Emerging from the cramped tent, Li Rong found himself drenched in sweat once more.
He wasn’t even sure if it was sweat or the pervasive humidity in the air. The seaside was damp, with a light mist hovering over the water. Everything seemed moist, as if even a deep breath would fill his lungs with water vapor.
When Li Rong propped himself up on one arm, his muscles trembled involuntarily. Maintaining that posture for too long had left him sore. Finally, he let himself go limp, lazily sprawling out on the sand.
The nighttime beach was a bit chilly, and the waves lapped close by, erasing their footprints. Off in the distance, the faint light of a red lighthouse blinked rhythmically along the horizon.
“It seems like staying in Tangshi means showering twice a day at minimum,” he muttered, his voice slightly hoarse. Even though he’d done his best to stay quiet earlier, his restraint was not without cost.
Fortunately, those rambunctious children had been dragged back to bed by their parents not long after they’d gone into the tent.
“Cover yourself.” Cen Xiao draped a large bath towel over Li Rong’s shoulders, shielding him from the sea breeze. Then he settled behind Li Rong, letting him lean against his chest.
Having only recently recovered from the intensity of their escapade, Cen Xiao’s body still bore traces of sweat, with sand clinging uncomfortably to his damp skin. But since Li Rong showed no intention of moving, he didn’t feel like getting up either.
Li Rong adjusted the towel snugly around himself and let the weight of his shoulders rest against Cen Xiao. “Next time, we can’t do it like this. It’s too cramped—I’m completely sore.”
Because of the confined space, their movements had been restricted. Fortunately, Li Rong was still young. Otherwise, he figured it would’ve taken him a whole day to recover.
Cen Xiao, despite his own exertion, grabbed Li Rong’s arm and began kneading his stiff muscles. With deliberate teasing, he remarked, “Weren’t you saying you could handle it?”
Li Rong let him massage his arm, tilting his chin upward to look at him with eyes bright and clear. “You’re the one who’s more impressive.”
Cen Xiao chuckled softly. “Thank you for the compliment.”
Shifting his gaze, Li Rong flicked his damp hair to the side and turned toward the ocean. “Compared to the sea, humans are so insignificant. Yet, we manage to create so much chaos. In the end, it’s just a question of who outlasts who.”
Cen Xiao moved on to his other arm. “People will always strive for what they want. It’s natural to create chaos.”
“Then let’s keep creating chaos,” Li Rong sighed, resigned but determined.
For him, giving up was never an option.
A sudden gust of wind carried the strong scent of the sea, salty and pungent. Even wrapped in a towel, Li Rong couldn’t help but shiver and burrow further into Cen Xiao’s embrace.
Cen Xiao immediately pulled him closer. “Let’s head back for a hot shower.”
Li Rong, as usual after their escapades, became utterly lazy, unwilling to even lift a finger.
In the end, Cen Xiao had to drag him up, carrying him back to their room wrapped in the towel.
Both of them were covered in sand, thoroughly disheveled. The moment they entered the room, they rushed into the bathroom to wash off the sticky seawater and sand. The fragrant body wash replaced the salty smell, but Cen Xiao, unable to hold back, pressed Li Rong against the sink once more.
By the time they showered again and emerged, even Li Rong’s calves felt stiff. Without waiting for his hair to dry, he dove straight under the thin covers, ready to sleep.
Cen Xiao had no choice but to pull him out of bed and dry his hair, saying, “I still have to stop by the sanatorium tomorrow.”
“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” Li Rong replied sleepily. At this point, he would’ve agreed to anything.
Yet the next day, they both ended up sleeping in each other’s arms until the afternoon.
Cen Xiao, who had only been granted leave until noon, had long exceeded his time off. Even his usually patient father, Cen Qing, began sending messages urging him to return.
Sitting up and rubbing his temples, Cen Xiao realized he might actually be losing himself to the allure of Li Rong.
And the “allure” himself was intently browsing takeout options on his phone—just for himself.
The “allure” eventually selected a seafood pasta, a piece of seared foie gras, and a plate of tempura before turning to Cen Xiao. “Why aren’t you rushing back?”
Cen Xiao glanced at Li Rong’s slightly flushed, freshly woken face and found himself tempted to linger even longer. Pulling Li Rong into his arms, he couldn’t resist a playful caress. “Order something for me too.”
Li Rong stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter. He kicked him lightly with his leg. “Alright, hurry up and go. If your whole family starts looking for you, I won’t be able to handle it.”
Cen Xiao slid his hand under the covers, grasping Li Rong’s knee. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll think of an excuse.”
Cen Xiao said he needed an excuse, so he made one up: his car broke down, and he couldn’t drive back for now. He might be late.
