Chapter 58: The Boy's Voice (2)
Training Room One
All the lights in the training rooms were off, except here, where they remained bright.
Both Lin Yiyang and Meng Xiaodong were players who competed in multiple major events, with special permission from the head coach to control their own training schedules.
Jiang Yang, with one arm in a sling and draped in the national team’s tracksuit, leaned against the wall by the door, watching the nearest billiard table. At the table, Meng Xiaodong had broken first. He and Lin Yiyang had agreed to take turns, two shots each.
After pocketing one red and one Color ball, Meng Xiaodong straightened up, cue in hand, frowning slightly as he stared at Lin Yiyang, who was leaning against the wall playing on his phone. "Are you here to train or not?"
Lin Yiyang sent Yin Guo a message—"Sleeping."—then slipped his phone into his sweatpants pocket.
"How have you put up with him all these years?" Lin Yiyang ignored Meng Xiaodong and instead looked at Jiang Yang.
Jiang Yang played along, "Not putting up—just humoring him."
Lin Yiyang nodded.
Meng Xiaodong had never been able to stand the people from East New City. They were never serious, whether on the court or in the lounge—always with that irreverent attitude... But even he had to admit that since Lin Yiyang’s return, his own form had genuinely started to improve.
The world admires strength, but the strong admire strength even more.
Lin Yiyang’s talent pushed every one of his peers, reminding them—human potential is limitless, so never slack off.
Seeing Meng Xiaodong’s face darken, Lin Yiyang stopped teasing and walked straight to the table with his cue. "Practicing like this is boring. Let’s play fast." He bent over, seemingly lining up his shot but actually speaking to Meng Xiaodong.
"I don’t have a problem with that," Meng Xiaodong said coldly, suppressing the urge to curse at him. "Don’t think just because I haven’t played fast before that I can’t."
Lin Yiyang raised an eyebrow and smirked.
Looking forward to it, old rival.
For the next half hour, the balls on that table were practically "flying."
Jiang Yang had brought a small bag of pistachios, leisurely shelling them as he watched the show. The room was filled with the sounds of cue strikes, balls dropping into pockets, and the occasional crack of a shell.
"Getting thirsty. Gonna grab a drink," Jiang Yang finally said.
Lin Yiyang swung his cue, sending a piece of Chalk powder flying toward him. Jiang Yang, still draped in his tracksuit jacket, tilted his head to dodge it, grinning as he strolled out with his bag of empty pistachio shells.
Before long, he returned carrying an old-fashioned red thermos and a few plastic cups stacked together, each with a sprinkle of tea leaves inside.
"Take a break," Jiang Yang said casually, setting the cups on a wooden stool and pouring steaming water into each. "Have a drink."
Meng Xiaodong frowned instinctively. "It’s one in the morning. Tea?"
Subtext: Aren’t you afraid you won’t sleep?
"Been drinking it for over twenty years. I’m immune by now," Jiang Yang chuckled, setting the thermos down. "Don’t like tasteless water."
Lin Yiyang casually picked up the wooden stopper and sealed the thermos for him.
Jiang Yang lifted his disposable plastic cup and took a sip. "Last time the three of us sat together like this, we were still young."
Lin Yiyang nodded.
"Been waiting a long time for this day," Jiang Yang raised his cup.
"Only you could get the bosses of two major Billiard clubs to go to New York together," Meng Xiaodong said, lifting his own cup.Lin Yiyang smiled, finally clinking his plastic cup with theirs: "Out of the three of us, I'm the least articulate."
"That was in the past," Jiang Yang countered with a laugh. "Now you're the king of diplomatic talk."
That was different.
Lin Yiyang looked at his two childhood rivals and friends, a whirlwind of emotions in his heart. There was so much he could say—unfulfilled dreams from their youth, the years when the three of them had dominated together. But in the end, it all condensed into: "Thank you, for coming to find me."
"Thank you," he repeated.
In August, the Asian Games gathered thousands of athletes in one city, all waiting to step onto the battlefield.
The Chinese delegation arrived in several groups over two days.
That day, many fans of Lin Yiyang, Meng Xiaodong, and Jiang Yang gathered in an orderly fashion to welcome them at the airport. Yin Guo was among the team, pulling her suitcase while texting her mom about their safe arrival when Lin Lin suddenly grabbed her arm: "Look up."
Yin Guo raised her head.
Not just Lin Lin—others were gradually noticing the airport's advertising boards, all lined with photos of Yin Guo in competition.
"Your birthday?" Lin Lin asked.
Yin Guo shook her head in confusion.
