Lemon Soda Candy - 59

After returning to her seat, Zhou Anran deliberately checked the time.

4:10 PM.

A basketball game typically has ten-minute quarters, and with fouls, free throws, dead ball time, timeouts, and breaks between quarters, the first half had taken about thirty-six or thirty-seven minutes in total.

She had also checked the time when she entered the tunnel earlier—it was 4:07 PM.

Factoring in the time she spent touching up her lipstick and walking back, she had delayed him by just a little over a minute at most.

Zhou Anran let out a small sigh of relief.

After all, the halftime break shouldn’t mean he doesn’t get a moment’s rest.

With a little over eight minutes left, that was plenty of time for him to discuss second-half tactics with his team.

Her phone suddenly pinged.

It was her two less-than-serious roommates, who were sitting behind her watching the game, tagging her in their group chat.

Xie Jingyi: [I saw that!] 

Bai Lingyun: [I saw it too!!] 

Xie Jingyi: [Someone just followed her boyfriend toward the locker room.] 

Xie Jingyi: [What could you do there, I wonder?] 

Bai Lingyun: [@Zhou Anran] 

Zhou Anran: “…”

Scenes from the fire escape earlier flashed through her mind.

Zhou Anran touched her cheek: [Nothing, just went to tell him to keep it up.] 

Xie Jingyi: [Really? I don’t believe you.jpg] 

Bai Lingyun: [You had to follow him just to say that?] 

Zhou Anran: [Yeah, I only remembered to say it after he went out.] 

She told them a little white lie, feeling a tiny bit guilty.

…But she couldn’t exactly say she went to, well, do that with him, could she?

Xie Jingyi: [But it’s good you went after him.] 

Zhou Anran: [?] 

Zhou Anran: [Why do you say that?] 

Bai Lingyun: [You have no idea. We’ve been sitting back here listening to so many girls sighing and lamenting that Chen Luobai already has a girlfriend. They’re all saying if he were single, they’d chase him.] 

Xie Jingyi: [Your boyfriend was seriously hot today.] 

Zhou Anran’s lips curved into a small smile.

A moment later.

The second half of the game began.

In the first half of the third quarter, both teams played as they had in the previous quarter, trading blows evenly, neither gaining a clear upper hand. However, since the Law School had trailed by eight points in the first quarter, they were still at a disadvantage.

The turning point came in the second half of the third quarter.

By this point in the game, players from both sides had barely left the court for a break, and as the game wore on, everyone’s stamina was visibly dropping. The Law School team was struggling, and so was the Computer Science team.

Although the Computer Science team had three varsity players, they weren’t professional athletes playing in top-tier leagues—just regular students. While their skills were decent, their stamina seemed average at best.

Whether it was because a player couldn’t keep up or because they wanted to conserve energy for the final quarter, seeing they still held the lead, the Computer Science team began rotating out their three varsity players.

The freshman, number 4, was the first to come off.

Among the three varsity players, he was the weakest. His substitution caused only a slight tilt in the balance of strength between the two teams.

But that slight tilt was enough for Chen Luobai to seize the opportunity.

Zhou Anran watched from the sidelines as he exploited a gap in the Computer Science team’s defense, caused by their substitute’s poor coordination. He darted to the corner, found a perfect open spot, and sank a clean three-pointer with a jump shot. 

The orange basketball traced a long arc through the air before landing squarely in the hoop.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause.

The score shifted from 42–50 to 45–50.

The gap was now just five points.

The Computer Science team stayed composed, not immediately switching back to their full starting lineup. Instead, after number 4 had rested enough and returned, they subbed out another varsity player, number 7.

With number 7 off the court, the Law School didn’t rush to chase the score.

Chen Luobai strategically rotated out a few of his team’s key players for brief rests while he stayed on, controlling the game’s rhythm.

With less than two minutes left in the third quarter, the Computer Science team subbed out Wang Junzhuo for a rest.

Wang Junzhuo, a senior, was the Computer Science team’s strongest and most experienced player—their backbone. The moment he left the court, Chen Luobai swiftly brought back the Law School’s full starting lineup.

