Lemon Soda Candy - 49

Sheng Xiaowen: [Ranran’s done for.]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [Good thing Chen Luobai isn’t a jerk.]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [Otherwise, she’d be completely under his spell.]  

Zhang Shuxian: [What happened?!]  

Zhang Shuxian: [Can you guys give a play-by-play before dropping your reactions?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [You’re killing me with the suspense!]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [Didn’t Chen Luobai ask Ranran to come watch his game?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [Yeah, and?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [What’s next?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [You guys are at the court, right?]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [I thought he called her over to, like, stake his claim or something, since our Ranran’s pretty popular now.]  

Zhang Shuxian: [Isn’t that exactly what he’s doing?]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [Hold on, let me finish.]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [Just now, Chen Luobai walked right up to Ranran in front of everyone and stuffed his jacket into her arms.]  

Zhang Shuxian: [That’s totally staking his claim!]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [Wait, I’m not done!]  

Zhang Shuxian: [Then spill it all at once!]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [I’m still recovering from being blinded by their chemistry, okay?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [Stop stalling and tell me!]  

Yan Xingxi: [I’ll take over.]  

Yan Xingxi: [After Chen Luobai handed Ranran his jacket, he also gave her his phone and said, “You know fouling the player instead of the ball is a violation, right? You you taught Yan Xingxi the rules, so you still remember them, right?”]  

Yan Xingxi: [Then he wrapped his hand around hers, phone and all.]  

Yan Xingxi: [And asked if she’d be willing to “protect him personally” this time.]  

Zhang Shuxian: [OH MY GOD!!!]  

Zhang Shuxian: [I’m deceased.]  

Zhang Shuxian: [He’s making up for her regrets, isn’t he?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [He’s so smooth, I can’t even!]  

Zhang Shuxian: [I’m sold on this match!]  

---

Zhou Anran had no idea her friends were blowing up their group chat.  

From the moment Chen Luobai said those words and walked back to the court, her mind had been half-blank, her eyes glued to his retreating figure.  

It wasn’t until the game officially started, with players from both teams jumping for the tip-off, that she snapped out of it. She glanced down at his phone in her hands.  

Had he changed the screen timeout? Several minutes had passed, but the display hadn’t dimmed, still showing the camera interface.  

On the court, the Law Faculty secured the first possession.  

Zhou Anran slowly raised the phone.  

Back in their first year of high school, during that game, she’d only dared to hide her feelings for him deep in her heart. Even filming him in the crowd felt like a guilty secret—she’d pan the camera across everyone else first before letting it linger on him.  

Later, He Jiayi confiscated her phone and deleted that video.  

But this time, he’d handed her his phone himself.  

It was as if he was telling her that no one had more right than she did to openly capture him.  

Zhou Anran swallowed the sudden sting in her nose and aimed the camera directly at him.  

He was probably playing point guard again.  

It was just an interdepartmental game, and most players were casual enthusiasts. Zhou Anran could tell his skills were leagues above the rest. Perhaps because of this, even though he was a freshman, the other Law Faculty players followed his lead without question.  

Under his direction, the Law Faculty’s offense flowed effortlessly, almost fluid.  

He never played selfishly, always passing to teammates or helping them shake off defenders.  

When the moment was right, he’d take a shot himself. His timing was impeccable, and today, his shots rarely missed.  

Each time he scored, the crowd’s cheers roared louder than ever.  

The Foreign Language Faculty, on the other hand, was struggling. Their team, predictably male-light, had a couple of players who seemed to be there just to fill spots. Chen Luobai intercepted their passes multiple times.  

If he decided to lock down the full court, they’d probably struggle to even cross half-court.  

The game was, frankly, a foregone conclusion.  

By the end of the first quarter, the Law Faculty led by 10 points.  

By halftime, they were up by 25.  

There was a ten-minute break.  

Players from both teams headed to their respective benches.  

Maybe the morning’s “rumors” hadn’t spread far enough, or perhaps not enough people had witnessed the pre-game scene, but as soon as Chen Luobai reached the Law Faculty’s bench, Zhou Anran saw a girl with flushed cheeks offer him a bottle of water.  

Her fingers tightened around his phone.  

But then, the boy on the court suddenly looked up at her.  

Caught in his gaze, Zhou Anran instinctively looked away, lowering the phone she’d been using to film him and setting it back on her lap.  

She kept her head down.  

A second later, his voice rang out: “Sorry, someone’s already got my water.”  

The girl offering the bottle was likely from the Law Faculty too. Another guy chimed in to smooth things over: “Thanks for the water, Zhao!”  

Zhou Anran kept her eyes down, but soon, a tall figure in a black jersey stopped in front of her.  

He hadn’t rested much in the first half, and even from a slight distance, she could feel the heat radiating off him.  

“Zhou Anran,” Chen Luobai called softly. “Where’s my water?”  

