Chapter 23: The Athletic Girl’s Allure

Lin Yingyuan had been chipper all afternoon, erupting in random “hehe” giggles now and then, lost in whatever silly joy.

The mood held till dusk; Lin Zhiyi finally couldn’t resist asking.

He queried with refined casualness:

“Did you take the wrong meds?”

Lin Yingyuan, like tipsy, slurred dreamily:

“My life’s… so blissful.”

Her words shed zero light on what bubbled in her head.

…

“My life’s… so tragic.”

Huang Zhouxu wailed mournfully, face twisted in agony.

Lin Zhiyi sighed inwardly; PE free time, he’d claimed a secluded field corner—yet this pest still latched on.

“What’s wrong?”

Lin Zhiyi asked perfunctorily; he didn’t care—sounded troublesome.

If Huang Zhouxu played deep, he’d swear not to pry.

“Master.”

Huang Zhouxu began, air desolate.

“Is life always this lonely?”

“Spit it out.”

“Today shooting hoops, bumped my crush—went up to chat.

I’ve been minding my image, prepped jokes.

Wanted to show my witty side.”

“Meant to say ‘Your shot’s killer—teach me?’

Nerves garbled it to ‘You’re trash at ball—want lessons?’

She paled furious, booted me square—said fix my head.”

Lin Zhiyi pictured it, cringing vicariously.

Huang Zhouxu massaged his leg ruefully; that kick landed hard.

He ranted half-mad:

“Why… why am I the only singleton?

Y’know? Even class’s Wu Xigua’s got a girl!

Fuck—everyone paired but me, just me!”

“Liu Haoyang’s solo too.”

“He’s not human.”

Swift pivot.

But Wu Xigua coupled up:

“How’s that?

Spill.”

Lin Zhiyi found himself gossipier than expected.

“Childhood sweethearts—families baby-betrothed.

Petite thing; they match height.

Looks average—square face, nowhere near class monitor pretty.

But smiles tons—super outgoing.

Always heading home together.”

“Mom nags me to hang with top students.

Used to scoff.

But knowing you… she’s onto something.”

“Smart folks rock—brains mean edge, even dating.

Damn—jealousy’s killing me.”

His logic devolved into nonsense—classic little head bossing big.

Huang Zhouxu looked decent—tidied, small-cute; vibe dragged him down.

Tweak attitude, he’d snag dates.

But Lin Zhiyi held his tongue: life’s best teacher is hardship.

Huang Zhouxu yammered on; Lin Zhiyi tuned out.

By future self, he’d shun Huang Zhouxu—no add, no chats; cool off after a few ignores, paths diverge natural.

Inner adult: “Right—people’s ties boil to benefit swaps; he offers zilch—pure time sink.”

Beside him, seventeen-year-old Lin Zhiyi eyed him like filth, piping in childish:

“Tch.

Every meet, you tally their ‘value’—swap all for numbers and signs; that life’s exhausting, no?

Can’t folks just connect simple?”

Whose take rang true? Unclear—so he hovered in limbo: neither chasing nor fleeing.

This rebirth nearly split him schizophrenic—how’d novel rebirths skip the mess?

Did they murder past selves on reboot?

Phone chimed: new message.

Zhao Qingning: After school, hoops?

He tapped: Sure.

…

Post-school, Lin Zhiyi hit the outdoor court.

Sparse souls dotted the empty expanse—no Zhao Qingning in sight.

What’s up?

She wouldn’t ghost—maybe emergency bail?

Phone check: no updates.

Then it hit: school’s multiple courts.

Past-life him basketball-illiterate—nearly forgot.

“Which court? Indoor or out?”

He messaged.

Quick reply: “Indoor—Shensi Building.”

Lin Zhiyi eyed the nearest: gold-lettered upper right: Mingde.

Shensi hid behind Mingde, tween Gewu and Zhizhi.

En route to Zhao Qingning, Lin Zhiyi spotted Wu Xigua strolling arm-in-arm with a braided girl, matching-color backpacks swapped shades.

Just chatted him daylight; now this coincidence.

No wonder classroom Wu Xigua skipped his Cheng Xiran drama, quizzing phone-smuggling: kid’s been coupled.

With his vibe, romance’s the norm.

Amusing.

In their three-person club group: Tonight no club—sorry T^T.

Cheng Xiran: OK sticker.

Xu Miaoyan: crickets.

Though vowed daily club, Xu Miaoyan’d clarified: “Come if free; busy’s busy.”

Invitation, not chain.

Texted Lin Yingyuan: Might late home tonight—eat if hungry.

Ravenclaw Topper: (Animated black cat: Gotcha)

Entering the gym, his eyes snagged Zhao Qingning amid the crowd.