Without giving the Computer Science team much time to react, he capitalized on Wang Junzhuo’s absence, quickly creating two scoring opportunities. He sank another three-pointer himself and assisted a teammate for a two-pointer, unleashing a 5–0 run.

In the blink of an eye, the score was tied.

Wang Junzhuo, barely settled on the bench, hurriedly returned to the court, but the third quarter was nearly over.

With him back in, the Computer Science team had little room to maneuver.

The third quarter ended with both teams tied at 54–54.

During the break between quarters, players from both teams headed to their respective benches.

Zhou Anran lowered her head to open her bag. The water bottle Chen Luobai had given her before the game was long gone, but she always brought an extra one to every game, just in case he needed it.

Taking the water out of her bag, she asked Zhu Ran to watch her bag. Ignoring the crowd’s stares, she stood up and walked straight toward the rest area.

Chen Luobai returned to the bench and paused slightly when he saw her approaching.

Then, the girl in front of him twisted open the mineral water bottle and handed it to him.

The corner of his lips curved up, his voice low and gentle: “Such thorough service?”

Even that short sentence left him sounding breathless.

Zhou Anran’s nose stung slightly.

Everyone else on the court had gotten a chance to rest, but he had played all three quarters so far, without a single break. There was no way he’d get to rest in the final quarter either.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “Rest for a bit.”

Chen Luobai let out a low chuckle, saying “Okay,” took the water from her, and tilted his head back to take a couple of sips.

Zhou Anran waited until he finished drinking, then took the bottle back. She grabbed a tissue and gently wiped the sweat from his face, noticing how he leaned forward slightly, hands braced on his knees, catching his breath.

As the fourth quarter began, Zhou Anran, now back in her seat, saw the Computer Science team had switched their defensive strategy.

Whenever the Law School went on offense, Wang Junzhuo and another player would double-team Chen Luobai, forcing him to pass and preventing him from shooting. Numbers 4 and 7, along with another player, guarded the remaining Law School players.

The Law School’s other players were already a step below the Computer Science team’s numbers 4 and 7 in skill. Even with a four-on-three advantage, they couldn’t gain any ground. They relied heavily on Chen Luobai, and while he could occasionally find openings to set up assists despite the double-team, the Law School’s offense fell apart. 

On the other hand, when the Computer Science team attacked, Chen Luobai could lock down Wang Junzhuo, but even he could only guard one player at a time. The other two varsity players from Computer Science had solid shooting skills.

Fortunately, as the final quarter progressed, everyone’s stamina was plummeting, and shooting accuracy was dropping.

But in this back-and-forth, the Law School gradually slipped back into a disadvantage.

Their score fell behind by two points.

Then by two more.

With only thirty seconds left in the final quarter, the Law School was still trailing by five points.

Zhou Anran gripped the water bottle tightly, hearing waves of sighs from the crowd behind her, as if they were mourning the game’s inevitable outcome.

On the court, the Computer Science players were already wearing victorious expressions, some even high-fiving in celebration.

But someone hadn’t given up.

With thirty-one seconds left and the ball in the Law School’s possession, Chen Luobai dribbled past half-court. As usual, Wang Junzhuo and another player came to double-team him.

Chen Luobai tried to break through a few times without success and passed the ball to the Law School’s number 3.

Number 4 from Computer Science immediately moved to guard him.

Number 3 dribbled a few times, found no openings, and passed the ball back to Chen Luobai.

Only fifteen seconds remained.

In a basketball game, an offensive possession is limited to twenty-four seconds, meaning they had just eight seconds left for this play.

Zhou Anran saw no trace of panic on the boy’s face. He dribbled patiently, made a series of feints, successfully shook off one of the Computer Science defenders, and then faked a drive.

Wang Junzhuo reached out to block.

Chen Luobai stepped back and jumped.

For a fleeting moment, Zhou Anran felt the scene before her overlapped with a memory from their first year of high school.

She could almost hear Huang Shujie shouting, “Step-back three!! Brother Luo is awesome!!!!”

The orange basketball arced through the air, landing perfectly in the hoop just as the twenty-four-second shot clock buzzer sounded.

