Chapter 17 — Wait Till Tomorrow to Beat You Up
Spring comes early to Nancheng, so every school holds its spring sports meet a bit ahead of schedule.
The meet lasts two days. No classes, no study hall. For most students, that’s basically a two-day on-campus vacation. The bolder ones even cut for both days.
The opening ceremony took place under perfect sunshine.
Each class had to wear matching outfits to march in. From a distance it was all school T-shirts and track pants.
Zhuang Fangqin had on a rare bright dress. She stood by the class line, waiting to file in.
“What’s with the faces? Everyone looks half-asleep,” Zhuang Fangqin said, scanning the line. “Tuck your shirts into your pants, all of you.”
“But that looks so lame,” Zhang Xianjing worried aloud.
“This is an opening ceremony, not a talent show. You don’t have to look pretty, just look energetic.” She leaned closer, squinting. “Zhang Xianjing, are you wearing makeup?”
Zhang Xianjing shrank back. “No, I’m naturally—”
“When you pass the officials, press your lips together so they don’t notice,” Zhuang Fangqin said. “Your mouth looks like a flowerbed.”
Zhang Xianjing flashed a heart. “Got it!”
Zhuang Fangqin turned and spotted someone in the second-to-last row. Her smile snapped shut.
“Yu Fan,” she said. “Did you hear me?”
Yu Fan was exhausted. Too tired to sass back, and he couldn’t care less about any of it. He lifted his droopy eyelids and, slowly, shoved his shirt into his waistband.
Because they were about to march, the line ran front to back. Chen Jingshen stood at the very end and lowered his eyes when Yu Fan moved.
Yu Fan had tucked fast and dirty. Cloth bunched at his waist, cinching his wide jacket into a sharp line.
Chen Jingshen glanced at a few others, then pulled his gaze back. Why was that waist so much narrower than everyone else’s?
Two classes marched in side by side. Next to Class 7 was Class 8.
Zuo Kuan had been bored senseless, but one look at Wang Lu’an and he snorted. “F***, Wang Lu’an, your butt looks huge. You look like a dumba**.”
Both classes burst out laughing.
“and it's often used as a swear or insult prefix.
Similar to how English speakers might say “Your mom is…”
in a mocking or sarcastic tone. Your mom
“Turn around,” Zuo Kuan told him.
Wang Lu’an did.
Yu Fan stood there lazy as ever, so tired his head kept dipping. Hands in pockets, baggy jacket cinched at the waist, and somehow the messy tuck looked… cool.
No need to mention Chen Jingshen. A little frail, sure, but not a hair out of place. Broad shoulders, long limbs. If he could manage an expression, he could be on a school brochure.
Wang Lu’an: “…”
What was this? The only two guys who could look good with tucked shirts were standing right behind him?
The opening ceremony ran an hour before they were dismissed. Class 7’s seats were next to the rostrum, the kind of spot where turning your head meant instant eye contact with the school leaders.
Zhuang Fangqin was in rare good spirits. She didn’t really care what place they finished. As long as everyone showed up, even last was fine by her.
She handed out snacks she’d bought the night before, then called the competitors up one by one to remind them where to check in and when their events started.
Yu Fan had been roped into two events: the relay and the long jump, both today.
With long jump check-in coming up, he rubbed his eyes and decided to sneak off and have a smoke to wake up.
“Yu Fan…”
He turned. A few girls from class. They didn’t usually talk to him.
One of them opened a tote. It was so heavy she needed help holding it. “We used class funds to buy drinks and snacks. There’s Red Bull in here. You look really sleepy… want a can?”
Yu Fan glanced inside under heavy lids. He’d never bullied anyone in class, but people still found him intimidating. The girls rushed to add, “If you don’t want it, that’s fine…”
He reached in, grabbed a Red Bull, and said, “Thanks.”
He cracked it and tilted it back. From the rostrum, Zhuang Fangqin thought he was openly shotgunning a beer at noon.
Other classes sat scattered, half their kids off checking in or cheering. In Class 7, nearly every seat was full. No one was cheering. Everyone was doing their own thing.
They finished dead last last year. Whatever fight they had was long gone. The vibe now was just participate and be done with it.
Yu Fan popped open Zhang Xianjing’s umbrella to block the leaders’ line of sight, leaned against the wall, and started scrolling.
Wang Lu’an munched chips nonstop from the moment he sat down. “Hey, why are you even here for the sports meet?”
Class 8 sat just behind them, and Zuo Kuan had slouched over like he belonged to Class 7. “What’d you enter?”
“Yu Fan has long jump and relay,” Wang Lu’an said. “I’m running three thousand.”
“You’re insane,” Zuo Kuan said.
“I’m not insane. Ms. Zhuang is,” Wang Lu’an said. “Whatever. I’ll jog it. I’m not going for a place. Finishing is winning.”
“You’re eating that much when you’ve got 3,000 coming up?” Zhang Xianjing twisted around from the last row of girls. “Chips and ice cream? You’re going to puke.”