Seeing this, Lin Yiyang and the head coach at the front of the team stopped. The head coach, who loved jokes, quietly asked Lin Yiyang something, and the whole team turned to look at him, wondering if their captain had arranged this.
But that couldn't be.
After all, as the national team captain, with the entire squad competing, such a grand romantic gesture for his girlfriend wouldn't make sense.
Then, from the crowd of well-wishers emerged a young man in casual clothes. Under the gaze of dozens of Chinese team members, he said to Yin Guo: "Wishing you the gold medal."
Around him were his friends, a group of clearly well-off young men. During Lin Yiyang's studies abroad, most of his Chinese classmates were affluent second-generation types, much like this group.
Recognizing this loyal fan, Yin Guo quickly thanked him and pulled Lin Lin to the other side of the team.
The team still hadn't moved.
Lin Yiyang's expression remained unreadable. At the front of the team, dressed in the national team tracksuit with the zipper pulled all the way up, his eyes calm yet imposing—it was precisely the lack of any reaction that signaled trouble.
But the team clearly wasn't afraid of trouble; they just didn't want to miss the show.
Jiang Yang slung an arm over his shoulder: "In our line of work, many athletes marry well."
Fan Wencong earnestly agreed: "Simple lives from childhood, nothing but training and competitions—pure, hardworking, and decorated with honors. Who wouldn't like that?"
...
Meng Xiaodong suddenly said, "He's been pursuing Yin Guo for over a year."
Everyone turned to him.
"Never misses one of her matches," Meng Xiaodong added. "Pretty shy, never dares to talk to her much. Last time, he had a business contact approach her dad to ask for a formal introduction."
Jiang Yang gave Meng Xiaodong an appreciative look—perfectly timed, every word drawing blood.
"My sister's had plenty of admirers since she was little. Didn't she tell you?" Meng Xiaodong asked Lin Yiyang.
Another knife twisted.Jiang Yang smiled appreciatively, wondering: Had the childhood rumors about the "Twin Lin" reputation of East New City led Meng Xiaodong to misunderstand something? Otherwise, why would his attacks be so precise and relentless?
...
Yin Guo was at the end of the line, while the group was up ahead.
Naturally, she couldn’t hear their conversation. She figured it couldn’t be anything serious—after all, Lin Yiyang had filled an entire stadium with fans in the U.S., and she hadn’t batted an eye. So why did she feel guilty now?
She hadn’t done anything wrong.
After arriving at the hotel, everyone was scheduled for medical check-ups.
The male and female athletes went in separate groups, so she didn’t see Lin Yiyang.
The evening was free time.
Given the "minor incident" earlier, she decided to quietly go check on Lin Yiyang.
She didn’t tell him in advance, wanting to surprise him.
Yin Guo reached Lin Yiyang’s hotel floor and knocked on his door.
Jiang Yang was the one who answered. Seeing her, he grinned and tilted his head toward the bathroom, signaling: He’s showering.
"Is this a bad time?" she whispered.
"Not at all," Jiang Yang replied with a smile, grabbing a keycard from the dresser. "I’ll head out. You two take your time."
His smile carried layers of meaning Yin Guo couldn’t decipher.
Once Jiang Yang left, she closed the door behind her.
She quietly pushed open the bathroom door. The sound of running water filled her ears, steam curling in the air. Behind the white shower curtain, the tall silhouette was unmistakably Lin Yiyang.
She didn’t say a word, waiting by the marble sink for him to finish.
The man inside must have heard the door creak, assuming it was Jiang Yang returning. "You still here?"
Yin Guo pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh.
The water shut off.
"Been holding back all afternoon, barely ate anything—" The shower curtain was yanked aside as Lin Yiyang reached for a towel on the silver rack, freezing mid-motion.
At the sudden sight of him completely bare under the warm yellow light, water droplets glistening over his defined muscles… Yin Guo’s thoughts immediately strayed. Her gaze flitted around, refusing to settle on him.
In the midst of her internal debate—to look or not to look—Lin Yiyang had already grabbed a towel, roughly drying his hair and torso before silently stepping in front of her.
Her knees and thighs grew damp where they brushed against his legs.
His half-wet hand pressed against the small of her back, pulling her flush against his chest. "What are you staring at?"
She worried her clothes would get soaked, making it impossible to leave later. "Dry off first. If you get me wet, I won’t be able to go back."
Lin Yiyang’s right hand, still gripping the towel, slid the bathroom door shut and locked it.
