Selaginella leaves (Part 3)

It's too late.

The moment the flash went off, the noise in the stadium reached its peak, and cheers swept in like a tidal wave. Sorkov stood on the podium, but could only hear his own heart beating faster and faster.

He opened his eyes with some difficulty, facing the blinding light, glanced down at his watch, and his anxiety became increasingly obvious.

The host continued speaking diligently, and each time a name was introduced, the audience erupted in thunderous cheers until his name was spoken through the microphone, at which point the noise suddenly and strangely subsided.

The people here don't know him, and even if they do, they might not be willing to cheer for him. But that's not a big problem. He had already anticipated this situation, so he wasn't surprised at all, and didn't even have any extra emotions.

Faced with such drastically different treatment, the host seemed somewhat at a loss, but dutifully continued to try to make amends. Solkov didn't know how to tell him that he didn't actually care about this at all; he just wanted the awards ceremony to end immediately.

He's really going to be too late.

Solkov frowned again, glancing at his watch countless times. Finally, the long presentation ended, and the lights in the hall dimmed, leaving only a few bright beams of light shining on the podium.

A somewhat unfamiliar melody reached his ears. He paused for a moment before realizing that it was Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake."

Zhou Zeyu seemed to have discussed this issue with him before. Athletes usually play their own country's national anthem after winning a championship, but neutral athletes can only play some so-called "neutral music." At that time, she didn't understand what exactly constituted neutral music and excitedly asked him if it would be the theme song from Pirates of the Caribbean.

"Can this be considered unisex music?" she thought seriously at the time. "What if it's perceived as having pirate tendencies?"

He also found it difficult to answer this question, wondering if Zhou Zeyu would be disappointed if he knew that the theme song he had been longing for had not been adopted.

But probably not. Beijing and Budapest are seven hours apart in time. He has just finished his match, but it is probably still late at night there. Zhou Zeyu is probably asleep, quietly worrying about the warm-up match the next day.

She suffered from insomnia while in Belgrade, having trouble sleeping night after night, with many dreams and frequent awakenings. She got a little better later, but no one knew exactly how much better she got. Zhou Zeyu could tell lies with ease, so he generally didn't believe her completely.

Sorkov pursed his lips and listened quietly to Swan Lake, but his eyes kept darting around the room as he looked for a way to get out without the reporters, but it was obvious that this was unlikely.

This was the last awards ceremony of the day, so all the reporters flocked there, blocking every possible path. He wasn't even sure if there was anywhere left to stand.

What made him even more anxious was that the piece of music was still not over.

He certainly didn't have any refined artistic talent, and if he did, it should have completely disappeared by now. Sorkov glanced at the time again, calculating his chances of catching the plane.

If the music continues and he fails to successfully dodge the crowd and run away, then the chances are absolutely 100%.

Although he doesn't believe in any gods, at the moment before the start of the race, Sorkov still devoutly prayed to every god he knew. Fortunately, he knew far too few, otherwise he might have wasted several more seconds.

The moment the music ended, he jumped off the podium, gave the surprised host an apologetic smile, and before anyone could react, he squeezed through the space between two huge cameras, managed to get past a few staff members, and then strode away.

He had looked at the venue map while he was idly waiting in the waiting area, so he ran quite smoothly and almost quickly bypassed all the crowds.

When he rushed out of the stadium, it was already night. He stood by the roadside, panting heavily, and hailed a taxi.

His damp hair clung to his forehead, then was blown about by the night wind, becoming tangled and messy. But he had no time to care. He slammed the car door shut and, panting, announced the name of the airport.

He sat in the car, his chest still heaving rapidly. He took a deep breath, glancing down at the time countless times, then tilted his head back slightly and opened the car window a crack.

The night view of Budapest rushed past him; he could only see the neon lights, blurred and dazzling, passing by him, seemingly heading nowhere.

But he knew, he knew where he was going.

Sorkov could hardly hide the smile on his face. He was glad that the howling wind had masked his laughter, and he was indeed pleased that the night was big enough to accommodate his eagerness. He could feel the wind still blowing wildly through his hair, but he didn't care about anything else.

He knew that he could hardly care about anything else anymore.

To be honest, his heart had been pounding for the past half hour, as if even the competition seemed insignificant, and that proved to be true.

He kept calculating how much time he would waste on various modes of transportation, and how he could perfectly catch those planes, buses, subways, and public buses so that he could appear before Zhou Zeyi without any problems.