“No way. I told you, I have an iron stomach.” Wang Lu’an held the chips out. “Want some, Yu Fan?”
Yu Fan yawned. “No.”
He hunted for a mindless game in WeChat mini-programs, then switched back to Snake because nothing beat Snake.
A red “1” popped over Moments.
Chen Jingshen had just liked a post Yu Fan made two years ago.
“…”
Yu Fan looked up. Sure enough, Chen Jingshen was sitting one row down, head bent over his phone. The line of his neck was clean and pale.
Yu Fan barely posted, and it was all nonsense anyway. He usually didn’t care if anyone saw. But knowing Chen Jingshen was seated right in front of him, scrolling back through every post… felt f***ing awkward.
He scowled and started to tell him to knock it off, but the class monitor spoke first.
The monitor was Gao Shi. He’d wrestled with himself for a while before walking over.
“Chen Jingshen, do you have a minute?”
Chen Jingshen lifted his eyelids. “Mm?”
“Could you write a broadcast script? Fifty to a hundred words. Just some praise is fine,” Gao Shi said. “The school wants a script for every class and every event. We’re still missing two.”
Zhuang Fangqin had told him to find ways to help the transfers blend in. This was the best he could think of.
Chen Jingshen glanced at the notebook and said nothing.
“If you don’t want to, that’s totally—”
“Which events?” Chen Jingshen asked.
“Shot put and long jump,” Gao Shi said. “But long jump is about to start, so there may not be time. I could just tweak a template for that one. Maybe you could write the shot put—”
“Give me a sheet of paper,” Chen Jingshen said. “I’ll write long jump.”
Gao Shi handed over paper and pen. He was going to say it was fine to crib something from online, but the top student had already put pen to paper and was blazing ahead. Right. A straight A god would never stoop to copying a template.
Curious, Gao Shi leaned in to sneak a peek.
“To the long-jump athlete of Class 7, Yu Fan.”
Uh. You didn’t have to name names, did you?
Gao Shi was about to mention it when he saw how focused Chen Jingshen was and swallowed the words.
“You are like a sword on the track,” Chen Jingshen wrote. “A sunny, handsome sword.”
Gao Shi: “?”
You could describe people like that?
“You stand in the crowd like the most beautiful scene on campus.”
Gao Shi: “??”
“At the whistle you sprint like an arrow from the bow, jump like a frog, and trace a rainbow arc in the air that dazzles my eyes.”
Gao Shi: “???”
“Your fighting spirit earns my respect. Your sweat intoxicates me. Whatever the result, you are the brightest rose in my heart.”
Gao Shi: “…?”
He stared between the paper and Chen Jingshen’s completely blank face, unable to believe the ice-cold honor student had written this.
“Class 7, Chen Jing—”
A breath of wind and the paper vanished. Chen Jingshen looked up into a flushed face.
What was wrong with this guy? The Red Bull was apparently working a little too well. Yu Fan’s face felt hot in pulses. He crumpled the sheet and said to Gao Shi, “You know his Chinese score. You still asked him to write this?”
“110 out of 150?” Gao Shi said. Compared to Chen Jingshen’s other subjects it was nothing, but standing alone, it was above average.
Yu Fan ignored him and glared at Chen Jingshen.
Chen Jingshen sat a step lower and tilted his chin up to look back, expression cool and infuriating.
Yu Fan debated whether to rip the sheet up and shove it in the guy’s mouth, or make him swallow it whole, when Zhuang Fangqin’s voice cut in.
“Yu Fan, why are you still here?” She checked her watch. “Get down there and check in. Long jump is about to start!”
Yu Fan choked. “Got it.”
“If you got it, move.” She grabbed the nearest helper. “Gao Shi, go with him so he doesn’t disappear on the way.”
Gao Shi felt unlucky. Yu Fan didn’t move at first, and he was debating a pep talk when Yu Fan swung down the steps. Passing Chen Jingshen, Yu Fan toed the guy’s backpack and said, low and sharp, “Stop writing that garbage.”
Chen Jingshen rolled the pen between his fingers. He was about to reply when Yu Fan was already gone, a mutter trailing back even faster and quieter: “And stop scrolling my Moments.”
Yu Fan stood in line to check in. Gao Shi sidled up.
“We drew a bad heat,” Gao Shi said. “All tall, long-legged guys, and a track athlete too. We probably won’t make the final. But it’s fine. Just do your best. No pressure.”
Tallest and longest-legged guy in the line, Yu Fan: “.”
He stretched. “Why are you still here?”
“Oh, right. I’ll cheer then leave,” Gao Shi said, grinning. “And you’ve never done the sports meet. I’m worried you’ll forget to record your mark afterward.”
You had to record it? “Suit yourself,” Yu Fan said.
The loudspeakers switched to the boys’ 3,000-meter script. Gao Shi glanced toward the start and promised he’d take water to their runners after Yu Fan’s jump.
Yu Fan grabbed him by the sleeve. “Hold up,” he said, frowning. “I didn’t do the sports meet last year.”