But only seven seconds remained.

The score was still three points behind.

The ball now belonged to Computer Science.

After they inbounded the ball, they didn’t even need to attack. If they could run out the remaining seven seconds, victory was theirs.

At the baseline, Wang Junzhuo and number 4 blocked Chen Luobai, and the Law School’s other players couldn’t intercept the pass.

The Computer Science team successfully passed the ball to their number 9.

Zhou Anran’s heart leaped into her throat, her fingers gripping the water bottle so tightly that it dented.

But in the next instant—whether it was number 4 letting his guard down or Chen Luobai pulling off some lightning-fast fake—Zhou Anran didn’t even catch it clearly. The boy broke free from the double-team and stole the ball from number 9’s hands.

Less than three seconds remained.

Wang Junzhuo shouted from midcourt, “Get back!”

The Computer Science players chased after Chen Luobai.

Zhou Anran could tell their steps weren’t as fast as his. No one could catch him.

But—

Time was running out.

There wasn’t even enough time for him to dribble back to the frontcourt.

As he reached the half-court line, the clock showed just one second left.

Zhou Anran clutched the water bottle, watching the boy in the white jersey leap from the spot.

Wang Junzhuo, finally catching up, reached to block him.

The orange basketball flew from Chen Luobai’s hands. Whether he was exhausted or thrown off balance by Wang Junzhuo, he fell to the ground.

Almost simultaneously, the final buzzer pierced the air.

The ball was still in the air.

That one second felt stretched into a century.

The noisy arena fell silent for a split second.

Then, the orange basketball completed its arc and dropped cleanly into the hoop, steady and precise.

The LED scoreboard flashed from 64–66 to 67–66.

—Chen Luobai’s ultra-long-range three-pointer sealed the game!

The court erupted in cheers, applause thundering, shouts filling the air.

Zhou Anran didn’t notice any of it.

The moment the ball went in, she ran onto the court.

But before she could reach Chen Luobai, Wang Junzhuo, who was closest, pulled him up.

Wang Junzhuo’s face held a trace of regret. “Congrats, man. You flipped that one.”

Chen Luobai brushed the dust off himself, candidly replying, “You guys got cocky at the end. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have won.”

Wang Junzhuo, despite his regret, didn’t take the intramural game too seriously. He seized the chance to ask, “You sure you don’t want to join the varsity team? Your skills are wasted on these school games.”

“We’ll see,” Chen Luobai said, tilting his head with a clear smile in his eyes. “My girlfriend’s here.”

Wang Junzhuo followed his gaze to Zhou Anran, gave a knowing smile, and said, “Alright, I won’t keep you. I’ll bug you about this another day.”

He turned and walked away.

Zhou Anran hurried over, grabbing Chen Luobai’s wrist. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt anywhere?”

Chen Luobai pulled her into his arms, his voice still heavy with panting. “A hug from my girlfriend, and I’ll be fine.”

Zhou Anran fell into his warm embrace.

“…”

He was still in the mood to tease, so he must be fine.

Zhou Anran let out a small breath of relief, her ears slowly heating up.

But he seemed genuinely exhausted, his breathing still rapid. For the first time, when he hugged her, he leaned a little of his weight onto her.

Zhou Anran didn’t pull away at all.

The applause on the court hadn’t stopped, and the crowd hadn’t left. Standing in the middle of the court, she hugged Chen Luobai back.

Two seconds later.

Someone nearby cleared their throat.

Zhou Anran turned her head and saw one of his teammates, wearing the number 23 jersey, standing close by.

Her face flushed instantly. The initial wave of worry had passed, and now shyness took over. She let go, instinctively wanting to step back and put some distance between them.

But Chen Luobai pressed her waist, holding her even closer, only turning his head slightly to look at number 23.

Number 23 coughed again, grinning brightly. “Not trying to interrupt, but the team sent me to ask if you’re coming to the victory party. We never even dreamed of making the top four, so winning the championship is a record-breaker. You’ve gotta come, you’re our biggest hero. That buzzer-beater was insane. If you don’t want to leave your girlfriend, bring her along. The other guys with girlfriends will probably do the same.”

