“Ranran, how did you call Shen Shi over?”
On the waiting bench, Ye Ran was pulled down to sit by An Yu. Inside the stadium, the atmosphere had reached its peak, screams, shouts, conversations, deafening.
The members of the tennis club beside them were even more restless, each one fidgeting, looking as if they were about to rush into the court and crowd around Shen Shi.
Ye Ran felt the scorching gazes behind him, and, accustomed to it, pressed down the cap Shen Shi had put on his head.
The glaring lights of the indoor stadium were slightly blocked. His soft yet distinct side profile was half-hidden in shadow, the corner of his lips faintly curved as he lowered his voice and said, “Not me, he came of his own free will.”
“Really?”
An Yu was half-believing, half-doubting. “He’s got that kind of kindness? You didn’t agree to any conditions for him, did you.”
“Of course not.” Ye Ran laughed. “It concerns the school’s honor. Even if I didn’t say anything, he would still come.”
His smile had yet to fade when he suddenly felt a cold gaze land on him. Across from them, the members of No. 1 High were all standing, gathered into a small circle, talking in low voices, their expressions equally ugly.
The leading tennis club captain, Sun Tai, did not even bother to hide the malice in his eyes, silently mouthing something at him.
The smile on Ye Ran’s face faded. “Who’s that?”
“Sun Tai,” this time it was the club president sitting beside An Yu who spoke. The president stared solemnly at the situation on the court, not seeing Sun Tai’s lip movements. “Ignore him, just a mad dog that bites anyone it sees, trash among sports students.”
Ye Ran hummed in acknowledgment. Hearing the whistle signaling the imminent start of the match, he lowered his head indifferently.
……
The indoor stadium used a synthetic hard court with elasticity. The tennis court’s paving fully followed international standards, 2377 meters long and 1097 meters wide, the long sides being the sidelines and the short sides the baselines.
The PE teacher acted as referee, without overly strict standards. After all, on the surface these matches were still under the guise of a “friendly match.” There were also sports reporters who had rushed over after hearing the news, frantically snapping photos toward the court.
The two people on the court were equally eye-catching.
The club president had won the previous match, so the serving side was Wisteria.
Shen Shi casually tossed the tennis ball in his hand. He wasn’t wearing professional match attire, long pants and a short-sleeved shirt. His mobility looked somewhat restricted, yet his posture remained as composed as ever.
On his head was a newly bought tennis club cap. The brim was long, shadows pressing over his pitch-black, indifferent brows and eyes. He slowly drew back his hand, his large palm gripping the green tennis ball, slightly bending his body. His figure tensed into a sharp, cold arc, like a male beast finally opening its eyes, brimming with danger and an oppressive beauty.
The perfect physique of a tennis athlete was fully revealed on him.
Tall stature, strong build, well-proportioned and long limbs, broad and powerful palms, long calves and Achilles tendons, relatively small joint diameters.
Tennis is not merely a competitive sport; it also requires athletes to mobilize their entire musculature and balance to interpret its beauty and display its captivating vitality.
In this regard, Shen Shi never lost to anyone.
Opposite him, Chen Ming already had both hands on his racket, fully on guard.
Though he was taller than the 1.87-meter Shen Shi by a bit, his tense expression and flickering gaze clearly showed his panic and unease at this moment.
“Shh—!”
The whistle pierced the sky in an instant.
The tennis ball that had been lying dormant in Shen Shi’s hand the previous second instantly tore through the air with ferocious force, like an unstoppable long rainbow, passing over the net and screeching straight toward Chen Ming’s face—!
“!”
Cold sweat instantly dripped from Chen Ming’s temples. Following the ball’s trajectory, he hurriedly swung his racket, barely managing to block the first ball. After all, he was a player who had participated in formal competitions. Though his mentality was unstable, upon noticing that Shen Shi wasn’t wearing athletic shorts, he quickly made a decision.
A large lateral stride would be restricted by the long pants. He only needed to intercept the ball and hit a topspin, leaving Shen Shi no time to recover. Then this match would have a chance of victory.
The jealousy and malice in his eyes were about to spill over.
He gathered all his strength, locked onto the point at Shen Shi’s right rear, and viciously swung down the racket—
This scene overlapped perfectly with that moment on the ‘Nike Cup’ court two years ago.
Back then, he, who had been highly anticipated by domestic media, lost miserably and was utterly disgraced.
Across the net, Shen Shi had a racket bag on his back, indifferently twisting open a water bottle to drink. Flashbulbs flickered in front of him as media swarmed in, eagerly asking questions. He didn’t even glance at them, as if whether he won or lost this match couldn’t arouse any interest in him.
Arrogant, self-satisfied, looking down on everyone.
He couldn’t understand why such a person could defeat him, why such a person could make it all the way to world fifth.