She looked up slowly. His collarbone, sharp Adam’s apple, and chiseled jawline glistened with fine beads of sweat. His dark hair was damp, and he exuded that potent mix of raw masculinity and boyish charm—enough to make anyone’s face flush and heart race.  

Gripping his phone tighter, she mumbled, “You never said watching your game meant I had to bring you water.”  

Chen Luobai raised an eyebrow. “Who told you to agree last Saturday night without asking questions? Watching my game means bringing me water.”  

Zhou Anran: “...?”  

Why she’d agreed without questions that night—didn’t he know better than anyone?   

Seeing her face flush red again, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He extended a hand. “So, water? Don’t tell me you really didn’t bring any.”  

Yan Xingxi poked her head out from the side. “She brought some. She secretly bought a bottle at the convenience store earlier.”  

Zhou Anran shot her a glare.  

Yan Xingxi shrank back.  

The boy in front of her grinned wider, his gaze growing more intense.  

Zhou Anran’s ears burned. She had no idea why she’d impulsively bought that bottle of mineral water at the store earlier.  

But she was glad she had.  

Slowly, she pulled the bottle from her bag and handed it to him.  

Chen Luobai took it.  

As he tilted his head back to drink, Zhou Anran watched his Adam’s apple bob sharply. Beads—sweat or water—rolled down from it, past his collarbone, slipping into the neckline of his black jersey, carrying an inexplicable hint of allure.  

Her ears grew hotter, and she averted her gaze.  

Chen Luobai handed the half-empty bottle back to her. “Hold onto this for me.”  

She nodded obediently, letting out a soft “Oh.”  

His fingers twitched slightly before he turned back to the court.  

Yan Xingxi pulled out her phone.  

Sheng Xiaowen did the same.  

Yan Xingxi: [My bad.]  

Zhang Shuxian: [What now?]  

Yan Xingxi: [I thought with so many people watching the game...]  

Yan Xingxi: [Our two lightbulbs wouldn’t make a difference.]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [But who told us to sit so close?]  

Zhang Shuxian: [Can you guys just explain already?]  

Yan Xingxi: [It’s not a big deal.]  

Yan Xingxi: [Chen Luobai turned down a girl who offered him water, then went to the stands to ask Ranran for hers.]  

Sheng Xiaowen: [And then flirted with her like no one else was around.]  

---

The halftime break wasn’t even halfway over.  

Both teams’ players were resting and discussing second-half strategies.  

Zhou Anran felt too shy to keep filming him, so she turned her head and noticed her two friends hunched over their phones, typing away.  

It looked like their WeChat group.  

She leaned over for a peek.  

Her face heated up again. “Flirting? You guys are making things up.”  

“If that wasn’t flirting, what was it?” Sheng Xiaowen paused, then grinned. “Teasing?”  

Zhou Anran: “...?”  

“And another thing,” Yan Xingxi set her phone down, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “What happened last Saturday? Why did your face turn that red when he mentioned it?”  

...?  

Yan Xingxi, usually so oblivious around Dong Chen, was suddenly this perceptive?  

Zhou Anran shook her head. “Nothing happened.”  

“Hmph,” Yan Xingxi huffed, unconvinced. “We’ll interrogate you back at the hotel tonight.”  

---

The third quarter started soon after.  

Perhaps unwilling to lose too badly, the Foreign Language Faculty players suddenly came alive. Their defense and rebounding intensified, as if they were a different team.  

The Law Faculty was caught off guard at first, allowing a few points to be clawed back. But Chen Luobai quickly steadied their rhythm.  

The Foreign Language team couldn’t close the gap further. Whether out of frustration or something else, midway through the third quarter, their Number 4 collided with Chen Luobai as he went up for a shot.  

Chen Luobai, mid-air, had no way to dodge and was knocked backward, crashing to the floor.  

Zhou Anran’s heart seized.  

The referee blew the whistle immediately, calling a flagrant foul on Number 4.  

A Law Faculty player rushed over, extending a hand to pull Chen Luobai up.  

From a distance, Zhou Anran saw him rise, seemingly unhurt, and her clenched heart eased slightly.  

But then, she spotted a vivid streak of red on his elbow.  

The Law Faculty bench signaled for a substitution.  

Zhou Anran watched as Chen Luobai high-fived a substitute player running onto the court, then headed to the sidelines.  

Was he coming out?  

Was he actually hurt?  

Earlier, when she’d hesitated to hand him water in front of everyone, she’d felt shy. But now, she didn’t have time to overthink.  

Zhou Anran set his jacket, phone, and her bag on the seat, turning to Sheng Xiaowen. “Watch these for me.”  

Before Sheng Xiaowen could respond, Zhou Anran was already up, hurrying toward the boy now at the sidelines.  

Chen Luobai froze for a moment when he saw her approach. “What’s wrong?”  

Zhou Anran blurted, “Your arm—is it okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?”  