Chen Luobai’s gaze shifted to the girl in his arms. “Wanna go?”

Zhou Anran didn’t usually like crowded places, but right now, her desire to stay with him won out. She nodded. “Sure.”

Number 23 waved with a smile. “Cool, carry on then.”

Zhou Anran: “…?”

Her face was still burning. She wanted to ask why he hadn’t let go yet when another thought hit her. “If we go to the party, what about Zhu Ran?”

“Who cares about him,” Chen Luobai replied lazily.

“Be a decent human, Chen Luobai,” Zhu Ran’s voice suddenly cut in.

Zhou Anran turned and saw Zhu Ran had somehow made his way onto the court, standing behind her. Chen Luobai must have seen him earlier.

Zhu Ran looked exasperated. “Learn from your wife—she’s the one acting like a proper host.”

Zhou Anran: “??”

Learn what from her?

Chen Luobai tightened his grip on her, his gaze dropping with a hint of something intriguing. “Depends on whether my wife’s willing to teach me.”

Zhou Anran: “…”

Why was he going along with Zhu Ran’s random “wife” comment?

Her face grew hotter. Ignoring his comment, she turned to Zhu Ran. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“No need to worry about me,” Zhu Ran said. “I’m heading to see Sister Qin rehearse. I’ll grab something to eat outside later.”

Chen Luobai raised an eyebrow slightly. “See? He only came to the game in passing. You thought he was here for me?”

“If I was here for you, I’d probably starve,” Zhu Ran said, rolling his eyes.

Chen Luobai laughed and gave him a light kick. “Done talking? Get lost.”

“Like I wanna stick around,” Zhu Ran shot back, rolling his eyes again before waving to Zhou Anran. “I’m off.”

After Zhu Ran left, Chen Luobai hugged her tightly again, then nodded toward the bench. His voice was still low. “Go sit there and wait for me? I’ll shake hands with them and come find you.”

Zhou Anran nodded. “Okay.”

She sat in the rest area, touching her flushed cheeks.

Her phone pinged again.

Opening WeChat, she saw Xie Jingyi had sent a photo in the group chat.

She tapped on it.

In the nearly packed gymnasium, most of the crowd was standing and clapping. On the court, the Computer Science players looked dejected, while four of the Law School players were high-fiving in celebration.

And there she was, in the center of it all, tightly embracing the boy in the white jersey.

Zhou Anran’s fingertips feel hot.

Xie Jingyi: [Ranran, you were so bold today!] 

Xie Jingyi: [I didn’t expect you to rush down there!] 

Bai Lingyun: [And I didn’t expect Chen Luobai to pull you right into his arms!!] 

Bai Lingyun: [Is this some kind of idol drama scene?] 

Even Nie Zizhen, who’d recently added her on WeChat, sent a rare message: [Do you two have to flaunt your love in front of the whole crowd? My dog's eyes are practically blinded!] 

Zhou Anran: “…?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chen Luobai finish shaking hands with the Computer Science team, say something to his teammates, and start walking toward her.

Her face heated up again. She didn’t reply to the messages, locking her screen instead.

Chen Luobai soon reached her.

His breathing wasn’t as labored as before, but his forehead, face, and body were still drenched in sweat.

Zhou Anran’s heart ached a little. She pulled a tissue from her bag, stood up, and started wiping his sweat.

The girl in front of him barely reached his chin, her hand raised high, the rose-gold bracelet on her wrist swaying lightly. Her fingertips, through the tissue, brushed gently across his forehead.

Chen Luobai’s throat itched. He grabbed her wrist, his thumb grazing the bracelet. “Don’t bother.”

Zhou Anran blinked.

“I’m going to shower after this,” he said in a low voice.

Maybe it was the way he looked right now, or the way his gaze mirrored how he’d looked at her in the hallway during halftime, exuding an overwhelming sense of allure. The word “shower” made her inexplicably flustered.

Her gaze dropped, and she tried to pull her hand back, but he held it firmly. She let out a soft “Oh” and asked, “Are you going back to the dorm to shower?”