Cen Qing read the excuse and couldn’t help rolling his eyes in front of Father and Mother Xiao.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen to Cen Xiao?” Xiao Muran asked, frowning.
Cen Qing snorted. “People in love all act the same.”
Xiao Muran felt conflicted. On the one hand, she was helping Cen Xiao stall for time to go against her parents; on the other, she was curious about which girl Cen Xiao had gone to meet.
Wasn’t this girl too clingy? Not letting Cen Xiao come home?
Meanwhile, Li Rong was eating seafood pasta, sniffing and coughing lightly.
He felt utterly wronged. It was Cen Xiao who didn’t want to leave.
After the Lunar New Year’s Eve, the festive atmosphere gradually faded.
Li Rong rested by the seaside for a week and decided it was time to head back. Although the vacation was relaxing, it made him anxious.
He knew that some things couldn’t be rushed, but he still couldn’t let himself idle. He feared that if he stopped, he’d forget that anger driving him forward.
Back in A City, Li Rong started spending his days in the library.
Even though he held knowledge five years ahead of his time, it didn’t mean he could stop learning. Studying helped calm his mind and allowed him to think clearly.
Cen Xiao returned to work in District Nine. Although the year had just begun, Han Jiang required everyone to clock in.
Ji Xiaochuan followed Li Rong to the library. Sometimes, Li Rong recommended professional books and journal articles to her; other times, he directly guided her on the GT201 project.
Helping Ji Xiaochuan was also a way for him to review.
After all, recreating that massive stack of trial-and-error reports would take considerable time. Many precise data points needed to be redone since he hadn’t brought a hard drive back with him when he was reborn.
Ji Xiaochuan once again marveled at Li Rong’s depth.
Thinking back to when they first met, Li Rong was tutoring classmates on high school courses. She had thought he was simply good at exams, but now… she couldn’t even fathom how much more he had learned than everyone else.
Meanwhile, Lin Zhen’s popularity skyrocketed with the release of the talent show. His ten-person fan club quickly grew as new fans flooded in.
Jian Fu, busy investigating Han Ying, didn’t have time to check what the fan group was up to. One day, he discovered he’d been kicked out for inactivity.
Jian Fu: “…”
He was utterly annoyed. Lin Zhen had only just passed the group stage, and now he’d been “discarded after the grindstone was done.”
Lin Zhen found it amusing and, seeing Jian Fu pouting and sulking, nudged his shoulder.
“Hey, I’ve learned how to ski. Want to go skiing?”
This was Lin Zhen’s carefully thought-out way to cheer him up.
Coincidentally, there was a famous ski resort in the suburbs of A City. It was peak skiing season, and the snow would soon start melting.
He remembered that Jian Fu hadn’t been skiing even once this year.
Jian Fu immediately lit up but quickly regained composure. “It’s not convenient for you to go out right now… is it?”
It wasn’t just now—Jian Fu suspected Lin Zhen wouldn’t be able to freely stroll around for a long time. The days when they could casually pull each other along on a busy street, as they did in high school, seemed gone forever.
He didn’t know why it made him feel so regretful. No one stays in high school forever; everyone moves forward and gets better.
But something stuck in his chest, a knot he couldn’t untangle no matter how he tried.
Jian Fu scratched his head in frustration.
Lin Zhen watched him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shifted his gaze and said casually, “It’s not that big of a deal. I just sang a couple of popular songs. And with all the gear for skiing, who could recognize me?”
Although he was good at finding excuses for himself and Jian Fu, he couldn’t hide his real intentions. His face heated as he said it.
The truth was, he just wanted to make Jian Fu happy.
For all the acting skills he’d learned, he still couldn’t mask his true emotions. Lin Zhen found it a bit exasperating.
Fortunately, Jian Fu was oblivious to his awkwardness.
After thinking for a moment, Jian Fu excitedly rubbed his hands. “So… should we go skiing? Can you really ski now? Ready for an intermediate slope? Real slopes are trickier than indoor ones—sometimes there are bumps, and the place can get crowded. If you’ve mastered two skis, I can teach you single-skiing—it’s way more fun. Then we can try the advanced slope…”
Once excited, Jian Fu started chattering non-stop, practically giving Lin Zhen a lecture on skiing theory before they even set out.
Lin Zhen finally lost patience, raising a hand to cover Jian Fu’s mouth. “If you don’t move, I’m going back to sleep.”
Jian Fu froze, wide-eyed, as the warmth of Lin Zhen’s palm muffled him.
Lin Zhen’s hands were dry, with calluses at the base of his fingers from years of violin practice. But his palms were still soft and warm.
Jian Fu’s muscles tensed, not daring to move his lips. He was afraid even the slightest movement would feel like kissing Lin Zhen’s palm.
This wasn’t right. They were just friends!
