’s eyes, as if savoring a memory. “In high school, even though you had that stiff, icy face and treated everyone with the same indifference, there was that stubborn grit you showed in every volleyball match, and the smile you’d flash after winning. That was especially cute.”
Li Qingchi paused. Wen Zhiyu’s description was too specific, so specific that fragments of distant, hazy images flashed through his mind.
The sweltering afternoon, the roaring gymnasium, every volleyball match played with everything he had, and the cheers and shouts that nearly lifted the roof off the arena.
Of course, it wasn’t only cheers. A good number of people had wanted him to lose, for no reason at all, just because they didn’t like him, didn’t want to see him keep winning. He’d always been well aware of that.
At this moment, he couldn’t help but wonder: was Wen Zhiyu among those cheering in the crowd, or was he one of those standing outside it, betting on his defeat?
But from Li Qingchi’s perspective, he leaned toward the latter. No particular reason, just because this person was Wen Zhiyu, a man who used someone’s hidden secret as leverage to coerce him.
“Quite the keen observer,” Li Qingchi said, his voice cold. “So you’d already learned to lurk in the shadows and spy on people back in high school?”
He deliberately used the word “spy,” trying to pin Wen Zhiyu in an unflattering position, to reclaim a bit of the ground that had been encroached upon.
But Wen Zhiyu didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Instead, he laughed, a faint smile that looked almost glaring under the dim light. “How could you call it spying, Dr. Li? That’s slander.” He rebutted with complete confidence. “You were so dazzling, like a little sun, oh wait, more like a little iceberg, just standing there. It’d be hard for anyone not to take a second look. I just… have good eyesight and a decent memory, that’s all.”
With a few light words, he casually cast himself as a passive observer.
“Little sun? Little iceberg?” Li Qingchi repeated the two strange metaphors, his brow twitching. People had always described him as calm, rational, aloof, composed, but now, coming from Wen Zhiyu’s mouth, it seemed to carry an entirely different interpretation. His tone dropped. “Seems like you don’t just enjoy spying on people, you’re also fond of slapping labels on them.”
This infuriating beta made him feel something unprecedented and indescribable, so much so that every reply he gave was laced with thorns.
“You’re angry?” Noticing his tone and expression, Wen Zhiyu probed tentatively.
Li Qingchi: “Does it matter to you?” He meant whether his being angry mattered to the other man.
“It matters.” Wen Zhiyu replied very seriously.
“You said those things deliberately, didn’t you? Just to make me angry, to achieve your goal.”
“Huh?” Suddenly brought to this topic, even Wen Zhiyu himself was confused. “What goal?”
“You always deliberately say these things to tease me, to make me angry. When I get angry, you’re happy.” Li Qingchi stated his thoughts with a straight face.
Wen Zhiyu burst out laughing, a completely genuine laugh. He looked at Li Qingchi and tilted his head: “So you really are angry?”
His tone was deliberately provoking.
Then Wen Zhiyu commented: “Even when you’re angry, you’re this calm. That’s so like you, Li Qingchi.”
Li Qingchi: “…”
“I don’t get it. Why do you always suppress your emotions? When you’re angry, the most you do is frown and say things that sound sharp but actually come across as flirtatious. If you have a temper, just let it out. Keep bottling it up and you’ll suffocate sooner or later.” Wen Zhiyu’s gaze fixed on his face. “Not cute, Li Qingchi. You’re not cute at all like this.”
Flirtatious…
This infuriating beta was deliberately saying such things again.
A light drizzle pattered against the pavilion roof, crackling softly, making the atmosphere between them more than just simple silence.
Li Qingchi: “So you started paying attention to me back in high school?”
Wen Zhiyu looked at him, didn’t answer, but his expression was noncommittal.
Li Qingchi asked again: “In high school, you often came to watch my volleyball matches?”
Wen Zhiyu still looked at him, without answering.
Li Qingchi: “Besides these, what else?”
“You want to know?” Wen Zhiyu raised an eyebrow slightly, asking in return.