He was going to make Shen Shi pay the price for his arrogance!
“…He’s done for.” The spinning ball darted sharply toward Shen Shi’s diagonal rear. Seeing this, a foreign sports reporter outside the court shook his head and sighed.
The students who didn’t understand tennis pricked up their ears, hearing him say to his young apprentice beside him: “No one can hit a topspin in front of Shen.”
“His topspin is the most perfect creation I’ve ever seen.”
The foreign reporter hoisted the camera again, focusing the lens on one side of the court. Within the frame, the black-haired, black-eyed youth had a deeply defined, handsome side profile. Shedding the immaturity of youth, he had already developed a playing style and rhythm uniquely his own.
His steps were agile and light, extremely fast. His gaze, cold and focused, locked onto the tennis ball in the air. After finding the landing point, he swung his racket. The hand gripping the racket was broad and powerful, veins rising, brimming with formidable strength, “Bang—!!!”
The tennis ball slammed fiercely in front of Chen Ming.
He swayed unsteadily, his face deathly pale, his lips trembling again and again.
The foreign reporter smiled slightly. “See… God, I was right.”
“Huh?” Suddenly, he raised an eyebrow. “That is…”
The rebounding tennis ball brushed past Chen Ming’s stunned, wooden face, then, like a blade drawn from its sheath, dragged a long tail and suddenly plunged into the midst of the No. 1 High tennis team members.
“Thud—!” With a dull sound, the green tennis ball bounced up and fell down just one step away from Sun Tai.
“Da da da.”
Then it rolled off to the side.
The pain came half a beat later. Sun Tai lowered his head in disbelief, looking at his calf that had been grazed by the tennis ball. The pain, the burning sensation, seemed to invade his internal organs, cold sweat seeping from his back—
“Captain?”
“Captain, are you okay?”
“D*mn! Was that intentional? I’m going to Wisteria to report him, get him banned—”
“Hilarious. You don’t stand in the spectator area, insist on being this close to the court, getting accidentally injured, serves you right…”
“Even the coaches aren’t standing that close… look, the referee can’t even be bothered with them, hahaha.”
“Why aren’t you backing up, waiting to get accidentally injured again later?”
The PE teacher leading No. 1 High’s team looked unpleasant, quickly walking over and pulling the tennis club members back, all the way to the waiting bench.
In an ordinary match, standing this close naturally wouldn’t result in accidental injury, but the person opposite was Shen Shi, a regular participant in international competitions. His power, explosiveness, and playing style were not something that could be suppressed by casual play.
Even if Sun Tai had been “accidentally injured,” it was because he himself failed to follow the rules first. If handled according to regulations, Sun Tai and the others would be punished first for disrupting match order; Shen Shi might not even be.
This level of control made even the PE teacher feel resentful, forced to swallow the loss in silence.
Sun Tai was dragged back like a wandering ghost, his ears buzzing. The stands suddenly erupted into cheers. He looked over in a daze and saw Chen Ming, hands shaking, telling the referee that he conceded.
The scoreboard had already turned into a tie.
The Wisteria players’ morale soared, while on No. 1 High’s side, several players were thrown into panic by Shen Shi’s precisely calculated shot of distance and force just now.
He stared blankly toward Shen Shi. Shen Shi, who had yet to leave the court, held his racket and unhurriedly pressed down the brim of his cap, looking back at him.
The shadow beneath the brim dispersed like flowing water.
That glance was extremely cold, extremely heavy.
Deep black and unfathomable.
Filled with warning.
With the racket bag slung over his back, Shen Shi left the court and leaned against the railing of the stands. He naturally lifted his head, letting the youth in the stands feed him water and wipe his sweat, languidly, like a big cat yawning.
There was not the slightest trace of the earlier ferocity.
The stands erupted again with barely suppressed excited screams. The girls’ faces were flushed red, the boys couldn’t bear to look but were all smiling, whispering fragmented comments.
Sun Tai swallowed dryly.
—Calling Shen Shi over was useless.
It was useful.
Shen Shi personally helped Ye Ran tell him.
It was useful.
……
There were still three more matches afterward.
The atmosphere inside the stadium was once again pushed to its peak.
The school cheerleading squad went all out with dancing and performances, basking in the limelight for a time. Even the reporters were not stingy, beginning to film the entire process.
At this juncture, Ye Ran and Shen Shi left quietly through the back door.
“Big Brother Little Shi, you’re not watching the match anymore?” Ye Ran followed his steps and asked softly.
“Not watching anymore,” once outside the stadium, with no bothersome people around, Shen Shi took Ye Ran’s hand. With a hint of laziness on his face, he said, “I just finished competing in Brazil. For a short while, I’m not interested in matches at all.”
