Chapter 27: The You in the Story (4)
This was her first time taking a train with him.
The train had passed Philadelphia.
Time was running out—they would eventually arrive in New York.
At first, Yin Guo had been gazing out the window, but when the train briefly stopped to pick up passengers, she turned her head to look at the man beside her.
Lin Yiyang had been keeping Google Maps open on his phone, tracking their route—where they were passing, how many kilometers remained, the estimated driving time to their destination… The data updated in real time, though he wasn’t sure why he was idly watching it.
“What’s on your mind?” He caught her gaze.
After last night’s indulgence—explaining everything before going to sleep—his voice was wrecked again, rough as if scraped by sandpaper.
She realized he was starting to see through her thoughts.
Leaning close to Lin Yiyang’s ear, she whispered, “You look good with a beard.”
It didn’t age him at all. Instead, it gave him a roguish charm, still boyish yet layered with a touch of weariness—just like how he looked now.
Lin Yiyang, seated to her left, raised his left hand and brushed his fingers along her right cheek. The motion almost felt like he was pulling her into an embrace, though he had always disliked public displays of affection—both seeing them and doing them himself.
So he only touched her face… and her ear.
A man’s fingertips were inevitably rough. As they grazed her jawline, she felt the faint friction.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
His dark eyes lowered, gaze deliberate, unashamed of where they lingered.
“You changed to blue?” he asked.
Yin Guo was confused for a moment before remembering she had worn blue underwear today. She touched her shoulder—sure enough, the strap was showing.
“Can you be any more shameless?” she muttered under her breath, tugging her collar higher.
He chuckled, pinching her cheek lightly before whispering back, “You’ll find out next time.”
Next time. Naturally, that meant the following week, when they would meet again.
It was true—once you’d shared a bed and spent the night together, conversations inevitably took a turn.
They always circled back to that .
She pulled a book from her bag, flipping through it, eyes skimming the lines of black printed text. But her mind was still on yesterday.
When he had returned after washing his hands, he had clearly intended to take things further. But in the end, Yin Guo hadn’t let him do anything beyond kissing. And Lin Yiyang had kept his word—he had promised to let her sleep peacefully, so he spent the entire night turned away from her, not even shifting once.
From what everyone said about Lin Yiyang, he was a man who didn’t play by the rules. Yet in bed, he had never pushed her.
If she wasn’t willing, he let it go.
Yin Guo turned a page. What had the last one been about? Who knew. She was just going through the motions, pretending to read.
Lin Yiyang leaned back as well, scrolling through his phone and replying to a few important messages.
“Are you coming to watch my match?” she suddenly remembered to ask.
Surprisingly, Lin Yiyang didn’t answer right away. After a long pause, he said, “We’ll see. I might not make it.”
Yin Guo thought about it and nodded. That made sense—he was so busy.
They arrived at the train station at two in the afternoon.
Lin Yiyang had taken the train to bring Yin Guo back, but for his return trip alone, the bus would be cheaper and more convenient.
Still, he didn’t plan to tell her the truth. Instead, he made up an excuse so his departure from the station wouldn’t seem odd: “A classmate of mine is nearby and needs me to bring something back. I can stay for another ten minutes.”
Ten minutes—where could he possibly go in that time?They found a corner in the train station lobby with benches to sit on. Yin Guo was quite thin and couldn't sit for long periods without her thigh and hip bones hurting. The journey back had already exhausted her.
So she stood while Lin Yiyang sat.
Holding hands, she swung her arm back and forth, gazing at the star map on the station ceiling and recognizing a few familiar constellations.
"Are those constellations up there?"
"Yeah," he answered without looking up, having been to this station too many times.
"What month were you born in? What's your zodiac sign?" she asked, feeling guilty a second later. They were already this close, yet she didn't know his birthday. When she'd seen his ID before, she'd only noted the year, not the date, while Lin Yiyang knew all her details by heart.
"February 12th, Aquarius," he said.
February 12th?
"So we'd already met by then," she murmured, having arrived in New York in late January. "What was I doing that day?"
Yin Guo pulled out her phone to check their chat history: "What were we talking about that day?"
The memory was too distant, completely blurred.
"We didn't talk about anything," Lin Yiyang said. "Or rather, we didn't chat at all before meeting in person."
"We met that day?" She had no recollection at all.
