Chapter 12: The Scenery After Snow (3)
"There's a DIY Magnum shop nearby," Lin Yiyang explained. "Really close."
A custom ice cream shop? Yin Guo’s eyes instantly lit up.
Sure enough, girls love this kind of thing.
He had hesitated earlier, worried that after eating cold food, she might not handle ice cream well. But then it occurred to him—the place was more about the vibe than actually eating. She didn’t have to finish it; just taking a photo would be nice.
Actually, Wu Wei hadn’t needed to send him the location. He’d been there once before.
It was when those two had gone all out in the hotel and afterward, in the mood for some innocent romance, dragged themselves to this shop to customize identical ice creams, eating them all lovey-dovey. Lin Yiyang had finished his coffee and found the place, maintaining a completely indifferent expression the whole time. He’d even thought to himself—what kind of shop was this, with barely any seating? If a few more people showed up, they’d have to stand while eating. All for an ice cream bar—was it really worth it?
But seeing Yin Guo’s excited little gaze now, he changed his mind.
However, just twenty minutes later, he gained a new perspective on the shop.
After walking nearly twenty minutes in the cold wind, they found only an empty storefront, devoid of any staff.
The two of them exchanged bewildered looks.
"Let me ask Wu Wei," Lin Yiyang said, turning away to make the call.
When the other guy heard the shop was closed, it finally clicked: "Oh shit, I forgot—it closed in October. I didn’t even notice. Nobody wants to do anything in this freezing weather… Where are you guys? I’ll bring her brother over in a bit."
"I’ll send you the address."
Lin Yiyang hung up. "It’s closed."
He weighed his phone in his hand for a few seconds before adding, "Come with me. Let’s find somewhere sheltered to wait for them."
They continued walking along the SOHO streets, twisting and turning until they found a restaurant.
Lin Yiyang led her straight inside. It wasn’t business hours yet, and the owner sat alone behind the counter, watching a baseball game broadcast.
Lin Yiyang tapped the counter.
The owner turned, saw him, and immediately grinned. "You’re here this week?"
"Yeah. Felt like some afternoon tea. Make us an ice cream, something like the Magnum custom ones."
"No problem."
Lin Yiyang took her to a table to rest.
Soon, the owner brought over a huge scoop of ice cream along with a few tools.
Lin Yiyang, meanwhile, had gone out to buy some toppings—a pack of edible dried rose petals and red berry crisps—which he handed to the owner. The vanilla ice cream was drizzled with a white chocolate shell, sprinkled with the toppings Lin Yiyang had brought.
Finally, the owner added a drizzle of dark chocolate sauce and slid the plate toward Yin Guo with a friendly smile.
"Thank you," Yin Guo said politely.
"Don’t mention it. This guy’s paying anyway," the owner laughed, patting Lin Yiyang’s arm. He asked if Lin Yiyang wanted to watch the Dodgers game—he had live tickets. Lin Yiyang shook his head, declining with a wry smile. With graduation approaching, he really didn’t have time for games.
The owner glanced at Yin Guo, grinning again. "I’ll go watch TV. If you need anything, just come over."
Once he was gone, she asked softly, "A friend of yours?"
"Met him at the pool hall. A retired baseball player—plays pool pretty well too," Lin Yiyang said, sending the address to Wu Wei while flipping through a drink menu from the next table.
Yin Guo slowly ate her ice cream. "Aren’t you busy with graduation coming up?"
"It’s manageable," he replied.The truth was: he was swamped. His housemates in Washington, upon hearing he was coming to New York this week, all wore expressions that screamed, "Lin Yiyang has lost his mind."
After taking a couple of bites, she couldn't help but ask curiously, "Are you planning to stay here or go back to China?"
Whether to return or stay—he hadn't figured it out yet.
But... facing the girl before him, he hesitated for a few seconds before withdrawing his thoughts. Overthinking wasn't good. So far, he knew nothing about her romantic life—not even whether she had a boyfriend.