Shame crept up on him at his dirty thoughts. But before he could feel ashamed for long, Lin Zhen retracted his hand, and shame turned into regret.
So much regret that he felt like throwing a tantrum.
Lin Zhen stuck his hands in his pockets and took two steps forward. Seeing Jian Fu frozen in place, he frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
Jian Fu swallowed hard, lowering his head to hide his emotions. “Nothing, nothing. Let’s go.”
He shoved Lin Zhen toward the door.
Lin Zhen adjusted his mask, wrapping himself up snugly before locking the dorm room door behind him.
Jian Fu visiting his dorm had become a regular occurrence. Luckily, Lin Zhen’s two roommates, both locals, were often absent, busy with acting gigs since their freshman year. Otherwise, Lin Zhen might have worried about disturbing them.
Yuelan Ski Resort, one of the top skiing destinations in A City, attracted tens of thousands of visitors daily, both professionals and amateurs. The slopes were bustling, but as the evening approached, most families with children and university students began leaving, creating a more relaxed atmosphere.
When Lin Zhen and Jian Fu arrived, the sun was already dipping toward the horizon. Many visitors were heading out, and Lin Zhen kept his head down to avoid drawing attention.
Fortunately, everyone was bundled up against the cold, making it unlikely anyone would notice him.
At the registration counter, however, the staff paused momentarily at his name. Despite the recognition, they remained professional, processing his registration without comment.
When Lin Zhen signed the receipt, the staff member hesitated but eventually asked for an autograph in a notebook.
Lin Zhen wasn’t great at refusing people and was known for his good temper. After a brief hesitation, he quickly signed his name before Jian Fu dragged him off to change into ski boots.
“When did you learn to ski? Last time, you kept falling over,” Jian Fu teased, clearly excited.
Lin Zhen wasn’t particularly skilled—he’d come primarily to make Jian Fu happy.
“I wasn’t falling all the time. You were the one distracting me.”
Jian Fu raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, my fault!”
“It was your fault,” Lin Zhen muttered under his breath.
Once they were geared up, the two carried their skis toward the slopes. Lin Zhen, feeling suffocated by his mask, tugged it down slightly to take a deep breath of the crisp air. “By the way, what’s the class monitor been up to lately?”
Jian Fu stepped onto the soft snow. “Nothing much, just camping out in the library, working on organizing some stuff. Ji Xiaochuan has been studying day and night with him. Aunt Hui hasn’t returned from her hometown, and my brother’s busy sipping tea in District Nine.”
“And you?” Lin Zhen glanced at him.
“Investigating Han Ying,” Jian Fu replied, picking up a handful of snow and scattering it casually.
Some progress had been made. Though Han Jiang had wiped much of the data clean, the vast expanse of the internet always left traces. While Han Ying had only attended A University for less than six months, he had classmates. Even after over a decade, some faint memories and photos from that brief period still lingered.
Jian Fu wasn’t working alone. Though Jian Changli verbally claimed indifference, he secretly enlisted help.
Jian Changli understood that, once committed, only unity and determination would yield the best results.
Jian Changli had served as the president of District One for so many years that it wasn’t something Jian Fu and Cen Xiao could easily control. If he resolutely refused to get involved or grant Jian Fu any authority, there would be nothing Jian Fu could do but watch helplessly.
Even Jian Changli himself hadn’t expected to relent so quickly on this matter.
Just like Cen Qing, who also gave in quickly. To outsiders, it might seem like they were pressured into submission by their sons.
But deep down, they both knew it was their lingering conscience and sense of justice that compelled them.
They believed Li Qingli was innocent. The Li couple shouldn’t have been treated this way. If even they—capable individuals—chose to turn a blind eye, what future would there be for organizations like the Blue Pivot or the Hongsuo Research Institute that were worth striving for?
Lin Zhen promptly asked, “Any leads on Han Ying?”
Jian Fu thought for a moment. “Some, but not enough. I’ll organize the information before sharing it with them.”
Hearing this, Lin Zhen felt somewhat reassured.
He was a naturally worrisome person, and he understood just how challenging their mission was. Being highly sensitive, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy when there was no news for a long time.
Now that Jian Fu had made progress and the squad leader also had a clear target, he felt more at ease.
Lin Zhen raised his eyes to the three ski slopes ahead of him.
The beginner slope was crowded, mostly with inexperienced skiers. The intermediate slope also had a fair number of people, some skiing impressively well. The advanced slope, however, had only a handful of people—it was steep, long, and curved, posing significant risks for anyone unskilled.
Playing it safe, Lin Zhen decisively headed for the beginner slope. Jian Fu reluctantly followed.
Lin Zhen waved him off. “Go enjoy yourself. You don’t have to stick with me. I’m just practicing here.”