During their seventy-day training camp, the most they’d done was kiss and hold hands—nothing beyond that. Now, thrust into this charged atmosphere, even just locking eyes was overwhelming. Lin Yiyang lifted her onto the sink, kissing her as his hands gripped her shoulders, alternating between light and firm pressure before inevitably sliding downward.
"Stop messing around…" The steam left her dizzy, and his grip bordered on painful. Usually, when he got this rough, it meant he was serious.
In the lingering mist, Lin Yiyang’s dark eyes were intense as he smirked. "What counts as messing around?"
After a long struggle, Yin Guo relented: Just kissing, that’s it…
He replied slowly: Fine.
Lin Yiyang scooped her up, bundling her with the clothes left on the towel rack, and carried her into the bedroom.
Passing the front door, he didn’t forget to lock it.In the room, Lin Yiyang and Jiang Yang's suitcases lay open, still unpacked. Jiang Yang's bed, near the door, was strewn with various items. Lin Yiyang's bed, by the window, had his dirty clothes tossed onto the sofa as he placed Yin Guo on the bed. He leaned over her, kissing her lips, forehead, and eyes... One was completely undressed, the other fully clothed—neither crossing the line.
It was like lighting a fire, burning both heart and body to ashes, leaving them dazed yet still mindful not to go too far. There were matches ahead, and it wouldn’t look good.
Even though the door was locked and no one would know, they still had to hold onto that inner boundary.
Yin Guo closed her eyes, her hands wandering over his body, wanting to help him. Lin Yiyang caught her wrist and placed it back on her own stomach, pinning her firmly beneath him. He chuckled softly, asking, "What are you touching?"
...
"Clearly, it's you doing all this, not me."
She met his gaze. "You said you were holding back this afternoon?"
He didn’t deny it.
"...Was it because of me?"
"What do you think?" he countered.
Yin Guo’s hand slid downward again, only for him to pull it back up by the wrist. This time, he was genuinely amused. "Looking for trouble?"
"Trouble" was their unspoken code for teasing—a word he often used in bed.
"I just wanted to touch the name," she argued.
This time, he didn’t stop her.
Her fingers traced his waist and V-line, finally finding her name etched there. As her palm lingered over it, the thought that this man carried her name on his body filled her with an indescribable warmth.
The idea that he would compete in five events, win countless gold medals, and gain even more fans in the future—yet still bear her name—left her vanity utterly satisfied, almost overflowing.
He stroked her long hair and suddenly asked, "Want to move in with me when we get back?"
Live together?
"My parents don’t approve of cohabitation," Yin Guo mused. "Living together permanently might not work."
But staying over occasionally shouldn’t be a problem, she thought.
Lin Yiyang didn’t press further. Sensing his unwavering gaze, she considered reassuring him—she could always find excuses to stay at his dorm. Then, his finger lightly brushed her nose.
Silly girl, inviting you isn’t about doing anything. It’s about marrying you.
He rolled off the bed, rummaged through his suitcase for underwear and pants, and finally dressed his lower half, concealing the tantalizing view.
Yin Guo didn’t dwell on the matter. Instead, she noticed a guitar lying on the sofa. "Jiang Yang brought this?"
"Yeah," Lin Yiyang glanced at it. "His blind date likes artistic types, so he picked it up again recently. He used to play but dropped it for over a decade. Now it’s just to impress girls."
"My brother learned piano as a kid."
"In our generation, wealthy families pushed their kids to learn piano," Lin Yiyang remarked. "Guys like Jiang Yang taught themselves guitar." Either to start a band or as a tool for picking up girls.
Jiang Yang’s background was similar to Lin Yiyang’s before his parents passed away—plenty of girlfriends, naturally skilled at such things.
"What about you?"
"Me?" Lin Yiyang shook his head. "Never had any interest in that."
He seemed like the most boring person—nothing but matches and practice in his memories.Yin Guo jumped barefoot off the bed, stepped onto the carpet, and stood before him. Her right hand slipped beneath his waistband again, tracing the tattoo there. Lin Yiyang had been stirred up and down by her repeated displays of affection. His arm wrapped around her waist as his fingers slid beneath the fabric of her clothes, lightly tracing patterns on her soft skin.
She noticed the stubble on his chin and reached up to touch it, feeling the rough texture against her fingertips. The man whose stubble she was caressing lowered his head, meeting her gaze. "Let's go out for a walk," he said. "If we stay here any longer, I can't promise I'll behave."
Today really hadn’t gone smoothly. In the afternoon, it was frustration weighing on his mind—now, it was desire burning through his body.
Like the Five-Finger Mountain pressing down on his back, he could only wait for the sky to split open and the boulders to crumble before he could finally move freely again.
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