"Haven't decided yet," he replied.
"Ever thought about going pro?"
"Me?" Lin Yiyang let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Never crossed my mind."
He had never considered returning to that life.
But in Yin Guo's eyes, with Lin Yiyang's skill level, it would be a shame not to compete professionally.
So she kindly suggested, "I think you should give professional competitions a try."
He closed the drinks menu and tossed it back to the neighboring table. "A lot of people skip international tournaments and only compete regionally. Know why?"
She shook her head.
In China, there was no such thing as regional tournaments, so naturally, she wouldn't know.
"Some don’t care about world rankings, others just aren’t cut out for big competitions—lack the mental toughness," Lin Yiyang picked up the dessert menu and flipped through it. "Same here. I choke in major tournaments, can’t even hold my own on the big stage."
"No way," she laughed.
"Why not?" Lin Yiyang shot back with a grin.
He knew that if two people wanted to understand each other, the past would inevitably come up.
And Yin Guo’s brother was Meng Xiaodong. Even if she hadn’t thought to ask about his past yet, someday in the future, Meng Xiaodong would tell her—just what kind of person Lin Yiyang was.
What kind of person? He didn’t even know himself.
Yin Guo couldn’t think of a response.
"Ever had dessert wine?" he suddenly asked.
There was a bottle of sweet wine here, opened by the owner during his last visit. He wasn’t sure if any was left.
She shook her head. "Is it good?"
"It’s just wine, but it’s listed on the dessert menu, not the drinks menu."
Yin Guo perked up, nodding eagerly with a smile.
He closed the menu and got up to ask the man watching the game for the wine.
A moment later, he returned with a glass—slender, with dark red liquid—and set it before her.
"How sweet is it?" She leaned over the table, sniffing.
"Not sweet," he said, having tried a sip when the bottle was opened last month. "A vintage dessert wine aged over twenty years—packs a punch. Lucky you, this is the last glass."
With wine, especially aged ones, each bottle is unique. Once opened and finished, it’s gone forever.
Regardless of price, getting to taste it is a stroke of luck.
She took another whiff and, under his encouraging gaze, took a slow sip.
Hmm... definitely strong.
Burning her throat, but undeniably rich.
She took a breath, thinking since she was here and this was the last glass, she might as well push through and keep drinking.
When Wu Wei and the others walked in, they saw Yin Guo and Lin Yiyang sitting across from each other, Yin Guo sipping from a glass of wine.
The color, the glass—it looked oddly familiar to Wu Wei. The moment he sat down, it hit him. The owner served certain wines in specific glasses, and this one was reserved for vintage dessert wines.
"This is good stuff—once a bottle’s gone, it’s gone," Wu Wei said cheerfully by way of introduction.Well, just taking a breather outside and you've blown a month's food budget again. Eating dollar-slice pizza yourself while treating someone to a three-hundred-dollar vintage wine—if you still claim you're not interested, I'll take your surname...
Wu Wei sat down, unfazed as he pulled out his phone.
Wu Wei: Why treat someone to vintage wine for no reason? It's crazy expensive, and they wouldn't even appreciate it.
Lin Yiyang saw it was a message from Wu Wei and didn't even bother opening it.
Yin Guo sipped slowly.
Though the drink was strong, it warmed her stomach perfectly after the seafood.
Meng Xiaotian insisted on treating everyone, but the two men across from them both ordered the cheapest champagne. The glasses on the table looked nearly identical—except Yin Guo's drink was noticeably darker.
Before leaving, Lin Yiyang had asked about her practice schedule. Seeing it was about time, he left Wu Wei and Meng Xiaotian to continue hanging out in SOHO while he escorted Yin Guo to the pool hall first.
Same private room as before, with a wooden door that blocked outside view.
But Lin Yiyang couldn't stay with her today—he had to return to campus. "This area's rough, just like back home—all sorts of people, always some troublemakers," he said, patting the pool table. "Everyone knows this table's mine. If anything happens, call me anytime."
