After her shower, Zou Yameng sat beside Lu Li in a tiny tank top and hot pants, her long, fair legs stretched out. A gentle baby shampoo scent clung to her skin—Sister Yameng only used that brand, firstly for its affordability, secondly for its simple formula. She avoided hairdryers too, convinced they damaged hair.
Lu Li kept his eyes locked on the TV, silent and still. Until Sister Yameng glanced at her phone, then shot him a sideways look. “You didn’t peek at my phone, did you?”
“Huh?” Lu Li didn’t turn. “Phone? What phone? Something wrong with it?”
Satisfied, she nodded. “Dry my hair.”
He sprang up, grabbed a clean towel, and gently patted her damp strands. His touch was so soothing Zou Yameng leaned back against the cushion, eyes half-closed.
Unintentionally, his gaze dipped toward the deep cleavage beneath her tank top—a valley where countless elites of his adolescent kingdom had perished in dreams. The damp gray fabric clung perfectly to her skin. No bra. If Lu Li ranked tank top colors, gray topped the list, white second. On any woman with curves, gray held a quiet, magnetic allure.
Her legs were flawless—thighs soft yet toned, calves lean, the hip-to-thigh line clean with no stray fat, marked by disciplined training. Clueless guys might dismiss them as “thick legs,” but Lu Li knew: this was a one-in-ten-thousand treasure.
He jerked his eyes away. *How lewd.* He blamed raging teenage hormones.
Was it his imagination? Lately, Sister Yameng dressed lighter at home. Used to be all long sleeves.
“Monday’s the Six-Province Tournament,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “Leaving tomorrow. Won’t be back for a month.”
Six-Province Tournament. Memories surged. This was her high school career’s pinnacle. A strong finish meant a ticket to the national team. Last life, she’d fallen in the quarterfinals—no bronze, no glory. Only entered the provincial team later as a reserve, thanks to her coach’s pull.
He ached for her to win gold. But he wasn’t God. No system. No magic. For someone as proud as her, accepting a reserve spot must’ve stung deep.
“Go get it, sis. I believe in you.”
“Mm.” A sweet smile bloomed. However tough things got, having her little brother waiting made it worth it. *For him, I’ll win… well, at least bronze.*
Lu Li set the towel aside and began massaging her scalp. His earnestness made her giggle.
“Stop—it tickles!”
“Don’t move. It’s a massage.”
“You know how?”
“Obviously. Good?”
“Surprisingly professional.”
Laughter faded. Her mood shifted. Teammates… less than a year left together. Where would they all go? Would they ever meet again?
Youth was a train. Some boarded. Some got off. Some goodbyes were forever.
She missed Zhou Wen’s cheeky jokes, sparring sessions, debating cafeteria deals and sneaker cushioning, gossiping about breakups and jerks.
She feared loss—not just things. People.
*What if I lose him too?* She shook the thought away. *Lu Li… he’d never get lost. Right?*
“Lizi.”
“Hm? Too hard?”
“No… Do you still have elementary school friends’ contacts?”
“Nope. Old account got hacked. All gone.”
“Good. You used to play with girls daily. Saved you from flirting.”
“Did I?” Lu Li flushed.
“Every day! Little girls knocking our door: ‘Is Lu Li home?’ You fought boys at night, charmed girls by day—total heartthrob.” She smiled.
Lu Li barely recalled it. Childhood felt like a distant utopia—cherished only in memory. But his had been happy. No regrets.
“Playing with girls isn’t half as fun as with my sister.”
“Pfft. You screamed ‘You’re not my mom!’ every time I tweaked your ear.” She laughed, eyes glistening. She sat up quickly. “Hair’s dry. Time to cook.”
“Sis.”
“I’m not hungry. Watch TV with me.”
She settled back.
“If you’re tired… lean on me.”
“I’m not a kid.” But seeing his open arms, she leaned into his chest, staring blankly at the screen.
Lu Li rubbed her head softly, humming a tune she’d never heard—gentle, warm. She stayed silent, unwilling to break the peace.
The K-drama ended. News began. Cradled in his arms, Sister Yameng slept soundly, face serene as a child’s. He held her, breathing in the faint shampoo scent, lost in thought.
Next morning, before school, Lu Li spotted her with a small suitcase. He rushed to take her bag. “So much?”
“It’s a month.” She sighed. “Take care while I’m gone. No instant noodles. Here—take this thousand.”
“For what?”
“Food. Don’t starve.”
“That’s living off you. No.” Truth was, he knew *she* needed it more.
*Poverty brings endless worries to a couple.* Not that they were one—but he felt that ache. To someone like Chu Jingyi, a thousand yuan was pocket change. She’d never grasp the weight of haggling over every single bill.
To ease her mind, he took only five hundred.
Later, at school, Chu Jingyi in the back seat dropped a quiet bomb:
“Lu Li… are you buying a computer?”