Lin Yiyang smiled and tilted his chin, signaling her to check the records herself.
Playing coy?
She scrolled through her phone until she found it.
That day.
It was the ramen day. She'd just returned from Washington, convinced Lin Yiyang disliked her, leading to ten days of silence between them. Their WeChat messages only resumed after he'd taken her back to her Queens hotel.
All trivial exchanges about "Did the watch scratch your ear?" and "Is chicken broth ramen better than pork?"
"That was actually your birthday?" She looked up in surprise. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Didn't I treat you to noodles?" he countered with a smile.
Initially, he'd simply wanted to buy her coffee, never expecting to run into her in Flushing.
A twenty-seven-year-old man who'd drifted abroad for years didn't really celebrate birthdays. His circle consisted of rough-around-the-edges guys who wouldn't remember each other's exact birthdates unless reminded. Lin Yiyang had never celebrated birthdays growing up, so Wu Wei naturally wouldn't remember either. Thus, the two people sharing noodles with him that night had no idea what occasion they were celebrating.
"So when you asked me for coffee, when you invited me and Meng Xiaotian... was that because of your birthday?"
"Just coincidence," he said.
His words hovered between truth and falsehood.
Actually, it wasn't coincidence.
He'd been deliberately doing something—more than one thing, in fact—all on his own, telling no one.
Not announcing his birthday to everyone, but still treating friends to noodles and drinks, chatting happily for a while... Yin Guo looked at him, never having felt such heartache for someone before. She found no romance in being tricked into sharing birthday noodles through his omission—only thought how pitiful this person was, not even celebrating his own birthday.
Unsettled by this emotion, she lightly kicked the edge of his sneaker: "Why didn't you tell me?"
He found this amusing: "That day on the subway, you were still saying 'My name is Yin Guo.' Given where we stood then, wouldn't it have been weird to tell you?"
Fair point.
But it left a bitter taste.
Lin Yiyang checked his watch—time to go.He held her hand, patting the back of it, wanting to say something but in truth, there was nothing left to say. Whatever words he had could be sent via WeChat anytime.
She was still drowning in guilt over not celebrating his birthday: "Leaving now?"
He nodded.
"Let me know when you arrive."
He tightened his grip on her hand as his answer.
Lin Yiyang stood up from the bench when suddenly his waist was encircled. Yin Guo had slipped her hands inside his coat and hugged him. She inhaled his scent—a mix of the dusty exhaustion from long travels. It wasn't pleasant, and she figured she probably smelled the same.
Listening to his heartbeat, she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.
Lin Yiyang sensed she had something to say and bent down to her level.
Feeling him pat her back, she looked up at his close-set eyes and high nose bridge. In a rush of impulsiveness, she blurted, "Next time... let's try it."
For a moment, Lin Yiyang felt as if he'd been transported back to that morning in the Washington hotel room. Yin Guo had drowsily emerged from the blankets, trying to climb over him, completely unaware that the curve of her waist had left her collar gaping wide. He'd glimpsed the pale expanse of her chest, steadied her by the waist, and let her step over him barefoot onto the carpet...
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Yin Guo lightly stepped on his sneaker, not putting any real force into it.
Lin Yiyang smiled but remained silent.
His hand, however, gave her waist a firm squeeze: "Okay."
...
The pain was secondary—it was the position and the gesture that carried too obvious an implication. No, wait, she had been the one to bring it up, yet his response made it seem like he was teasing her.
When Yin Guo tried to pull away, Lin Yiyang only held her tighter, his voice low and rough: "You don’t want me to sleep soundly this week, do you?" His tone carried a laugh.
Yin Guo buried her face against his chest and fell silent.
A moment of impulsiveness had led to this... how to deal with the aftermath would be a problem for next week.
Right now, she just wanted to hold him.
The two stood by the wall-side bench, embracing for half a minute. Lin Yiyang then escorted Yin Guo out of the station and into the waiting car.
He stood by the roadside, patiently watching the car carrying Yin Guo turn the corner and disappear from sight before turning back to find the bus stop—he remembered it was near a shopping plaza.
By nine in the evening, he finally arrived at the pool hall in Washington.
Sun Zhou, the front desk clerk, was heading home to celebrate his wedding anniversary with his wife, so Lin Yiyang came straight here to help out.
"Keys are here. There’s a box of vegetable salad in the fridge—leftover from lunch. Also some bread and apples," Sun Zhou explained, as if worried his boss might starve.