Ye Ran laughed. “Then come to the art studio with me.”
It was almost time to eat, and the teaching buildings would become very noisy.
The school had specially designated a studio for Ye Ran in the arts building, to be used as his private art studio. Ye Ran was highly renowned in the field of painting. When choosing schools back then, the Wisteria principal had been afraid he might go to the neighboring No. 1 High, and had even called Ye Huaishan many times to persuade him.
Although Ye Huaishan was a teacher at No. 1 High, he could also tell that Wisteria’s offered conditions were better, so without much psychological burden, he let Ye Ran apply to Wisteria.
The art studio was on the fifth floor of the arts building.
The fifth floor was a floor dedicated to art studios. Back then, Ye Ran had chosen the one closest to the end of the corridor, because it was quieter and less disturbed. Moreover, Shen Shi would always come to the studio to keep him company, and would occasionally take a short nap there after training. That made Ye Ran even more determined.
When they arrived at the studio, Ye Ran took out the key and opened the door.
A painting classroom wasn’t as bright and open as an ordinary classroom. The wall facing the corridor was fully enclosed, while the windows were embedded on the other side. Opening the windows, one could see the distant playground and pebble paths; closing them, the entire studio would fall silent, any tiny sound magnified.
The indoor lighting wasn’t dim. Ye Ran didn’t turn on the lights. In the center were an easel, drawing board, tape, watercolors, and various tools. In the corner was a beanbag sofa and a coffee table bought by Shen Shi. The sofa was very large, soft and sinking, enough for two people to sleep on.
On the coffee table were water and unfinished snacks, also bought by Shen Shi.
“Do you have homework this week?”
The teacher who taught Ye Ran was very strict. Every week, he would make Ye Ran paint a piece: sketch, watercolor, quick sketch, color study, oil painting, and so on, no restriction on form, nor limited to art entrance exam requirements. It was more about honing Ye Ran’s fundamentals and letting him freely expand his imagination.
Ye Ran nodded, a little worried. “I don’t know what to paint anymore.”
Inspiration was something that often appeared suddenly. The more one forced it, the less there was, the less one wanted to paint.
Four days had already passed. Often, as soon as Ye Ran entered the studio, he would sit stiffly for an entire afternoon, his mind blank, unable to start.
Just as he was about to tidy up the scattered tools, he was suddenly pulled into an embrace.
Shen Shi rested his chin on Ye Ran’s shoulder, encircling his waist, and held him as they sat down on the beanbag sofa, saying lazily, “No rush, let’s first see what to eat.”
The food on the delivery app was a dazzling array.
Curled up in Shen Shi’s arms, Ye Ran lowered his head and watched Shen Shi scroll the screen. Shen Shi would occasionally speak, warm and moist breaths exhaled, spreading over Ye Ran’s neck, low and deep: “Claypot porridge?”
“…Don’t want to eat it,” Ye Ran didn’t move, seriously looking at the phone. He was a size smaller than Shen Shi, slender and supple, warm-cool to the touch when held, making it hard to let go. “Mm… spicy hotpot.”
“No,” Shen Shi said. “Your internal heat hasn’t cleared. Order something light.”
Ye Ran slowly replied with an “Oh,” depressed and unwilling to speak.
Shen Shi seemed to sense it, chuckled softly and pressed his cheek against Ye Ran’s, very intimate in posture, and asked gently by his ear, “Mad at your big brother?”
“Because of a bowl of spicy hotpot, hmm?”
“…I’m not mad,” Ye Ran felt inexplicably ashamed by what he said. “Then claypot porridge.”
“Not going to look some more?” Shen Shi hugged him tighter and asked leisurely.
Ye Ran pressed his lips together, fell silent for two seconds, and began scrolling the screen.
“…Look.”
Shen Shi laughed out loud behind his neck.
The spacious and quiet art studio, the narrow and soft beanbag sofa, the warm and solid embrace. A breeze lifted the curtains, the familiar warmth traveling through the thin fabric along his back. Ye Ran once again felt that unnatural heat rising within him.
His mind was in a mess; he had no idea what he was even looking at. He tried hard to curl up, wanting to get farther away from Shen Shi, but Shen Shi hugged him tightly again, his chin rubbing against the hollow of Ye Ran’s neck, saying casually, “You can order spicy hotpot.”
Ye Ran’s movements paused.
Shen Shi continued, “We’ll eat it together. You can only eat two bites. Order two bowls of porridge too. See what you want to drink? If you can’t finish it, give it to me.”
Once the topic shifted to food, the peculiar atmosphere was swept away in an instant.
Ye Ran felt inexplicably buoyant, his heart swelling and full. His gaze fixed on the phone, yet he said, “I also want fruit salad.”
Shen Shi nodded, concise and direct. “Order from the Chengbei Road one. That place is clean.”