A perfectly planned scheme with interconnected steps could only exist in imagination, so it was obvious that Sorkov's heart was pounding so hard it was almost stopping.

Whether it's because they miss each other too much or because they're too nervous, who can really say for sure?

The car stereo seemed to be playing a familiar song. He listened for a while and suddenly remembered hearing it on Zhou Zeyu's phone before. She had even patiently explained the meaning of the Chinese song to him.

If I could give up the whole world,

there would still be you at least,

He is worthy of my treasure.

And your presence here is a miracle of life.

And your presence here is a miracle of life.

Yes, it was a miracle.

Sorkov lowered his head and took out the photo on the back of his phone case. All the light sources inside the car relied on the fleeting lights outside, so Zhou Zeyu's smile flickered, but that didn't really matter.

Because soon, he will really see her.

...

But it was too late for him.

Eric and Anna sounded somewhat frustrated, their voices muffled over the phone: "The flight was delayed? You're so unlucky."

Sorkov stepped off the airport shuttle bus, completely exhausted. He could only manage a bitter, helpless laugh. "What bad luck. How are things where you are?"

The sounds on the other end of the phone were chaotic, as if they were in some noisy place. After a while, someone spoke up, "The game is over."

He shrugged. Although he had expected this result, he still felt a sense of disappointment that he couldn't quite put his finger on when he actually found out.

"Hmm..." he carefully chose his words, "How is she?"

A strange rumbling sound suddenly came from the receiver, and the human voice was filtered out to almost nothing. He had to concentrate hard to make out the few fragmented words, but soon even that faint sound disappeared, and the other party hung up the phone.

Sorkov glanced at the phone screen where the call had ended, shook his head, and casually put the phone in his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a taxi parked on the side of the road, so he jogged over, bent down, and tried to talk to the driver inside.

However, it was the rear window that was lowered.

Zhou Zeyu's face slowly became clear in front of him. She leaned against the car window, looking at Sorkov who was speechless with surprise, and a smile slowly appeared on her face.

The car door was pushed open by T, and she stepped out of the car, opening her arms to him.

However, Sorkov just stared at her expressionlessly, slightly lost in thought.

Zhou Zeyu glared at him with a hint of reproach, then stepped forward and hugged him instead of standing there dumbly waiting for him to come to his senses.

After an unknown amount of time, Sorkov slowly raised his hand and gently placed it on her back. He vaguely heard himself speak, his voice so hoarse it was almost unlike his own.

"How could you..."

Zhou Zeyu ended the brief hug, pulled away slightly, and looked at his chest, seemingly smiling, "You wore this all the way? No wonder they were all staring at you."

He looked down and saw the gold medal hanging on his chest. He let out a hasty laugh, reached out and took it off, then hung it around Zhou Zeyu's neck.

"Are you serious?" She couldn't help but laugh. "I can't swim."

"I know," he said, straightening her collar briefly. He seemed to remember something, staring blankly at her clothes for a moment before turning her around to compare them, looking at her thoughtfully.

Zhou Zeyi raised an eyebrow. "Familiar?"

Of course he was familiar with her; she was wearing the same dress when he first saw her at the newsstand.

So many years have passed, and many things have changed dramatically, but it seems that nothing has changed. Standing here, Solkov can clearly see Zhou Zeyu, who was originally only seen in that newspaper.

She was still wearing that jersey, with the gold medal around her neck, and looked at him with a smile.

Sorkov suddenly felt a little dazed. He was finally able to ask the question that had been hidden in his heart for so many years, right now, right here, right in front of Zhou Zeyu.

He looked at her and asked:

Zhou Zeyi, are you happy now?

Are they still happy?

Zhou Zeyu was stunned for a moment, a fleeting look of melancholy appearing on her face. But soon, she lowered her head, seemingly chuckled softly, and when she raised her head again, there seemed to be a faint glimmer of tears in her eyes.

What do you think? Can someone as imperfect as me find happiness?

Solkov nodded, reached out, and gently brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

All I know is that you have always been perfect in my heart.

Zhou Zeyi chuckled, "What's this, favoritism?"

“Hmm,” he answered without hesitation, “but not really, because you’ve always been very good.”

"Yes, of course I've always been fine."

Zhou Zeyu took a deep breath and spoke with a smile.

"So I will always be happy."

//

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