Rival +1
"Family banquet, a week, Paris."
When Yu Jing pushed the gold-embossed invitation in front of Yu Chen, she was changing the Velcro straps on her boxing gloves. Her bright red hair hung down at the ends, like a persistent, unextinguished flame. She looked up, raising an eyebrow: "Need me to tie your tie?"
“We need you to be the face of the event,” Qin Yu added with a smile. “The Teze family is hosting, and all eligible children from the royal family branches must be present.”
So, fourteen days after the competition ended, Yu Chen's passport was stamped with a French entry stamp. When the flight landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, it was raining in Paris, but she wore her baseball cap backwards, revealing her entire forehead—like bringing a ball of fire into a traditional Chinese ink painting.
The banquet was held at the Château de la Terre, an hour's drive from Paris. Marble corridors were adorned with oil paintings, and candlelight flickered like a sea of stars in the crystal chandeliers. Yu Chen wore a dark blue cheongsam, its collar buttoned high, yet it couldn't conceal the faint pink mark on her collarbone. She excused herself to get some fresh air and slipped onto the terrace—
The rain stopped, and the moon hung above the fountain, like a bronze plaque polished to a shine. She raised her hand, feigning a punch, the force of which startled white doves. A very soft gasp came from behind her.
“Sorry…” The boy’s voice had a French accent, but he spoke in Chinese, low and soft, “I scared the pigeons.”
Yu Chen turned around—
He was 190 cm tall, wearing a smoky blue suit with a tiny sapphire pinned to his lapel; his hair was a cool brown, but his pupils were a true lake blue, like glass soaked in snowmelt. He lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting two cold, dagger-like reflections in the moonlight, almost transparently introverted.
"It's nothing, I was just scared." Yu Chen smiled, a small flame appearing at the corner of her eye. "Your Chinese is good, what's your name?"
“Aiglen Tezer, you can just call me Tezer.” The boy’s ears turned slightly red, his gaze falling on her right hand—the knuckles still bearing thin calluses. He added softly, “You’re… a boxer?”
“Hmm, 60kg, Yu Chen.” She extended her fist and lightly bumped his shoulder, as if giving a boxing salute to a stranger. “Don’t be afraid, I don’t hit the audience.”
But Teze quietly hid his right hand behind his back—he had just secretly taken a picture of her profile. In the photo, the girl's raised chin was gilded with a layer of rough gold by the moonlight, like the sun setting into an ancient castle.
The next day, in the afternoon garden.
Teze imbued his introverted nature into his actions: head bowed, sleeves clenched, gaze only daring to fall on the tips of her shoes. Yu Chen, however, seemed to have pocketed the sunshine, tossing it away as she walked—
Do France have sports schools?
"Yes, but I only practice horseback riding." He paused, then added, "Do you ride horses?"
“I’ve ridden one,” Yu Chen laughed, “but that was for physical training, not for a leisurely stroll.”
As she spoke, she raised her hand and made a feint, the wind from the punch brushing past Teze's ear and startling the stray hairs behind his ear. The boy's ears turned even redder, but he quietly reached his left hand into his suit pocket and pulled out a sapphire cufflink—a small royal crest, like a star weighed down by snow.
"This... is for you." His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "It's the color of your eyes."
Yu Chen paused for half a second, then took it. The gemstone refracted in her palm, like a small piece of ice folding the Parisian sky into it. She raised an eyebrow, tucked her cuff into the side of her baseball cap, and gave it a jingle like a bell: "Thanks, the sun accepts the stars."
Teze lowered his eyes, his eyelashes trembling like snow melting in the sun.
On the evening of the third day, at a private dock on the Seine.
Teze chartered a vintage wooden boat, its white sails billowing in the wind like a straightened lake. Only the two of them were on deck—Yu Chen had changed out of her cheongsam into a denim jacket, her bright red hair peeking out from behind her hat like an unquenchable flame.
As the boat passed Notre Dame, the bells tolled seven times, and the setting sun gilded the river into a golden racetrack. Teze handed her a glass of non-alcoholic sparkling water, took a sip of mimosa herself, and her earlobes flushed slightly from the alcohol.
"I...have a request." He lowered his head, his fingertips gripping the rim of the cup. "Could you...teach me boxing?"
Yu Chen raised an eyebrow, slammed the cup down on the table with a crisp "ding," and asked, "Now?"
“Now.” The boy nodded, his gaze fixed on the calluses on her right hand, as if drawn to it by a magnet.
She laughed, turned her baseball cap backwards, and reached out to grab his wrist—his pulse pounded wildly against her fingertips, like a startled fawn. She led him to the open deck at the stern, straightened his legs, and demonstrated the basic standing posture:
"Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, weight in the middle... Yes, fists covering the chin."
Teze studied diligently, but was so nervous that he moved his hands and feet in unison. Yu Chen was amused and reached out to pat him on the shoulder: "Relax, I'm not the coach, I don't yell at people."
The boy took a deep breath, his gaze falling on her profile—the setting sun gilded her eyelashes, like the sun falling into his palm. He suddenly spoke, his voice low but clear:
"Yu Chen, I think I've... fallen in love with you."
The bell rang for the eighth time at that very moment, like a background bell added to a confession.
Yu Chen paused for half a second, the setting sun making the tips of her ears slightly red, but she stubbornly raised the corners of her mouth: "Fall in love with me? Then you'll have to take a punch from me first."
As soon as she finished speaking, she extended her right fist and lightly touched his shoulder, like a boxing salute to a stranger—but it was so light that it didn't even stir the wind.
Teze quietly reached his left hand into his suit pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper—handwritten, with French and Chinese characters intertwined, like two heartbeats overlapping:
"If the sun would so, I would like to hang the stars next to it, even if it only illuminates the sun for a second."
Yu Chen took it, folded it into a small square, and stuffed it into the pocket of his denim jacket, his voice low but bright:
"One second is too long, I'll take it."
Day 7, Charles de Gaulle Airport.
Teze described his introverted nature in action: he only dared to quietly hold Yu Chen's right hand in front of the security checkpoint, his fingertips caressing her calloused skin, his voice so low it was almost inaudible:
"I will go watch the national finals."
Yu Chen smiled, turned her baseball cap backwards, and reached out to hug him—briefly, but enough to leave the sun's warmth on his chest. She released him, turned, and walked towards the boarding gate, waving goodbye as if to put a dash on a delayed answer—
To be continued.
As the plane took off, Paris shrank beneath the window like a polished bronze medal. Yu Chen pulled a handwritten piece of paper from his pocket; French and Chinese were folded together, like two heartbeats folded into the same coordinate system—
On the left, the stadium bell tolls;
On the right are star-shaped hanging lights;
In the middle is her unfinished solution, titled "The Future."
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