Chen Luobai’s voice stayed low. “The party’s near my apartment. Are you going back to the dorm, or coming with me to the apartment?”

Zhou Anran looked at his hand gripping her wrist. Maybe because he’d just played a full game, the veins on the back of his hand stood out prominently.

She gave a slight nod.

On the way to the apartment, Chen Luobai didn’t talk much, probably exhausted from playing the full game.

Zhou Anran occasionally stole glances, noticing his lips slightly pursed.

At the apartment, Chen Luobai went to shower.

Zhou Anran waited in the living room, replying to Xie Jingyi and Nie Zizhen’s messages and chatting with them casually until Chen Luobai emerged from the bathroom.

The room was warm with the heater on. He wore black sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, his hair still dripping as if he’d only towel-dried it briefly.

He sat beside her, arms spread, still sounding tired. “Come here.”

Zhou Anran set her phone down and obediently walked over, sitting in his lap.

Chen Luobai didn’t speak, just lowered his head and buried his face in her shoulder.

A droplet from his hair slid down her neck, sending a shiver through her.

Zhou Anran gripped the fabric at his shoulder and said his name. “Chen Luobai.”

He let out a low “Mm,” still not lifting his head.

“Are you upset?” she asked softly.

Chen Luobai raised his head, a mix of surprise and expectation in his eyes.

Back in high school, she’d once secretly noticed he was upset and slipped candy into his desk to cheer him up.

“You caught me,” He reached up to pinch her cheek. He’d wanted to do that all afternoon but hadn’t wanted to get her face dirty. “I’m a little upset. I didn’t play great today.”

Zhou Anran blinked. “Didn’t you win the championship? How was that not great?”

His hand lingered on her face. “If they hadn’t gotten cocky and let their guard down at the end, we might not have won. It’s your first time watching me play a final as my girlfriend, and I almost lost. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Zhou Anran paused.

He was upset…

Because he almost lost in front of her?

Her hands climbed to his shoulders, her voice soft. “But the Computer Science team had a deeper lineup than yours.”

“You even know about lineup depth?” Chen Luobai’s eyebrow arched slightly, a smile creeping into his eyes, his mood lifting a bit. His tone turned teasing. “Have you been studying basketball so seriously because of me?”

Zhou Anran’s face warmed. “I’m being serious.”

Chen Luobai chuckled, his voice still low, indulgent. “Alright, go on.”

“And you didn’t win because they got cocky. You won because you never gave up, not even in the final moment. If that’s not great, I don’t know what is. And—” Zhou Anran paused.

Chen Luobai: “And what?”

Zhou Anran shyly buried her face in his shoulder. “Win or lose, you’re always number one in my heart. It’s not embarrassing.”

With her face buried in his shoulder, his fingers, which had been brushing her cheek, fell empty.

His hand paused in midair. “What did you just say?”

Zhou Anran wasn’t used to saying things like that, but she wanted him to hear it.

Gripping his T-shirt for courage, she pushed past her shyness and repeated, “Win or lose, you’re always number one in my heart.”

Chen Luobai’s breathing, which had just calmed, hitched again.

She kept surprising him today.

During the break between the first and second quarters, she’d taken his hand.

At halftime, she’d followed him out of the court.

Between the third and fourth quarters, she’d run down to bring him water.

At the end of the game, she’d rushed to him, anxiously asking if he was hurt.

Now, sensing his mood, she was pushing past her reserved nature to say things she’d never normally say to cheer him up.

His heart felt like it was being filled with her soft emotions, swelling to the point of bursting. He needed to do something, or it might explode.

Chen Luobai pulled his hand back, his fingertips landing on her chin, gently forcing her to look up. “Remember what you said to me at halftime?”

The sudden topic shift caught Zhou Anran off guard. She didn’t immediately recall. “What did I say?”

“It’s fine if you don’t remember.”

Zhou Anran was about to ask what he meant by “fine.”

The next second, he leaned in and kissed her.

This kiss was fiercer than the one in the fire escape.

His tongue pried past her lips, claiming her breath entirely.