As he spoke, he had already found the Chengbei Road fruit salad and opened the delivery page.
Ye Ran’s eyes were gentle and bright, the corners of his lips unconsciously curving as he responded, “Okay.”
……
After lunch, Shen Shi took out the trash and wanted Ye Ran to nap with him, but Ye Ran wasn’t in the mood, staring worriedly at the drawing board.
Shen Shi lay on the sofa and slowly looked toward Ye Ran not far away. His black eyes narrowed as he patted the spot beside him. “Ranran, come here.”
“No, tomorrow’s the submission deadline,” Ye Ran propped his chin and sighed. “You sleep. I’ll think about what to paint.”
Shen Shi clicked his tongue, wanting to say something, but after seeing Ye Ran’s focused appearance, he stopped moving, lay back on the sofa, and didn’t disturb him anymore.
Ye Ran was a very principled person.
Anything he promised to do, he would definitely do well. Even with painting, he would never be perfunctory. He would rather paint nothing at all than submit something sloppy to appease the teacher.
When they were younger, whenever Shen Shi accompanied Ye Ran in painting, it would be an entire night. He endured his drowsiness to watch over his little brother. The habit carried on, and it was still the same today.
In his field of vision, Ye Ran’s figure grew increasingly blurry.
The nerves that had been taut ever since Shen Shi went to Brazil finally relaxed at this moment. The air was filled with the scent of paint, mixed with a faint, soft fragrance.
It brushed past the tip of his heart, making his Adam’s apple roll as he forcibly suppressed the restlessness.
The breathing behind him gradually became even and long.
Ye Ran turned around. Shen Shi was sleeping deeply, one arm across his eyes, the other arm hanging down casually. The scorching afternoon sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, spilling across his face, tracing the deep lines from the bridge of his nose to his jaw.
From an art student’s perspective, Shen Shi was a dream model.
Well-proportioned, beautiful muscles, a golden-ratio physique, a narrow and lean waistline, facial features full of strong lines. Ye Ran quietly looked at him and suddenly thought of that scene on the court, Shen Shi leaping high, thighs, waist, shoulders, and back tensing into a straight line, powerful and crisp, absolutely without any drag.
In the stands was a sea of people. By the court were reporters shouldering cameras, snapping away. Across the net were No. 1 High students forcing down fear and resentment.
The green tennis ball seemed to become the only bright color in the entire arena.
He slowly began to draw, following the clear image in his memory, little by little adding color to the blank sheet of paper before him.
……
As the sun set, having painted all afternoon with full concentration, Ye Ran no longer felt the passage of time.
On the once blank paper before him, a vivid scene gradually took shape.
The sea of spectators in the stands, the occasional movement of people at the corners of the court, the bright lights of the indoor stadium, and on the synthetic floor, two figures whose faces could not be clearly seen, yet one calm, one tense.
The tall net separated the sharp confrontation in the atmosphere.
It was a picture where the protagonist could be recognized at a glance. The match was tense. The two tennis players were dressed differently and prepared differently, yet their auras were completely opposite.
Anyone who saw this picture could feel the artist’s undisguised favoritism and emphasis.
That seemingly casually sketched figure was tall and upright, casually tossing a tennis ball, calm and composed, full of a commanding presence.
The only bright color in the entire arena was also in his hand, accenting his figure.
With the final stroke completed, Ye Ran loosened his stiff shoulders. His sore eyes followed as he looked out the window. The sky was dyed a warm orange. The vast campus was noisy and bustling, it was already time for afternoon dismissal.
He wanted to wake Shen Shi, but a shadow pressed over him from behind.
The just-awakened boy leaned over him from above, breathing warm and even. Both hands braced on the armrests of Ye Ran’s chair, loosely enclosing Ye Ran in his embrace. His voice was low, carrying some weariness, asking with ambiguous meaning, “…Did you draw me?”
Ye Ran hummed in response and turned his head, just about to speak to him.
That warm breath pressed closer and closer. This time it didn’t fall on his soft neck hollow, but casually brushed past the black tips of his hair at the back of his neck, slowly and damply spreading over the fairest, softest small patch of neck flesh.
Ye Ran instantly lost his voice, his eyelashes trembling uncontrollably.
“Why did you draw me?” Shen Shi’s eyes were half-lidded. The pupils beneath his lids were purely black as he faintly looked at the version of himself, the focus of all eyes, on the paper.
He withdrew his gaze, lowering his eyes. His high, straight nose continued to lightly rub against the back of Ye Ran’s neck, until that patch of skin flushed with a pitiful red tide. Only then did he slide one arm down from the armrest, circle Ye Ran’s waist, and slowly, little by little, tighten his hold, patiently asking him once more.
“Ranran, why did you draw me?”