Lin Yiyang sat on a high stool outside the counter.
Seeing Sun Zhou about to ramble on, he waved dismissively and pointed to his throat.
The message was clear: stop wasting time and go pamper your wife. As for Lin Yiyang himself, he truly had no energy left to speak.
"Didn’t you recover? Yesterday you could talk fine," Sun Zhou leaned over the counter, eyeing him with concern.
Lin Yiyang couldn’t be bothered to explain that his voice was wrecked from giving Yin Guo an exhaustive tour of Washington’s sights the day before: "Tired."
He shook his head, refusing to say another word.Sun Zhou had no idea he had made a round trip to New York today, wasting over nine hours on the road. Seeing the exhaustion Lin Yiyang couldn't quite hide, he assumed Lin had been too intense with his girlfriend.
With a suggestive smile, Sun patted his back: "Your girl must be exhausted after these two days with you."
Lin caught the innuendo and shot Sun a glance.
Sun had wanted to ask about his post-graduation plans. Originally, Lin was set to join Xinhua News Agency in Washington, where he could still help manage the pool hall while working. But this week, Lin received an offer from Duke—located far from DC. If Lin decided to pursue his PhD, they'd definitely need to hire extra help at the pool hall.
However, judging by Lin's condition tonight, Sun decided to drop it and talk tomorrow.
Before leaving, Sun mentioned one last thing about the pool hall: "One final thing—just listen, no need to respond. They left today, all headed to New York together."
Everyone knew Lin never went to tournaments or watched matches.
So Sun was simply informing him that their pool hall's participants for the Open had already departed.
Lin gave an OK sign and waved him off.
Meaning: Go home and tend to your wife already.
After seeing Sun out, Lin pulled shut the metal gate between the pool hall and elevator, locking it.
He opened the fridge, took out a vegetable salad, poured it onto a plate along with some fruit, washed a fork, and sat behind the counter to eat slowly. After a few bites, feeling warm, he took off his jacket.
A notification sounded—WeChat.
His phone was in the jacket pocket. Tugging the sleeve toward him, he pulled out the phone.
Red Fish: Done with practice~
Red Fish: I realized watching you demonstrate yesterday and this morning helped a lot. Now when I review these local players' match footage, I understand their strategies better.
Lin: Glad it helped.
Red Fish: Lin, why are you so different on WeChat compared to in person?
Lin smiled.
Typing slowly in reply.
Lin: Am I?
Red Fish: Definitely. If I showed our chat logs to anyone, they'd think I was chasing you.
Lin: Really?
Red Fish: Are you busy? You're typing so little.
It was just habit—he wasn't big on messaging apps.
Lin: I'm at the pool hall. Just me here.
Red Fish: I'm back in my room. Just me too.
Lin: Video call?
Red Fish: Mm.
Lin knew WeChat had video calls—he'd seen his roommate use it—but this was his first time trying it. It took him a few seconds to find the option. Finally sending the invitation, he heard the ringtone once before it connected.
But the signal was bad. All he heard was Yin Guo asking: "Can you see me? Is the connection bad?"
The screen showed pure darkness.
The call disconnected.
Soon, Yin Guo sent another invitation.
This time he remembered—he hadn't connected to the pool hall's WiFi. Sure enough, the signal improved.
Yin Guo had deliberately turned on her desk lamp—this warm yellow lighting was flattering, softening her features without being harsh.
Her phone case had a metal stand, so she propped it securely on her desk. Only after arranging it did she see the video feed showed the pool hall's counter.The sound of running water could be heard, but Lin Yiyang was nowhere in sight.
"What are you doing?" She propped her chin on the table, staring at the screen as she asked.
Suddenly, the video call was cut off again.
Is the signal that bad?
Lin Yiyang had originally been washing cups, planning to chat with her while tidying up the bar counter to finish all the chores so he could go home earlier.
But when Yin Guo asked her question, he suddenly realized his voice was shot again. Not wanting her to know and feel upset, he had no choice but to disconnect the newly established video call.
He hadn't even had time to dry his hands—the screen was covered in water droplets.
Red Fish: Is the signal at your pool hall always this bad? No customers complain?
Lin Yiyang found a towel and dried his hands.
Lin: Most people don't dare. The boss has a bad temper.
