Chapter 65: Our Relationship Isn’t Close Enough for You to Get Beaten Up with Me

Chapter Sixty-Five: Our Relationship Isn’t Close Enough for You to Get Beaten Up with Me!

Because of love, even when friends left, she still held on to the habit of playing tennis.

Because of pride, she preferred practicing against a wall rather than choosing another partner.

In Tang Zhong’s mind, Su Shan’s character traits were quickly outlined.

Su Shan’s tennis skills were superb. Her swings were powerful, her serves cunning and precise. She could place the ball wherever she wished, making almost no mistakes.

Tang Zhong had never played tennis before. There wasn’t anything like a tennis court either at his old school or in Hengshan Prison. He had thought it was similar to badminton—just hit the ball back when the opponent sent it over—

Now he realized how wrong he’d been. Under Su Shan’s dazzling play, his reflexes and athletic ability were of little use. Even when he managed to save the ball, Su Shan would finish him off with a backhand smash.

Four points per game—Su Shan won all four, swiftly taking the first set.

Tang Zhong hadn’t scored a single point in the first game. Their skill levels were not even on the same plane.

“Second set,” Su Shan said, wiping her cheek with a towel she’d brought for the occasion, “If you can’t get a single point this time, then you lose your qualification as my hitting partner.”

Tang Zhong squinted and smiled.

Su Shan was indeed Su Shan—still the “Su Three” from Tang Xin’s diary.

She was tolerant, but also exacting. She didn’t like being surrounded by mediocrity, as it only increased her burden.

She once told Tang Xin: I’m not here to save the world.

Because Tang Xin’s tennis skills matched her own, their games could go either way. That’s why Tang Xin was Su Shan’s best and only tennis partner.

“Lend me your towel,” Tang Zhong said, reaching out.

Su Shan glanced at him and replied, “We’re not familiar enough to joke like that.”

“I’m not joking,” Tang Zhong said, perfectly serious. “I mean it.”

So Su Shan put away her towel, walked back to the service line, and called out, “Second set.”

Tang Zhong smiled and switched sides with her.

He lost the first three balls.

The last serve was a high, near-net smash—very difficult to return.

Tang Zhong nimbly danced forward, arm extended, wrist pressed outward, body leaning at sixty-five degrees as he flicked the ball up.

Whoosh—

The orange ball spun over the net, aiming for the sharp angle on Su Shan’s left.

Su Shan ran for it, but she was a step too late.

Smack—

The tennis ball landed in bounds.

Su Shan turned and looked at Tang Zhong, a faint smile on her lips.

“Does that mean I passed?” Tang Zhong asked, smiling.

“Third set. If you get two points, you pass,” Su Shan said.

In the first three balls, Tang Zhong only returned one.

In other words, if he missed the last, Su Shan would still revoke his hitting partner privileges.

Su Shan served again.

She stood her ground, eyes fixed on Tang Zhong across the court.

Tang Zhong was on guard, body slightly crouched, gripping his racket tightly.

Su Shan’s lips curved into a graceful arc.

She tossed the ball high, waited for the perfect drop, and smashed it hard—

And Tang Zhong just stared blankly as the ball sailed over the net, over his head, past the boundary lines, and straight for the gate—

Su Shan had served a “suicide ball.”

Tang Zhong won without a fight.

“Looks like God and the beauties are both on my side,” Tang Zhong said as he returned the racket.

Su Shan accepted the racket and took a fresh towel to wipe it down, paying special attention to the grip where Tang Zhong’s hand had been—wiping it over and over and over again.

She slung both rackets over her shoulder and said, “Loser buys the late-night snack.”

“I’ll do it,” Tang Zhong said, reaching for the tennis bag. As a gentleman, that was his duty.

“We’re not close enough for you to carry my bag,” Su Shan replied, turning down his offer.

“That excuse is pretty demoralizing,” Tang Zhong protested.

“It’s the only way to get some peace,” Su Shan replied indifferently.

“Only you could say something like that with a straight face,” Tang Zhong laughed.

The school gate opened onto Xuefu Road, which turned into a food street at night.

Countless students, couples, and entire dorms poured out for snacks, barbecue, and beer—fried stinky tofu, crispy chicken bones, all sorts of skewers, and stir-fried dishes at open-air stalls, you name it.

“What do you want to eat?” Tang Zhong asked.

“Wonton soup,” Su Shan replied.