“Why else would I ask so many questions? Do you think I just enjoy chatting with you?” Li Qingchi gave his answer.
At school, within a closed space, any information circulated only within certain small circles. As an internal member of the War Chain Department, he could use his influence to investigate Wen Zhiyu’s entire growth history from childhood, that would be easy for him. But it was difficult to investigate Wen Zhiyu’s whereabouts during high school, and how he had obtained that document.
So he used the most direct method, prying information out of Wen Zhiyu’s mouth.
Although he was well aware that obtaining this information had no bearing on getting rid of this infuriating beta.
But he just wanted to know why this beta had singled him out.
And to keep a document for so many years, was it all just to wait for an opportunity to blackmail him?
If he didn’t have pheromone resistance syndrome, would he have kept this document and this unknown secret hidden forever?
Too contradictory. It couldn’t be explained by common sense.
Seeing the ripples beneath Li Qingchi’s calm eyes, Wen Zhiyu said: “If you want to know, come play volleyball with me tomorrow. One game buys you the chance to ask three questions. Of course, I won’t answer anything too deep. What do you say? Interested?”
Another choice, play volleyball, exchange for one opportunity.
“Fine.” This time Li Qingchi didn’t deliberate long or weigh pros and cons. He agreed readily.
The drizzling rain fell all night and only stopped the next morning. The air and the roads were damp, carrying the fresh scent of flowers and grass.
…
Li Qingchi arrived at a somewhat old volleyball gym on the outskirts of the city as agreed. He remembered this gym, he’d been there a few times in high school.
Wen Zhiyu was already there waiting, changed into a clean set of athletic wear, warming up by bumping the ball against the wall. His form wasn’t exactly professional, but he had a good feel for the ball. The ball bounced steadily off his forearms. When he saw Li Qingchi enter, he stopped and a smile spread across his face again.
“Right on time, Dr. Li.” He bounced the ball in his hand. “I thought you might back out.”
Li Qingchi ignored the teasing and walked straight to the sideline to set down his bag. He took off his jacket, revealing a simple dark athletic T-shirt underneath.
He rotated his wrists and ankles, his gaze sweeping across the net before finally landing on Wen Zhiyu: “Let’s start.” His tone was flat.
Wen Zhiyu raised an eyebrow slightly: “In such a hurry? Not warming up enough can lead to injury.” He tossed a ball over. “Catch.”
Li Qingchi reached out and caught it steadily. Then he walked behind the baseline and began simple stretching. Wen Zhiyu leaned against the wall, watching him.
Soon, warm-up was done, and the two stood facing each other across the net. Wen Zhiyu stated the rules: “Twenty-one point system, first to fifteen wins. One set, winner takes all.”
“Fine.” Li Qingchi answered tersely. Then he moved to his position, bent his knees slightly, lowered his center of gravity, and assumed a professional defensive receiving stance.
Wen Zhiyu stood in the serving zone. He didn’t opt for any flashy serve, just a simple overhand float serve, the ball traveling flat and straight with a slight spin, driving into Li Qingchi’s defensive area.
Though it had been a long time since he’d played volleyball, the experience he’d accumulated during high school allowed him to react quickly. He precisely predicted the landing point, his feet moving swiftly as he brought his arms together, pressed his wrists down, and bumped the ball with the inside of his forearms. The volleyball traced a steady arc through the air.
A textbook-perfect pass.
“Not bad.” Wen Zhiyu praised. He quickly moved to the front of the net, adjusted his footwork, then jumped up to execute a set.
His intention was obvious, the set was at just the right height, the landing point close to the net, as if deliberately giving Li Qingchi an opportunity to attack.
Li Qingchi didn’t hesitate. Almost the instant the ball left Wen Zhiyu’s hands, he was in motion. Three steps of approach, a powerful push-off jump, his entire body stretching out mid-air as his arm drew back, the motion was fluid, his whole frame like a tautly drawn bow.
He jumped high, with a noticeable hang time.
The ball arrived perfectly at the highest point of his swing.
Boom!