The kiss jogged her memory of his question.

At halftime, she’d told him they could continue kissing after the game.

Maybe it was how captivating he was today, or maybe it was because she’d noticed his low mood and no longer had to resort to sneaking things into his desk to cheer him up—

Zhou Anran’s hands clung to his shoulders. For the first time during a kiss, she pushed past her shyness and tentatively responded.

The moment her tongue softly brushed past his lips, the taut string of reason in Chen Luobai’s mind snapped.

His hand tightened on her neck, then loosened.

When he came to his senses, her clothes were disheveled, her soft skin spilling under his fingertips.

Chen Luobai snapped back to clarity.

Two seconds later.

Two seconds later, he collapsed onto her shoulder, his voice hoarse. “Sorry.”

Zhou Anran’s fingers gripped his T-shirt, her face burning. She whispered, “It’s okay.”

 

His breathing faltered again.

“Zhou Anran.”

He steadied himself. “Don’t be so good.”

Zhou Anran’s breathing was just as unsteady. This was the second time today he’d called her “good.” She shook her head lightly. “I’m not being good.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, still leaning on her shoulder.

Zhou Anran bit her lip.

He probably didn’t know how much she liked him.

Liked him so much that if he’d pushed a little further just now, she wouldn’t have stopped him. Liked him so much that the first time he brought her to the apartment, when he said those words, if he’d pressed just a bit more, she might have agreed.

But she was too shy to say these things.

When she didn’t respond, Chen Luobai lifted his head. Her lips and eyes were misty, as if she’d been thoroughly overwhelmed.

Yet she hadn’t stopped him.

“If not being good—what is it, then?”

“…”

“If you don’t say, I’ll keep going.”

Zhou Anran turned her head away, avoiding his gaze.

Two seconds later, he heard a soft sound.

“Mm.”

The living room fell quiet, filled only with their heavy, indistinguishable breathing and faint, delicate sounds.

Zhou Anran gripped his arm tightly.

It was as if she wanted to pull away, yet also offer herself up more.

A moment passed.

Or perhaps a long while.

Zhou Anran felt him kiss her ear, his breath and voice pressing against it, sending another wave of heat through her. “Baby, can I look?”

---

What they ate or talked about at the Law School’s victory banquet later that night, Zhou Anran barely noticed.

She sat quietly beside Chen Luobai, eating whatever was placed in front of her or whatever he put in her bowl, her mind drifting elsewhere.

After absentmindedly picking up a piece of food with her chopsticks, she was about to eat it without looking when her wrist was suddenly grabbed.

Chen Luobai’s voice sounded beside her. He’d been gentle with her all evening, and this time there was a hint of amusement. “Why’re you putting everything in your mouth?”

Zhou Anran paused, turning to look at him.

Her gaze inadvertently landed on his lips, and like she’d been scalded, she quickly looked away.

Lowering her head, she saw she’d picked up a piece of star anise.

Her eyes shifted slightly, landing on the hand gripping her wrist—not as hot as it was right after the game, nor as cool as after his shower.

On his wrist bone was a small brown mole, one she’d secretly stared at countless times.

And that mole, just earlier that night, had flickered in her vision as his defined hand tightening and loosening, kneading and twisting, for a long, long time.

Chen Luobai’s voice sounded again.

He chuckled softly, then asked in a low voice, “What do you want to eat? I’ll get it for you.”

Zhou Anran couldn’t eat another bite.

She shook her head.

“Not eating.”

Chen Luobai was indulgent. “Alright, if you get hungry, I’ll eat with you again.”

Since she wasn’t eating, Zhou Anran tried to focus on their conversation. The topic eventually drifted to jersey numbers.

As the game’s biggest hero, he was the first to be asked.

“Hey, Chen Luobai, why’d you pick number 26 for your jersey?”

“I think Kyle Korver wears 26, right?”

“Yeah, he’s got a killer three-point shot.”

“No,” Zhou Anran felt an arm drape over her shoulder. Chen Luobai pulled her closer, his voice tinged with a smile. “It’s the total number of strokes in her name.”

---

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