She nodded.
For a moment, it felt like someone had her back.
The man in front of her seemed to want to say more, and she waited.
Lin Yiyang looked at her, then instead called out to the owner's fourteen-year-old son outside. He pulled a bill from his wallet, handed it over, and whispered a few words. The boy nodded and dashed off, returning shortly with two paper cups of latte, which he handed to Lin Yiyang before closing the door behind him.
She blinked. "You should've said you wanted coffee... I would've treated you."
Honestly, ever since waking up today, it had been nothing but eating and drinking—Lin Yiyang was way too polite.
He raised his cup. "I wanted some and figured I'd get you one too. Pulled an all-nighter on a paper—needed the caffeine."
He stayed up all night?
She remembered the living room lights going off soon after last night—had he gone back to his room?
As Yin Guo was still lost in thought, he handed her the cup.
She reached out absentmindedly—and accidentally gripped his hand instead.
Startled, she yanked her hand back, offering an awkward, wordless smile of apology.
Lin Yiyang cleared his throat, equally flustered, and forced a chuckle. "Gotta catch my train. Later."
He set his cup on the table's edge, slipping the hand she'd touched into his pants pocket before yanking the door open.
Outside, every pool table was occupied.
Some regulars called out loud greetings, which Lin Yiyang returned briefly. Before shutting the door, he added firmly, "Won't be here next week. Like I said—anything comes up, call me."
"Mm." As the door closed, Yin Guo exhaled.
She circled the table, pulling balls from the bag one by one.
Outside, music played, drunken voices argued, and the scent of fried chicken seeped through the door crack—none of which mattered. She was listening for whether he'd really left.
He seemed to still be there, talking to the owner and others.
Soon, farewells and cheerful small talk faded into the distance.
Lin Yiyang was gone.
She pulled a cue from the rack and arranged the Color balls into a diamond formation.Her fingers brushed against the felt of the billiard table as she gradually calmed her mind. Alright, time to start training—no more distractions.
Unfortunately, today's practice session wasn't very productive. She kept stopping and starting at the table until seven o'clock without really getting into the groove. In the end, she had to pause, considering whether to focus on jump shots for an hour.
The notification tone of an incoming call interrupted her thoughts—it was Coach Chen.
This coach was in charge of the Nine-ball players at the club, primarily overseeing the daily lives and training of the female players. Since Yin Guo had arrived for the competition two months ahead of her private schedule, the coach hadn’t accompanied her yet but still called daily to check on her training progress.
Once Yin Guo answered, they wasted no time on small talk. They discussed her training progress, how much of today’s tasks she had completed, and then moved on to planning the main focus for tomorrow’s session.
After wrapping up work matters in just over ten minutes, Coach Chen’s tone lightened as she asked with a laugh, “I saw the news—another blizzard where you are?”
“It snowed, but it’s stopped now.”
She rarely chatted about personal matters with her coach, but today she couldn’t resist asking, “Coach, have you heard of Wu Wei? He’s a player in this Open.”
“I’ve seen his name on the entry list,” Coach Chen replied. “But he hasn’t competed in Nine-ball before, so I don’t know much about him.”
Their club had players in all disciplines—Nine-ball, Chinese Eight-ball, Snooker—complete with top-tier players and champions, along with seven or eight coaches. At the moment, all the coaches were gathered in the gym for their morning workout.
One of the Snooker coaches overheard the name “Wu Wei” and chimed in, “Wu Wei’s from East New City. He’s got talent, but he hasn’t competed much these past two years, so he’s not on the world rankings yet.”
“What about Lin Yiyang? Ever heard of him?” Yin Guo pressed.
Someone chuckled.
Coach Chen switched the call to speakerphone.
Coach Fu from the men’s Nine-ball team said, “I remember that kid—he played Snooker. The year he won the championship, my wife was the referee.”
