sound
Yu Chen folded the 5-point test paper in half, then in half again, and scratched it hard along the creases with her fingernails, as if she wanted to gouge out the word "waste".
The paper was pressed into a hard block in her palm, the edges digging into her fingertips, and the pain made her laugh instead.
She looked up, her gaze passing over An Yi's shoulder and landing on the digital clock hanging above the blackboard—8:27, thirteen minutes before get out of class ended.
Thirteen minutes is enough for a three-round amateur match, and also enough for her to rewrite the word "shame".
An Yi had returned to the first row, his back ramrod straight. The collar of his white school uniform shirt had been washed until it had a cold white stain line, like an invisible warning line.
Yu Chen walked over, clutching the "paper brick." His steps were light, but each step landed on the seams of the floor, making a "tap, tap, tap" rhythm.
The whole class automatically went silent. Even Zheng Baoguo forgot to continue writing on the blackboard, and the chalk hanging on the blackboard shook out a bit of white dust.
She stood in front of An Yi's desk, her left hand in her pocket, and her right hand gently placed the "paper brick" in the center of his textbook—like planting a small white flag of surrender.
“An,” she said, her voice not loud, but loud enough for the three rows in front and behind to hear clearly, “next time when you hand out the papers, don’t let go so early… I’m afraid you won’t be able to catch them.”
After saying that, she flicked her index finger, and the paper brick flipped over with a "snap," turning the 5 points face down into a blank space face up—the blank space was marked with three very fine marks made with her fingernail, like the stitching of a boxing glove.
An Yi looked up, and for the first time, a fine crack appeared in her amber eyes.
Before he could speak, Yu Chen had already turned around, returned to the front of the podium, bent down and picked up the two broken pieces of chalk, holding one piece in his left hand and the other between his right fingers, like holding a pair of knuckle dusters.
She faced the blackboard, raised her hand, and in one swift motion—
“sin(α+β)=sinαcosβ+cosαsinβ”
The chalk made a sharp "squeak" under her fingers, and the dust fell in a flurry, like the trail of white gunpowder.
After finishing writing, she casually tossed the remaining piece of chalk behind her. The chalk tip traced a clean parabola in the air before landing steadily back in the groove without even bouncing.
"Teacher Zheng," she said, brushing the dust off her hands, her voice as flat as if she were reciting weigh-in numbers, "I understand now, may I return to my seat?"
Zheng Baoguo's "cross-sea bridge" has completely collapsed. The age spot on the corner of his mouth trembled wildly, but he couldn't squeeze out a single word.
The whole class was silent, except for An Yi's knuckles tapping lightly on the edge of the table, like a referee ringing a bell to announce the end of the first round.
—
As soon as the bell rang, the door of Class 5 of Senior Three was immediately crowded with heads from other classes.
The news spread faster than a heatwave—"Sports school transfer student publicly confronts top student," "Zheng Baoguo is so angry he blacks out," "5-point female warrior writes formula on the spot"...
Yu Chen pulled her baseball cap down as low as possible, tucked the ends of her bright red hair into her collar, and walked along the wall towards the stairwell.
Just as she turned the corner, a hand reached out from behind the fire hydrant, grasped her wrist, and gently tugged—
She instinctively twisted her arm and hooked it back, but lost her strength when she smelled the cold, bitter cedar scent.
An Yi led her into the empty equipment room, closed the door behind her, locked it with a "click," like a referee closing his mouthguard.
"Two things," he said, his voice low but no longer icy.
"First, I apologize for using the word 'useless.' Second—"
He paused, then took out an A4 sheet of paper folded twice from the inside pocket of his school uniform. Unfolding it, he saw the monthly exam rankings for the entire grade.
He drew a line on his name in the first line with his index finger, then slid to the last line—the second to last line, Yu Chen, 5 points.
“I need a sparring partner,” he said.
Yu Chen raised an eyebrow, cracking his knuckles with a "crack": "The top student from An University, you're asking the worst student to be your sparring partner? Did your brain get caught in the cross-sea bridge?"
“It’s not boxing.” An Yi lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting two cold, sharp lines on his eyelids. “It’s math. The provincial team selection is next month, and the written test accounts for 30%. I always run out of time on the last big algebra question. You talk about rhythm and breaking down the problem into steps in Sanda, but I need someone to break down my problem-solving steps into rounds.”
He spoke quickly, but a faint pink tinge slowly seeped from the tips of his ears, like snow illuminated by the setting sun.
Yu Chen didn't speak, but simply reached out and grabbed the ranking list, pulling it down—
With a "ripping" sound, An Yi's name was torn off, crumpled into a small ball, and stuffed into the gap between the fountain pen on his chest.
"Deal." She grinned, her canine teeth touching her lower lip. "But my tuition is very expensive, you can't afford it."
“The entire second floor of my family library is yours to use,” An Yi replied quickly, as if he had already calculated his offer. “And my sister’s old national team training notes; she owes me a favor.”
Yu Chen's eyes flickered slightly—the national team notes, those four words carried a weight no less than Xiao Wei's "I need you to be well."