Few players scattered across halves, hoops ample; mix of ballers and other athletes.

Lin Zhiyi hung edge-side, bag dumped ground, hands akimbo, watching her play.

Zhao Qingning lined up beyond three-point, form fluid: wrist snap, ball released—swish, nothing but net.

Bounce echoed in the hall.

Spotting him, she jogged over, post-exert glow flushing her face, waving:

“You’re here!”

Lin Zhiyi smiled, nodding.

She balanced a spinning ball on one finger:

“Play a bit?”

“Sure,”

He marveled at her trick.

“But go easy.”

“No sweat—sis’ll let ya.”

Zhao Qingning eyes crinkled, passing the ball.

Last hoops? Past-life uni.

Not athletic—basketball for PE credits.

This body recalled high school smarts—maybe muscle memory too.

“C’mon—shoot one.”

Zhao Qingning grinned.

Alright—Lin Zhiyi toed the three-point, chin up, eyes locked.

Ball arced skyward, toward hoop.

“Wow!”

Zhao Qingning yelped.

Thud—sank.

“Modest much?

Hidden talent.”

She eyed him, intrigued.

“Nah—pure luck.”

Lin Zhiyi shrugged.

“Doubt—bet one round?”

She smiled.

They alternated shots, five each.

Zhao Qingning: three swishes.

Lin Zhiyi: opener fluke, rest bricks—one veered nowhere near backboard.

Zhao Qingning bought it.

“Know layups?”

“Nope—what’s that?”

She demoed: dribble, stride, airborne off the board’s flank, right-hand flick—clean swish.

Lin Zhiyi was smitten that instant.

Her moves: athletic power blended grace.

Today’s tight shorts and loose tee—hem fluttered mid-leap, flashing navel, faint abs.

“Badass.”

He praised sincerely.

“Gotta be~”

Zhao Qingning preened.

Lin Zhiyi geared for try; she neared, correcting stance—fingertip grazing his waist, breath warm near his ear, murmuring cues.

He flinched instinctively.

Tries later, rhythm clicked; first layup success—he whooped, craving replay—till launch, Zhao Qingning pounced leopard-like, one-handed swat—smack, ball airborne.

Ow—savage girl, no honor against a newbie; hat on me.

Overkill?

“Fuck…”

He froze, staring her down: conscience clear?

“Hahahaha sorry sorry,”

Zhao Qingning clutched belly, wheezing.

“Body moved on auto…”

Gym-side water fountain: filtered, sterilized—post-play kids guzzled straight.

They played more, both slick with sweat, so rinsed faces to cool.

Lin Zhiyi bent for handful—up splashes Zhao Qingning’s holler, dousing him.

“How old’re you?”

He grumbled, wiping.

“Hahahaha…”

Lin Zhiyi shampooed outright; cool rinse post-exert: bliss.

Slick bangs forehead-clung irked; he slicked hair back casual.

Zhao Qingning’s eyes lit:

“Forehead out… suits you.

Try that style?”

“I’ll mull.”

She turned, back-to, stretching—hem tugged up, baring dimples low-back, droplets tracing spine-dip, vanishing into tight-pants-swallowed full curves.

Post-play glow? She radiated extra allure—like walking pheromones.

Lin Zhiyi dazed, throat bobbed, tugged pants discreet.

She pivoted, short hair slicing air; flushed post-exert face boyish-cute, damp strands cheek-stuck.

Gaze snagged her lips: blood-flushed plump and rosy, parted on quick breaths, glimpse pearly teeth-tips.

Kissing’d taste divine.

The thought flashed.

Her lips quirked unknowing-sexy.

“Here.”

She offered candies again.

Nearly forgot—her candy habit.

Today: green apple, not lemon.

Her flavors name-themed?

Strolling back, evening breeze cooled deliciously.

“Sports fest soon,”

Zhao Qingning glanced back.

“Evenings, I hit the gym for hoops.

Come play?”

“Might not,”

Lin Zhiyi honest.

“Fun balling you, but after-school club.”

“Oh— which club?”

“Tiny one—three members.”

Chat Club: too abstract to name.

“Room for more?”

“Gotta check.”

Fork in path: Zhao Qingning left to dorms; Lin Zhiyi straight home.

He called:

“Zhao Qingning.”

“Hm?”

“Someday, I’ll beat you fair—on the court.”

Zhao Qingning blanked, then grinned delighted:

“Deal—waiting.”

She finger-gunned, waved laughing, turning away.

Homebound, Lin Zhiyi quietly ordered a basketball.

Secret practice—then dazzle all.

…

Home, Lin Yingyuan emerged her room—eyeing his drenched self, hair dripping, quizzical.

“Rain outside?”

“Nope.”

“Then what’s this wet-look kink?”

“I…”