Chapter 9: Blindingly Pale Part 2

That was all the cash he’d brought in his suitcase for emergencies.

Wang Yizhou looked torn but hopeful at Tan Jing. “Jing Bro, can you… bet too?”

Tan Jing glanced at He Siheng without answering.

Wang Yizhou took it as a yes and grinned, yelling louder.

He Siheng sat across from Tan Jing, elbow on the table, the upward tilt of his eyes screaming cocky. “Let Daddy see how much you’ve trained these years.”

Tan Jing huffed indifferently and gripped his slender hand. “Hope it doesn’t break your bones.”

“Big talk!”

After gripping back, He Siheng pushed hard right away—but didn’t budge it on the first try.

He glanced at Tan Jing, who looked casual, clearly not at full strength.

No more underestimating—He Siheng went all out. But the opposing force ramped up too. He gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his neck.

Zhou Yu cheered from the side. “Go Heng Bro! You’re making a dumb move again, but bro’s got your back!”

He Siheng was speechless. “Is this cheering or roasting?”

Zhou Yu hyped. “I bet two hundred on you!”

Wang Yizhou stirred the pot. “You put two hundred on Young Master He and five hundred on Jing Bro—profiting both ways.”

“…Zhou Yu!”

Young Master He’s neck flushed red—anger or exertion, who knew.

Tan Jing watched him grit his teeth, lips curving faintly. “You guys get along well.”

A few days ago, he’d said something similar, but this time it dripped sarcasm.

He Siheng glared through clenched teeth. “Shut it!”

Ignoring the noise, he focused on the wrestle.

Deadlocked, a whistle suddenly blew.

Song Lin cursed. “Fuck, assembly now?”

Tardiness meant punishment. Spectators scattered. Zhou Yu glanced around at He Siheng. “Heng Bro, call it quits this time?”

He Siheng never quit midway. “Quit what? I’m finishing! You go ahead!”

Song Lin tried Tan Jing. “Jing Bro, you stopping?”

“I’d like to,” Tan Jing said, still seated. He added lightly, “But he’s still holding my hand.”

Song Lin found that odd but got dragged off by Wang Yizhou. “Don’t bother—they get tunnel vision in a rivalry. Let’s assemble!”

Crowd gone, whistle stopped, but they still strained.

As He Siheng pushed, a reprimand came from behind.

“You two aren’t assembling? What the hell are you doing!”

The match fizzled out. Both dragged back to the field, the instructor barked, “Disregarding orders and discipline!”

“Wanna compete that bad? Two hundred pushups each—loser runs twenty laps!”

He Siheng, no winner yet, huffed. “Music to my ears.”

He dropped and held plank position without starting right away.

Waiting, he saw Tan Jing idle and snapped irritably, “Hurry up—I don’t wanna cheapshot you.”

Tan Jing sighed helplessly and got down.

He Siheng eyed his perfect form—steady, trained. He ditched slacking and sped up seriously.

In the end, He Siheng finished two ahead, winning.

Standing, breathing a bit heavy but smug as hell. “Report instructor—I’m done!”

Instructor eyed them. “Fall in! Tan Jing, twenty laps!”

He Siheng lifted his chin proudly, watching Tan Jing rise calmly, dust off his hands, and head out.

Instead of lining up, He Siheng called, “Report instructor—I volunteer for laps!”

Without waiting, he jogged after, catching up to run abreast.

Hearing footsteps, Tan Jing didn’t turn, but He Siheng matched pace and bragged first, “You lost.”

Tan Jing eyed his smugness, lips quirking faintly. “Won and still running? Ate too much lunch?”

“…You’re the one who’s full of it!” He Siheng shot back irritably, paused, then added, “I started the arm wrestle, I caused the tardiness. I own my messes— no reason you take more punishment than me.”

Tan Jing shook his head almost imperceptibly. Those extra pushups were wasted.

“Another round?” He Siheng pressed, hooked.

Tan Jing flat no. “No.”

He Siheng huffed, recycling his taunt. “Scared?”

Didn’t work this time.

“Twenty laps, not two,” Tan Jing gave him a look to feel that. “Shut up and save your breath.”

He Siheng choked, reflex to curse—but yeah, he was right.

He shut his trap sullenly, regulated breathing, and kept running.

The blazing sun hung high overhead, golden sunlight blanketing the training field as the ground scorched under its heat.

Two slender, upright youths circled the training field lap after lap in a slow jog, sweat beads rolling down their foreheads while their slightly labored breaths scattered into the air.

On the other side of the field, the students from Class 1 and Class Two, having finished their round, took a brief rest under the shade of the trees.

Wang Yizhou tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful of water before looking toward the two still running laps under the blazing sun.

The oddly familiar scene suddenly brought back memories of the past.

Back in elementary school, He Siheng and Tan Jing had once been punished with laps too.

They hadn’t been as at odds back then, and Tan Jing had still been a sickly kid at the time. The teacher had ordered two laps, but he’d barely managed one before he couldn’t go on. Still, his stubborn nature wouldn’t let him admit fault, so he insisted on finishing.

In the end, He Siheng had hoisted him onto his shoulder and helped him complete the final lap.

Now, the Tan Jing calmly jogging twenty laps on the training field was no longer that frail, weakling from back then.

Over these years, Wang Yizhou had witnessed Tan Jing’s relentless daily training, year after year, drop after drop of sweat accumulating until the sickly pallor had completely faded from his body, replaced by healthy, formed muscles.

“Jing Bro’s lost his mind,” Song Lin finally couldn’t hold back his gripe. “Why’s he gotta butt heads with this young master? Two hundred pushups and twenty laps in this heat—it’s enough to either tire you to death or bake you alive.”

Wang Yizhou was unfazed. “Of course he’s gotta. This is a sis-con’s dignity war against a sister-in-law candidate reject.”

Song Lin glanced at Tan Jing, who was running shoulder-to-shoulder with He Siheng, and muttered suspiciously, “Why do I get the feeling that Jing Bro… is kinda enjoying himself?”

As the sun dipped slightly toward the west, the twenty laps finally came to an end.

The two arrived at the finish line almost simultaneously.

It was simply too hot—they’d both ditched their jackets halfway through and tossed them aside, leaving them in just their military training short-sleeved shirts. Heat rushed up from their collars toward their faces as massive sweat beads rolled down their cheeks.

He Siheng braced his hands on his thighs, panting heavily.

This damn guy had said he wouldn’t compete, but then he’d suddenly sprinted on the final lap, forcing He Siheng to speed up too.

They’d been running for so long, and this bastard still had the energy left to sprint!

Once his breathing steadied a bit, He Siheng panted out, “Looks like you haven’t slacked on your training these past few years.”

Hearing the acknowledgment, Tan Jing smiled faintly. “You’re not bad yourself.”

He Siheng snorted. “Give you a bit of sunlight, and you just bloom.”

As he spoke, the heat was unbearable, so he tugged up the front hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. The hem of the short sleeve rode up a few inches with the motion, exposing his lean waist.

A thin layer of abs, their outlines taut and tight.

Glistening with fine beads of sweat, his skin gleamed white—dazzlingly so.

Tan Jing stared for a few seconds before subtly withdrawing his gaze.

Not bad at all.