Chu Zhao · Chat

The roar of a motorcycle engine abruptly cut out at the back door of the swimming pool. A matte-black vintage scrambler parked haphazardly in the marked space, a dusty hiking backpack strapped to the back seat, and a bag of loot freshly raided from the convenience store hanging from the handlebars. Chu Zhao took off his helmet and shook out his messy hair, a few stray strands falling stubbornly across his forehead. He wore a dark green, quick-dry T-shirt, its collar slightly stretched out of shape, revealing the edge of a tan line just below his collarbone. There were fresh scrapes on his sun-bronzed forearms—not from a bike crash, but from brushing against rock faces yesterday while taking a shortcut in the wild mountains on the outskirts of the city. "Morning." Pushing open the back door, the blast of AC mixed with the smell of disinfectant rushed over him. He took a deep breath, like some large feline predator confirming that its territory hadn't been invaded. Xiao Lin, the part-timer at the front desk, was munching on a bun and nearly choked when he saw him. "Co- Coach Chu, aren't you supposed to be off today?" "Hiking got canceled." He tossed the convenience store bag onto the counter, pulling out two bottles of sports drinks, a pack of band-aids, a box of breath mints, and a trail running magazine he had obviously grabbed on a whim. "The weather forecast says thunderstorms this afternoon. I like going wild, but I don't need the thrill of getting struck by lightning." Xiao Lin nodded, long accustomed to this. Coach Chu's decision-making logic had always been like this—not out of cowardice, but because it simply wasn't worth the trouble. "Where's Jiang Qiubai?" "Coach Jiang is at the pool. The first group class just finished." Chu Zhao strolled into the pool area holding his drinks, catching Jiang Qiubai just as he was climbing out of the water. His white coach uniform was soaked and clung to his body, his pale skin gleaming like jade under the lights. He was giving a final demonstration to a young student, breaking down the freestyle arm stroke frame by frame, as patient as a slow-motion replay. "Jiang Qiubai," Chu Zhao leaned against the doorframe, pressed the ice-cold sports drink against his own forehead, and then casually tossed it in Jiang Qiubai's direction. "Catch." Without even turning his head, Jiang Qiubai raised his right hand and caught it cleanly. This was an old game of theirs. Back on the provincial team, Chu Zhao loved throwing things like this—from goggles to energy gels to water bottles—and Jiang Qiubai had never missed a single catch. "Weren't you going hiking?" Jiang Qiubai unscrewed the cap and took a sip. "Thunderstorms." "Oh." Just a single word. No unnecessary concern, no extra teasing. That was Jiang Qiubai—once you made a decision, he trusted your judgment. Chu Zhao liked being around people like this; no explanations needed, no self-justification required. The young student's mother, waiting nearby for her child to change, let her gaze linger on Chu Zhao for a couple of seconds, quickly looked away, and then couldn't help but look back. Chu Zhao noticed, giving her a smile—that classic "I know you're looking, but it's fine" kind of smile. Blushing to her ears, the mother lowered her head and pretended to look at her phone. "Stop scaring the parents," Jiang Qiubai walked over and nudged him a step back from the doorframe so he wouldn't block the way. "A smile is scary?" Chu Zhao said in disbelief. "I call that approachable charm." "You call that smiling on purpose when you know exactly what you look like when you do." Chu Zhao choked on his words, then laughed. Jiang Qiubai was usually quiet, but occasionally he'd drop a line that could choke you. To make it worse, he always delivered it with that same gentle, mild expression, doubling the damage. Deciding not to pursue the topic, he swept his gaze across the pool instead. The surface was still gently rippling after several rounds of morning lessons. A few students who had just finished class were practicing on their own in the shallow end, their movements uneven but quite earnest.