Gardenia
In June in Linxia, the sun shone like a charred iron coin, hanging overhead and refusing to set. Yu Chen stood at the entrance of the sports school, looking up at the bronze plaque—the eight Wei stele characters of "Linxia City Sports School" were scorching hot from the sun, their edges curling up like a scabbed scar. She reached out to pick at it, and her fingernails immediately filled with verdigris, releasing a metallic, sweet smell.
“It’s been three years,” she counted softly, her voice weak from the heat. “One thousand and ninety-five days, every day at 6:10, I touch this sign once.”
Now, for the last time. She rubbed her hand along the seam of her trousers, leaving a faint green mark, like blood that hadn't been wiped clean.
The backpack was 32 inches, dark blue, with a chipped thermos cup stuffed in the side mesh pocket. The zipper hissed shut—closing not only her vest, protective gear, and wrist straps, but also her entire teenage years. Half a sip of cold glucose water remained at the bottom of the cup, its hollow "thump" echoing like a heartbeat.
She looked down at her knuckles. The bruises weren't pure black; they were ink mixed with gentian violet, then coated with a layer of varnish—Li Wei's nosebleed splattered on them, like a title for the painting.
She used all her strength in that high roundhouse kick, her right leg stretched into a full moon shape in the air, her instep trembling with tension. She heard a "crack" sound, unable to tell whether it came from the other person's nose or her own ankle.
The junior sister's name was Tian Ying, she was fourteen years old, and her ponytail tie was a pink strawberry. When she sobbed, a clear bubble came out of her nose. Yu Chen wanted to reach out and pop it, but was afraid of scaring her, so in the end he just gently flicked it on the brim of her hat: "Don't cry, no one will be pressing your legs down anymore."
The training hall corridor was 37 steps long, she had counted them. But today it felt like she had walked 370 steps—every step was a step into the past: the first time she wore protective gear at age 12, the concussion she suffered at age 14, the city youth championship she won at age 15, and the time she secretly wrote "Xiao Wei" on the mat and then crossed it out at age 16. The lights were stark white, making the floor mat look like a giant band-aid, sticking all her footprints to it.
The last mirror by the door, she habitually looked at herself before leaving. Today, the person in the mirror was unfamiliar: her short, wolf-tailed hair was stuck to the side of her neck with sweat, the bright red ends like a fuse burning to its tip, ready to explode at any moment. She grinned, her canine teeth pressing against her lower lip—she smiled so hard that her lips split open, blood seeping out, like applying cinnabar to her reflection in the mirror.
"Yu Chen!"
The sound cleaved down from the heatwave, deep and slightly husky, like the dullest sound of a boxing glove hitting leather.
Xiao Wei stood three steps away, her 186-centimeter shadow completely enveloping Yu Chen. She wore a black, tight-fitting vest, the straps digging into her collarbone, the lines of her pectoral muscles undulating beneath the fabric like an undercurrent. In her right hand, she held a bottle of ice water, the bottle's walls condensed with droplets that slid down her wrist, forming a clear stream that dripped onto the ground with a soft "plop," instantly swallowed by the sun.
Yu Chen first noticed her shoes—black boxing shoes, the laces tied meticulously, the toes worn white from countless forward and backward steps. Above that were her sharply defined calf muscles, and flesh-colored kinesiology tape on her knees, the edges curled up like scales about to fall off.
"Are you crazy?" Xiao Wei spoke, her voice low but rising at the end like the crack of a whip. She took a half step forward, her shadow completely engulfing Yu Chen. "For a little girl, you'd treat your future like a cigarette butt?"
Yu Chen shrugged, the backpack strap leaving a red mark on her shoulder. She wanted to say, "Future prospects are nothing," but the words that came out were, "I can't stand it." The three words were like three blocks of ice, melting as soon as they were uttered, without even an echo.
Xiao Wei suddenly reached out. Yu Chen instinctively leaned back, her neck hitting the edge of the bronze plaque, the pain making her vision go white. That hand, however, only reached her collar—index finger and thumb pinching her collar, which was askew on the left, and gently pulling it to the right. The fingertips brushed against her carotid artery, the temperature hotter than sunlight, like a branding iron, touching and then leaving, but leaving a string of tiny sparks that crackled into her eardrums.
“Your dad called me.” Xiao Wei’s voice lowered, like a coach’s whisper in the corner of a boxing ring. “Linxia No. 1 High School, reporting tomorrow.”
Yu Chen scoffed, his tongue pressed against his canine tooth, sharpening his "tsk" into a piercing tone: "He throws money at people, and you're handing him bricks?"
Xiao Wei didn't reply, he just stared at her. His gaze was like the overhead light of a boxing ring, so bright it was almost white, illuminating every little thought. Yu Chen felt uneasy under his gaze, and started to pry open the screws on the bronze plate. A small cut appeared on her fingertip, and a bead of blood rolled out, bright and dazzling.
"Yu Chen." Xiao Wei suddenly leaned down, his voice close to her ear, like a wisp of hot smoke, "I need you—"
The lingering note trembled from the heat, like a stretched sugar thread stuck to the eardrum, impossible to tear off.
"—I'm fine."
Three words, as light as a sigh, yet so heavy they made Yu Chen's shoulders slump. She looked up and saw a tiny bead of sweat clinging to Xiao Wei's eyelashes, trembling gently with each breath, like a star about to fall. In that instant, she suddenly wanted to reach out and catch it, yet feared the bead of sweat would crumble into water in her palm, leaving not even a trace of evidence.
The wind came, carrying the bitter smell of the rubber track melting in the sun. Xiao Wei straightened up, her shadow receding from her like the tide going out, leaving behind a pile of seashells. She shoved a glass of ice water into Yu Chen's hand; the water droplets on the bottle immediately rolled into Yu Chen's fingers, making her shiver from the cold.
"The car's over there." Xiao Wei raised his chin; the black motorcycle was parked under the shade of a tree, its seat gleaming in the sun, like a red-hot iron plate. "Shall I take you home?"
Yu Chen shook her head, clutching the bottle of ice water so tightly it cracked. She suddenly remembered when she was 14, when Xiao Wei first came to the sports school for a demonstration match. She was hit so hard that her eyebrow was split open and blood smeared her left eye, but she still insisted on finishing the match. When she came off the stage, Xiao Wei handed her a bottle of water in the same way, saying, "If you want to win, you have to learn to feel pain first."
Now, the bottle of water has been replaced with ice water, and the phrase has been changed to "I need you to be well"—the packaging has been upgraded, but the core remains the same: give her a reason she has no choice but to accept it, leaving her with no way to retreat.
Xiao Wei turned around first, her shadow stretched long in the sunlight, like a road leading to the unknown. Yu Chen stood still, counting her steps—one step, two steps, three steps… On the seventh step, she suddenly called out:
"Xiao Wei!"
The world boxing champion stopped, without turning around, only his right shoulder slightly tensed, like a drawn bow.
Yu Chen pressed the ice water against her burning neck, her voice dry from the heat: "Tomorrow... will you come?"
Xiao Wei turned her head to the side, sunlight scattering like gold dust on her eyelashes, and a tiny smile curved her lips, like the snapping sound of a boxing ring rope being pulled to its limit.
"Smack."
"It depends on my mood."
She left, the motorcycle roaring, like a black panther leaping into the heat. Yu Chen stood there, ice water dripping down the bottle's side onto the toe of her shoe, leaving a small, dark mark, like someone had secretly drawn an inconspicuous entrance on her world map.
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