Gao Shi jumped. “Right. Yeah.”
“I didn’t even come to the track,” Yu Fan said, eyes narrowing.
Crap. Did Yu Fan think he was calling him out for skipping last year?
“Yeah, but I know something must have come up—” Gao Shi started, panicked.
Yu Fan released his sleeve and turned away, silent.
Gao Shi exhaled and shut up. He dared another peek when Yu Fan signed in. The boy’s face was set, eyes tight, so cold it was scary.
What had Chen Jingshen said? He’d noticed Yu Fan since freshman year. He’d watched Yu Fan’s events at the sports meet.
Yu Fan had climbed the wall to go gaming during the freshman meet. What events had Chen Jingshen watched? Esports?
D*** it. Chen Jingshen had been messing with him.
The starter’s gun cracked. Gao Shi was ready to yell, but Yu Fan had already flown down the runway. A hard drive, a high lift. His long frame carved a clean arc through the air.
Gao Shi suddenly thought maybe Chen Jingshen’s script wasn’t totally unusable.
When the mark was recorded, Gao Shi was still dazed. “You… got second? Just behind the track kid? That’s amazing! Did you practice before? I thought you were—”
“What time do the teachers compete?” Yu Fan asked.
Their meet had a few teachers’ events. They didn’t count toward class totals, but they existed.
“Relay at eleven, I think. Why?” Gao Shi asked.
No reason. He had to pick his moment to beat someone up.
On the way back, Yu Fan kept deciding where to punch Chen Jingshen first. The face. The face needed it most. What would Chen Jingshen say when he begged? Couldn’t imagine. Would he cry? Snot and tears would be best. Then Yu Fan would take a photo and post it on the bulletin board with that love letter—
Expression flat, Yu Fan walked the edge of the track and had already beaten Chen Jingshen ten times in his head when someone yanked him from the side and pulled him into a group of spectators.
He turned and met Zhang Xianjing’s eyes.
She flinched. “Whoa. Why do you look so murderous? Did you bomb the jump?”
“Is that possible?” Yu Fan said. “Let go.”
She didn’t. “Where are you going?”
“Back.”
“Don’t. Come cheer with us.”
Yu Fan stopped. Right. The boys’ 3,000 was on.
“What lap are they on?” he asked.
“The fast ones are on lap seven. Almost done,” Zhang Xianjing said.
Yu Fan made a sound. He scanned the stragglers dying in the back and didn’t see his guy. “Where’s Wang Lu’an?”
“In the classroom building,” Zhang Xianjing said dryly.
“?”
“He ate too much. As soon as check-in started, his stomach hurt, and he sprinted for the bathroom,” she said. “Our top student took his place.”
Yu Fan stared for several seconds. “Who?”
“Chen Jingshen,” Zhang Xianjing said, tilting her chin. “There.”
Yu Fan followed her gaze.
Chen Jingshen’s tall, lean frame stood out in a pack of kids in athletic gear. The boy who wheezed after four hundred meters was running the 3,000?
“He’s a lap behind?” Yu Fan asked.
“No,” Zhang Xianjing said, glaring at him. “He’s the dark horse. He’s battling three track athletes for the top three.”
“??”
Before Yu Fan could make sense of that, Zhang Xianjing cupped her hands and yelled, “Here they come! Final kick! Louder!”
“Go, Chen Jingshen!”
“Kick now, Chen Jingshen! Kick!”
“Kick, kick! Pass the beady-eyed guy!”
Yu Fan watched, stunned, as Chen Jingshen shifted gears, accelerated, and crossed the 3,000-meter finish line in second place.
He’d pushed that last burst too hard and had to jog a few steps to stop. He steadied quickly, bent slightly at the waist, face turned as he listened to the official read off his time.
Sweat dampened him through. His uniform had been wrecked by the run, hair mussed. He was a mess, the total opposite of his usual prim and proper, but his expression stayed controlled. That face, set and cool, made the panting boys around him look ragged.
The official said a number. Chen Jingshen nodded, then dragged his hem across his jaw to wipe sweat.
A tight, pale waist flashed and vanished.
“Yesss! Second! Is the time recorded? Can I go hand out water now?” Zhang Xianjing’s scream snapped Yu Fan back.
Chen Jingshen clearly heard the noise too. He glanced over.
Yu Fan’s heart jumped. He jerked his eyes away. “I’m going back.”
Beating up a guy who just ran 3,000 was a cheap win anyway. Fine. Tomorrow.
Although he didn’t look tired at all. Getting second among a wall of track kids? Maybe his long-distance was better than his sprints. Maybe he was pretending to be fine. Yeah, right. With that build, he’d be on the ground in two minutes—
An arm grabbed him from behind and spun him around. Yu Fan opened his mouth. “What the f—”
Chen Jingshen swayed and fell straight into him.
Yu Fan reflexively caught him. A body taller than his dropped onto him, chin on his shoulder, heat burning through cloth.
“Sorry.” The breath against his ear was warm and low. The voice sounded ready to black out. “I can’t stand.”
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