Su Shan led the way with the tennis bag on her back; her slender figure, long legs, and sporty shorts and sneakers made her look stylish and healthy.

As they walked, she attracted stares from boys and girls alike. Everyone pointed and whispered—it was obvious they recognized this woman as Su Shan, the school celebrity.

Tang Zhong followed at a polite distance, almost invisible. He wasn’t the only one; several other guys trailed along as well. By the time Tang Zhong noticed, he was already surrounded by a cluster of boys.

Su Shan was never short of admirers—Tang Zhong had long been prepared for this.

When they reached the corner, she sat down at a small cart selling wontons.

Su Shan glanced back at Tang Zhong and called out, “Madam, two bowls of wontons.”

“Girl, why order two bowls if you’re alone?” The plump, smiling lady bustled over, clearly familiar with Su Shan.

“For two people,” Su Shan replied.

Two people?

The guys who followed exchanged glances. Then a bespectacled fellow grinned and slipped into the seat beside Su Shan—

“Oh, so it’s two people,” the lady said with a knowing smile, giving Tang Zhong a meaningful look. “The usual?”

“Two large bowls. One with cilantro, one without,” Tang Zhong replied.

After every tennis match, Su Shan and Tang Xin would come for Liu Auntie’s wonton soup. The meat was fresh, the wrappers thin and smooth. With a few drops of sesame oil, it made your mouth water.

They usually ordered two small bowls, but Su Shan once told Tang Xin she could eat a large bowl by herself.

Tang Zhong could, too. So he ordered two large bowls.

Neither Tang Xin nor Su Shan ate cilantro. Tang Zhong liked it. So he ordered one with, one without.

The lady looked to Su Shan, who nodded. “That’s fine.”

“All right, just a moment,” the lady called, hurrying off to prepare their order.

“You don’t eat cilantro?” Su Shan asked, her tone clearly probing.

If Tang Zhong answered “yes,” then the bowl without cilantro was for Su Shan—how did he know she didn’t eat it?

But if he answered “no,” did that mean the bowl with cilantro was for Su Shan?

And there was another layer—“Actually, I like cilantro, and you only ordered one bowl with it; don’t you eat cilantro yourself?”—a subtle misdirection.

“I’m fine either way,” Tang Zhong said with a smile. “If you like cilantro, I’ll eat the one without. If you don’t, I’ll take the one with. I’m not sure of your taste, so I ordered both for you to choose.”

“That answer scores you some points,” Su Shan said.

“Seems I’ve got a knack for pleasing girls,” Tang Zhong replied with a laugh.

“But I don’t like that answer,” Su Shan said.

——

Tang Zhong thought it was really tough to communicate with women this clever.

Soon the two large bowls of wontons arrived. Just as Tang Xin had written in her diary, they were silky and delicious, making you want to lick the bowl clean.

Su Shan ate quickly—picking up a wonton with her chopsticks, waiting until it cooled, then popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, she’d already picked up the next one, letting it cool while she finished the first.

Experience is everywhere in life. Tang Zhong mimicked her, digging in.

The difference was, Su Shan ate with quiet elegance, effortlessly authentic.

Tang Zhong, on the other hand, wolfed his down—not nearly as photogenic as Su Shan, but equally unpretentious.

Very quickly, Tang Zhong finished his bowl. A large bowl only had twenty-one wontons—no challenge for him.

“Tasty,” he praised. “Madam, another large bowl, extra cilantro!”

Worried Su Shan would think he was a glutton, he explained, “Exercise really does work up an appetite. One bowl of noodles for dinner just didn’t cut it—”

In other words, he’d only had a bowl of noodles earlier, so eating more now was perfectly reasonable.

“We’re not close enough for you to explain yourself to me,” Su Shan said.

“Has anyone ever been driven to despair by your company?” Tang Zhong asked.

“Not yet,” Su Shan replied.

“Hope I’m not the first,” Tang Zhong laughed.

Before his second, extra-cilantro bowl arrived, a crowd surrounded their little stall.

Tang Zhong glanced at the densely packed faces, their hostile expressions, and said, “Are you full? If you are, you should leave first.”

“Why?” Su Shan asked, as if she hadn’t noticed the dramatic change in their surroundings.

The crowd, their gloating faces, the malice and aggression in their eyes—she ignored it all.

“Our relationship isn’t close enough for you to get beaten up with me,” Tang Zhong said with a wry smile.

(P.S.: I’m off to a wedding banquet today, so only two chapters. Tomorrow, three updates.)