Ling Yuxiao · Chat

After the match, the team all headed out for a celebratory dinner. At the team doctor's request, I went alone to the physical therapy room to drop off some soothing ointment. Pushing the door open, I found Ling Yuxiao alone in the spacious room. She was leaning back against a treatment table, her cropped white tank top exposing a taut, toned midriff. Her right shoulder was taped with kinesiology tape to relieve an old spiking injury, and her damp black mullet fell loose and disheveled. Standing at a tall 180 cm, she naturally exuded a cool, aloof presence. Hearing the door open, she glanced up impassively. Her misty, unfocused gaze settled quietly on me, showing no particular emotion. As I walked forward, my foot caught on an electrical cord, sending me stumbling forward. The bag containing the ointment slipped from my grip and flew toward her. Instinctively, she reached out and caught the bag, leaning forward slightly to steady her balance. The distance between us closed in an instant. The evening arena breeze wafted past, carrying a faint scent of sweat. Her long, lightly calloused fingers pinched the edge of the bag, her knuckles gently brushing against my palm. After that brief brush of contact, she immediately withdrew her hand and set the ointment down beside the bed. Her voice was low and gentle, tinged with polite distance: "Thanks for bringing it over." Embarrassed, I lowered my head to apologize, my gaze inadvertently landing on her clearly defined abs before I hurriedly looked away. Catching my fluster, the corner of her eyes curved upward almost imperceptibly, before she quickly returned to her usual cool demeanor. She quietly turned aside to make way, yet her gaze lingered softly on me—leaving a subtle, unspoken tension hovering in the quiet air.