“Okay.” She reached out and hooked her little finger around his, like a boxing ring bump. “One hour every evening after self-study. Ten days first, then I’ll punch you once. If you can last three rounds, the contract will be renewed.”
An Yi's fingers tightened as she hooked his hand, and for the first time, a genuine smile appeared on his lips, like a thin crack appearing on a layer of ice.
"make a deal."
—
Evening self-study ended at 22:10.
Yu Chen carried An Yi's school uniform jacket and came out of the side door of the library. The night wind carried the smell of rubber from the playground, like chilled pine resin.
She had just slung her coat over her shoulder when a beam of headlights suddenly pierced the darkness—
Black motorcycle, no license plate, headlights like two cold white suns.
Xiao Wei braced himself on one foot, took off his helmet, and tossed out a head of short hair that was sticky with sweat. Water dripped from the ends of his hair onto his collarbone, forming a shimmering river.
She wasn't wearing training clothes, but a black leather jacket with the collar zipper only reaching her sternum, over which she wore a gray vest, the edges of which were stretched slightly by her muscles.
"Get in the car." The two words, hoarse from the long journey, were like ice water handed to you from the corner of a boxing ring, leaving no room for refusal.
Yu Chen turned around and saw An Yi still standing in the lamplight at the second-floor window of the library, clutching the draft paper filled with sine formulas in her hand, her knuckles silently tapping on the glass, once, twice.
She gestured towards the window with her chin, mouthing "three rounds," then turned around, crumpled An Yi's school uniform into a ball, stuffed it into the side pocket of her backpack, and climbed onto the back of Xiao Wei's bike.
The motorcycle roared, like a black panther tearing through the night, and rushed all the way to the abandoned roller skating rink behind the school.
—
The roller skating rink's iron gate was rusty, and moonlight leaked through the dilapidated roof, like a shattered mirror.
Xiao Wei parked the car in the center of the field, turned off the engine, and the world was instantly filled only with the chirping of cicadas.
She didn't get out of the car, but instead supported herself on one foot, turned around, and her gaze fell on Yu Chen's right hand—the bruises on his knuckles had turned green, with the edges showing a sickly bright yellow.
"Did you hit someone?" Xiao Wei's voice was low, but with a hint of a smile, like a coach seeing his student secretly practicing extra.
"No." Yu Chen moved his wrist. "I broke a few pieces of chalk."
Xiao Wei laughed out loud, the vibration of his chest traveling to the back seat where you were sitting in the morning, like a low-frequency drumbeat.
She suddenly reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of black hand bandage. She bit open the Velcro, grabbed Yu Chen's right hand, and began wrapping it around it, round and round.
As the fingertips brushed against the palm lines, each circle left a faint trail of fire.
"Linxia No. 1 Middle School is not a sports school." Xiao Wei wrapped the bandage up to the last loop, biting it off with his teeth, his voice mixed with the sound of tearing fabric fibers, "Stop using your bare fists to solve problems."
Yu Chen didn't pull her hand away, letting her press the end of the bandage into the gap of her wrist bone, like installing the last fuse on a bomb.
"And what about you?" She looked up, her gaze falling on Xiao Wei's left eyebrow—where there was a very faint scar, from an elbow strike he received three years ago during the national finals. "What are you doing here? Did you come specifically to bring bandages?"
Xiao Wei didn't answer, but instead pulled a black canvas bag from under the back seat, opened it to reveal brand-new red boxing gloves inside—
60 kg, custom-made, with a line of tiny gold lettering embroidered on the back of the hand:
“YC 2025”
Yu Chen's breath hitched.
"Provincial team selection, women's 60kg category, there's only one wildcard spot." Xiao Wei handed her the boxing gloves, his voice as soft as if reading a belated love letter, "I got it for you."
"Conditions?" Yu Chen took the boxing gloves, rubbing the gold lines with his fingertips as if rubbing a fresh wound.
"On the day of the finals, play an exhibition match with me." Xiao Wei leaned down, his forehead touching hers, their breaths mingling, their voices so low that only they could hear each other. "Let me see just how bright a fire I lit myself can explode."
Under the moonlight, Yu Chenyan's bright red hair ends intertwined with Xiao Wei's jet-black short hair, like two tongues of fire of different colors, quietly licking each other's oxygen in the night.
She reached out and hooked her little finger around Xiao Wei's little finger, just like she had done with An Yi half an hour earlier—
But this time, she used the force of a boxing ring punch.
"make a deal."
In the distance, the clock tower of Linxia No. 1 Middle School struck 11:00 PM, its chimes echoing through the abandoned roller skating rink like a referee ringing the final bell.
Yu Chen looked down and saw what was at her feet—
On one side was An Yi's school uniform, pure white, which looked cold in the moonlight;
On one side were Xiao Wei's boxing gloves, scarlet, like a competitive spirit that had been ignited prematurely.
She suddenly realized that what she was about to face was not just the provincial team selection, nor simply a back-and-forth between mathematics and Sanda (Chinese kickboxing)—
In early summer in Linxia, the bells rang simultaneously.
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