Jian Fu refused to leave. “I want to see how you’re doing.”
Somehow, watching Lin Zhen ski had become more interesting to Jian Fu than the sport itself.
Lin Zhen’s skiing was unsteady, but fortunately, he didn’t fall this time.
He managed to reach the bottom in one piece—his posture was far from correct, but it was progress.
Jian Fu followed him down. “You call that learning? Look at the kid next to you—they’re doing better than you.”
Annoyed, Lin Zhen retorted, “Then go follow the kid. Stop following me.”
Jian Fu instantly replied, “No, I’m sticking with you.”
The words stunned both of them.
Jian Fu was startled by how he’d blurted out the truth, while Lin Zhen found the words uncomfortably similar to overly saccharine lines from their acting rehearsals.
They exchanged awkward glances for a few seconds before simultaneously turning away, unsure how to dispel the tension.
Awkwardness—and a tinge of guilt—hung in the air.
Lin Zhen didn’t know what had gotten into him. To break the awkwardness, he blurted out, “Since I’m already here, I’ll try the intermediate slope.”
Jian Fu, still dazed, followed.
He knew Lin Zhen’s current skill level wasn’t suited for the intermediate slope and that he was likely to fall. But Jian Fu, still flustered by his earlier words, wasn’t thinking straight and found himself tagging along up the slope.
As the conveyor belt carried them to the top, Jian Fu’s mind reeled. Why did I say that?
Sure, it was the truth, but what would Lin Zhen think of it?
Would he find it annoying? Lin Zhen had never liked Jian Fu giving him tips on skiing.
And did his earlier comment sound like an excuse? He shouldn’t have said the kid skied better—it had nothing to do with Lin Zhen. Why hadn’t he just complimented Lin Zhen for not falling this time?
Jian Fu spiraled into self-reproach as they reached the top.
Lin Zhen, standing at the intermediate slope’s edge, looked down and felt dizzy.
He shouldn’t have boasted about trying the intermediate slope. Seeing how steep it was from above made his knees tremble.
But he had already said it, and he was there. He had to tough it out.
Lin Zhen steeled himself, took a deep breath, and cautiously edged forward.
Jian Fu stood beside him. “Don’t worry. You can control your speed. Go slow, and you won’t fall. I’ll be right next to you.”
The theory sounded good. Reality, however, was far less forgiving.
Lin Zhen quickly realized he couldn’t control his speed on this slope. Despite Jian Fu repeatedly shouting, “Slow down, slow down!” the skis surged forward uncontrollably.
Lin Zhen wobbled precariously, forgetting how to steer altogether.
Ahead of him was a child practicing snowboarding halfway down the slope. Lin Zhen desperately wanted to avoid the kid, but he was powerless to change direction. All he could do was shout, “Move! Move!”
The child turned his head at the shout, but it was too late to dodge.
Lin Zhen squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for a collision.
But Jian Fu’s quick reflexes saved the day. He yanked Lin Zhen toward himself, and they both toppled sideways.
Jian Fu, being more experienced, managed to stop their momentum quickly upon hitting the snow. Lin Zhen, however, landed squarely on top of him.
Although their thick ski gear cushioned the impact and neither was hurt, the sensation of having another person pressing down on him was very real.
Likewise, the feeling of lying beneath someone was equally vivid.
Lin Zhen’s chin was against Jian Fu’s chest, his hands gripping Jian Fu’s arms, and their legs were tangled together.
A certain emotion in Lin Zhen’s heart seemed ready to burst forth.
Jian Fu blinked, swallowed hard, and felt his pulse pounding like a drum. It was as if his blood was circulating several times faster than usual.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been this close to Lin Zhen—there was a similar incident back in high school. But why was this subtle feeling growing stronger now?
Thankfully, they hadn’t fallen face-to-face; otherwise, Jian Fu might have overheated entirely.
Lin Zhen was the first to recover. Awkwardly pushing himself up from the snow, he tried to get to his feet.
Jian Fu scrambled to sit up as well, brushing snow off himself haphazardly.
Both of them were utterly flustered, neither knowing how to break the awkward silence.
Fortunately, something interrupted them.
Just as Jian Fu stood up and reached out to help Lin Zhen, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Still holding Lin Zhen’s arm, Jian Fu pulled out his phone with his other hand, his frost-reddened fingers brushing the screen. After a single glance, his expression turned serious.
Lin Zhen, ever perceptive, asked, “What’s wrong?”
Jian Fu angled the phone so Lin Zhen could see and gave a faint, knowing smile. “Han Ying didn’t get divorced. Turns out he was just toying with Jiang Zheng’s feelings.”
![The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth]](https://i2.wp.com/lazygirltranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/4322s.jpg?resize=151,215 "The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth]")
