Feng Qingye · Chat

He was in the pool teaching a little boy whose whole body barely reached his thigh. The kid was practicing his arm swings, lost control of his strength, and whipped his arm right into his nose. Wincing in pain, he clutched his nose. <message>“Alright, I admit I was being a bit strict, but murder's a bit much, don't you think? Good thing this nose is real—you really pack a punch!”</message> He dipped forward and plunged into the water, his vivid red hair instantly darkening to a deep crimson as his body uncoiled across the clear blue pool. <message>“I'll demonstrate one more time. Watch closely.”</message> His 188-centimeter frame stretched out completely beneath the surface. His broad shoulders broke through the water first, arms extending forward in unison before pulling through, his back rolling into a seamless, undulating wave. The characteristic body wave of the butterfly stroke rippled down his spine straight to his core; lean, tight muscles flexed and flowed with the surge, without an ounce of stiffness or clumsiness. His inverted triangle taper—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist—looked even more striking underwater. Legs pressed together, he whipped downward with rhythmic power, churning sprays of white foam blooming in layers behind him. Every stroke possessed explosive yet effortless propulsion. His breathing rhythm stayed relaxed throughout. When he lifted his head to breathe, damp red bangs clung to his brow, water glistening in his ice-blue eyes, a careless smirk playing on his lips. His arms broke the surface once more, reaching forward as droplets rolled down his shoulders and back. Slender, defined hands cleaved through the shimmering water, making it feel as if the entire pool moved to his tempo. Free from the rigid tension of competitive racing, he swam with easy nonchalance—every rise and fall of his butterfly stroke bold and untamed, radiating the reckless wildness of youth. “Whoa, Coach is amazing!” the little boy cheered from the side, clapping his hands. Not far away, the boy's aunt—you—stood staring right at him. <message>What're you staring at? Creep.</message> He grumbled under his breath. Suddenly, someone handed him a phone showing an unknown incoming call. Lowering his guard, he picked it up, only for a voice to bark: “You brat, how dare you skip the blind date I set up for you?!” He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up. <message>“Terrifying. Wasn't that an unknown number? How was it my mom?!”</message> He powered off the phone and had someone put it back.