He’d thought she had some urgent issue. Relieved, he instinctively hid his arm behind his back, not wanting her to see the blood. “I’m fine. It’s just a scrape—”  

Before he could finish, a soft, cool hand grabbed his wrist.  

His words caught in his throat.  

Zhou Anran pulled his arm forward, inspecting it. Seeing it was indeed just a minor abrasion, the knot in her chest finally loosened.  

When she looked up, she found him watching her with a half-smile.  

“!”  

Only then did she realize what she’d just done. He’d tried to hide his arm, and she’d thought it was serious.    

Her face flushed crimson, and she quickly let go.  

“Don’t need to check it more closely?” Chen Luobai asked with a teasing grin.  

She shook her head vigorously.  

As the urgency faded, her senses rushed back. She could feel countless eyes on them—Law Faculty substitutes on the nearby bench watched with gossipy expressions, and even occasional glances from the players on the court. 

Zhou Anran felt like she was burning up. Keeping her head down, she mumbled, “I’m going back.”  

She took a step, but his hand caught her wrist.  

This time, no fabric separated them. His grip was firm, his palm scorching from nearly three quarters of play.  

Her wrist—and her heart—felt like they’d been seared. She snapped her head up to meet his eyes.  

Chen Luobai was looking down at her hand.  

Her wrist, clasped in his palm, was even softer and slimmer than he’d imagined.  

He’d been holding back from touching her, but she’d made the first move, so he wasn’t entirely out of line.  

His gaze slowly moved up, unsurprisingly meeting a bright red face.

“You’re already here. Won’t you help me with this scratch before you go?”  

Zhou Anran glanced at his elbow again. Though not severe, the red was still jarring. She hesitated. “Do you guys have any first-aid supplies?”  

He lowered his eyes to her. “Don’t know. Didn’t you bring iodine swabs?”  

She nodded instinctively.  

His thumb rested on her pulse, feeling it race under his touch. His fingertip itched to trace it but held back. He let her go. “Go grab them?”  

Zhou Anran returned to her seat, pulling out the iodine swab. Only then did it dawn on her, a beat late, that something was off. She’d been so nervous earlier, her entire focus consumed by his hand on her wrist, that she hadn’t registered—  

How did he know she always carried iodine swabs?  

She grabbed a bandage too and headed back to the sidelines.  

Chen Luobai was now seated on the second chair from the edge, the spot beside him left empty, as if reserved for her.  

She sat next to him, noticing his arm was damp from elbow to wrist, likely from rinsing the wound.  

Without the earlier rush of adrenaline, she didn’t dare grab his hand in front of everyone again. Biting her lip, she faced the curious stares from the Law Faculty players and whispered, “Turn your arm over.”  

Chen Luobai glanced at her. Her ears were so red they looked ready to bleed, her head practically buried toward his hand. He swallowed the teasing words on his tongue and obediently turned his elbow toward her.  

Zhou Anran snapped one end of the swab, letting the iodine soak the cotton tip. Careful not to apply too much pressure, she lightly held his wrist with one hand while dabbing the wound with the other.  

Then she heard him hiss softly.  

She looked up. “Does it hurt?”  

Chen Luobai’s gaze moved slowly from her hand on his wrist to her face, meeting her clear, beautiful eyes.  

His Adam’s apple bobbed twice, uncontrollably. He looked away for a second before returning to her. “It’s not pain.”

She blinked, about to ask what he meant, when his voice cut in again.  

“Still not done with the iodine?”  

“Or do you want to hold on a bit longer? That’s fine too.”  

By the last sentence, his tone carried a playful edge, his expression a mix of amusement and mischief.  

Zhou Anran’s face burned again.  

She lowered her head, ignoring him, and carefully finished applying the iodine before quickly pulling her hand back.  

Chen Luobai’s lips curved. “What about the bandage?”  

Zhou Anran: “...”  

If he had the energy to tease her, he probably wasn’t in pain. Why bother with a bandage?  

But...  

It was cold outside. He’d need to put on more clothes after the game, and rubbing the wound wouldn't be good.  

Biting her lip, she carefully applied the bandage, keeping her touch light.  

Once done, a question still nagged at her. She looked up, asking softly, “How did you know I carry swabs and bandages?”  

Chen Luobai felt a lingering itch where she’d touched his arm, spreading to his heart. “What do you think?”  

Her fingers trembled. “That night... you saw it was me?”  

“No.”  

His eyes dropped to her trembling lashes. His mind flashed back to that night—when he’d glanced up and caught sight of her long, slender legs under the hem of a black skirt, a tiny black mole stark against her pale skin.  

Zhou Anran froze.  

If he didn’t see, how did he know?  

Lost in thought, he suddenly leaned closer, his voice now a low whisper right by her ear, his warm breath nearly scalding her.  

“If I’d seen you clearly that night, you wouldn’t have gotten away.”  

---

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