“He played professionally?”
“Yeah, but that was years ago.”
Yin Guo was surprised. “What tournament did he come from? What was his best result?”
“Champion. He won the title the first year he appeared. Your brother was part of the same cohort—you could ask him.”
Yin Guo froze.
“That was over a decade ago. If you ask Meng the Sixth, he probably won’t remember,” Coach Chen said, knowing Yin Guo was intimidated by her cousin. She laughed, trying to smooth things over. “Which billiard club was he with? I haven’t heard of him—is he still competing?”
“Retired more than ten years ago. Also from East New City,” Coach Fu suddenly recalled. “We got a new coach the other day who came from that club. Hold on, I’ll call him over to ask.”
The call went silent for a moment.
Soon, the new coach was brought over. Upon hearing the question about “Lin Yiyang,” he laughed. “You know He Wenfeng, right? He Lao?”
Who wouldn’t? The most respected coach in the industry. Though he had few formal disciples, he had been the foundational teacher for many. Most of the top players at Yin Guo’s club credited He Lao as their first instructor.
The new coach continued, “Lin Yiyang was He Lao’s last disciple. But I never met him—I joined too late. Everyone says he was a genius, but also a real troublemaker—the kind no one could control.”
The new coach gave a brief summary, the gist being:Lin Yiyang was an exceptionally arrogant young man in his youth, infuriating his mentor to the point where he eventually packed up and left. Yet, he got along well with the younger generation of fellow apprentices. Back when He Lao hadn’t retired yet, no one dared mention it openly. Later, after He Lao stepped down, Jiang Yang—Lin Yiyang’s senior brother—took charge of the Billiard club. Under his rule, no one was allowed to speak ill of Lin Yiyang, and gradually, the events from over a decade ago faded from discussion.
At East New City, people still referred to Lin Yiyang as "Sixth Brother" or "Young Master Yang."
"If you really want to know about him, I can ask Yang for you," the new coach suggested.
The moment Yin Guo heard Jiang Yang’s name, she immediately surrendered. "No, no, there’s no need to ask him. And please, don’t tell my brother I was asking about them."
Jiang Yang was her cousin’s sworn rival—she wasn’t about to invite a scolding.
After hastily ending the call, Yin Guo still wasn’t satisfied with the meager information she’d gathered. She tried searching for him online.
Some had reviewed the members of East New City’s Billiard club—among the densely packed list of names was Lin Yiyang. Others had recorded domestic tournaments from those years, listing the champions, runners-up, and third-place winners—his name appeared among them. But beyond these old web pages mentioning "Lin Yiyang," there was no further introduction, not even a photo.
The name Lin Yiyang had long been forgotten.
Among China’s many sports, only a few were popular. In the less prominent ones, thousands of athletes struggled in obscurity—unless they made a name for themselves in international competitions, few paid them any attention. Moreover, Lin Yiyang’s championship had been over a decade ago. Leaving a trace back then was far harder than it is now, when digital footprints are easily preserved.
The contrast in their fates felt even starker knowing Jiang Yang was his senior brother.
Both trained under the same teacher, yet one now ranked among the world’s best while the other had left no records in China—no one outside East New City’s Billiard club would remember or mention him.
Yin Guo closed the search page and opened Lin Yiyang’s WeChat, staring at it for a full half-minute. She wanted to say something but ultimately closed it again. Yet, an uncontrollable urge to express herself lingered—she needed to do or say something.
Finally, she posted a photo of an antique dessert wine she’d taken that afternoon on her Moments. She agonized over the caption, rewriting it repeatedly, but in the end, all she managed was: Forgot to ask the vintage.
At this hour, most people back home were awake, and likes and comments poured in.
Too distracted to read them properly, she exited and re-entered the app several times before finally tapping the notification.
Her finger froze on the screen. There, among the comments, was a brief message—
Lin: The year you were born.
Another new comment appeared. She refreshed.
Lin: I meant the wine.
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