Lin Yiyang picked up his phone, grabbed the cloth for wiping the pool tables, and continued chatting and joking with Yin Guo as he cleaned each table one by one. After wiping down all dozen or so pool tables, he neatly arranged each cue back on the rack.
Then he found a black cardboard box and collected all the chalk powder scattered around.
Finally, he turned off the lights one by one.
In the northeast corner of the pool hall was a resting area with a few old sofas, a TV and DVD player, and a simple bed. Usually when Sun Zhou didn't want to go home or had fought with his wife, he'd sleep here.
Exhausted, Lin Yiyang lay down, thinking he might as well sleep here tonight.
Going back to his apartment would be a long, troublesome trip.
In the pitch black, only the light from his phone screen remained.
Red Fish: You're still at the pool hall this late? Won't you get home very late?
Lin: Not going back.
Red Fish: Sleeping at the pool hall? Is there a bed?
Lin: Yes.
Red Fish: Actually, I feel bad that you took the trouble to see me off and then had to go all the way back.
Lin Yiyang folded one arm behind his head, using his left hand as a pillow.
Lin: Is it feeling bad? Or missing me?
Red Fish: ...Both.
Red Fish: Oh right, take a photo of your tattoo for me. I want to use it as my phone wallpaper.
He felt like teasing her.
Lin: The upper part or lower part?
Red Fish: ...Pervert.
Lin: ?
Red Fish: Never mind.
Lin Yiyang chuckled as he rolled over and got up to find the wall lamp and turn it on.
He compared angles against his right arm and took a photo. Just as he was about to send it, he saw her ask another question.
Red Fish: By the way, the competition schedule is out. I'll send you a screenshot later—see if you can make it. I've been studying it, and you probably won't make it for the group matches. Pray that I can reach the quarterfinals on Saturday.
Red Fish: On Saturday, you should be free.
Red Fish: 0.0 Where'd you go?
Yin Guo really wanted him to watch a match, especially since this was her first professional competition—it held special significance.
He could tell.
Since morning, this had been weighing on his mind. Those past memories were like aged tea leaves, long dried out and sealed away, but now it felt like someone had poured them into a glass and doused them with boiling water, gradually steeping those bygone moments back to life...
Groping in the dark, Lin Yiyang found a newly purchased cue from the rack and chose the nearest pool table.
The distant light source barely illuminated the table, casting the balls in partial color and partial shadow... He tried to aim but hesitated for a long time without taking a shot.
In his ears,Some were saying, "Old Six, just admit you're wrong if you're at fault."
Others pleaded, "Sixth Brother, please."
Someone smashed a teacup, spilling the tea onto the ground. The cheap concrete floor soaked it all up, leaving behind a mess of wet tea leaves.
...
Back then, he was also a teenager in jeans—though not such a good brand, just something dug out of Jiang Yang’s closet. He wore sneakers too, but only one pair, worn for a whole year, scrubbed clean when dirty, shuffling to school in flip-flops. Back then, he had no idea what Saint Laurent was. He only knew the word "street" and even misspelled it often—his English was so bad it nearly jeopardized his chances of advancing in school.
That year, standing outside his room in East New City, he made a vow to himself: he would never step back through that door, nor would he ever return to the competition arena.
No one heard those words. They were for himself, and he kept that promise for over a decade.
But no one knew that after leaving that day, he crouched outside East New City and cried.
Lin Yiyang’s gaze fixed on the black ball he intended to sink. Slowly, he drew back his cue and struck hard. The black ball shot toward the corner pocket but, unexpectedly, didn’t go in.
In the dim, flickering light, it teetered at the edge of the pocket.
Yin Guo, seeing he hadn’t replied, guessed the signal in the pool room was bad again.
Propping her chin in her hand under the desk lamp, she waited patiently. Over ten minutes later, a message finally popped up.
Lin: Went to practice.
Little Guo: Why the sudden urge to practice?
Lin: Testing a new cue.
Little Guo: Your pool hall has nice cues. The owner must really know his stuff.
Lin: Little Guo.
He suddenly called her that.
Yin Guo stared at those three characters, inexplicably intimate, able to picture his expression and tone when he said it. Her eyes brimmed with laughter, unable to hide it, sparkling under the lamplight.
Little Guo: Hmm?
Lin: If I ever make a mistake in the future, give me a chance to fix it, okay?
Lin: Not the cheating kind.
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