Xue Tuzi's brows knitted together, a shadow of uncertainty clouding his usually composed face. His fingers fidgeted with the frayed hems of his sleeves, betraying his hesitation as he softly murmured, "Shizun."
Xue Laohu turned at the sound, his sharp gaze softening as it landed on his disciple's troubled expression. "A-Tuzi…" he said, his voice carrying a faint weariness. Rising to his feet, he exhaled deeply and grabbed the ceramic jar resting on the table. With deliberate movements, he placed it in Xue Tuzi's trembling hands.
"Pick up where I left off," Xue Laohu instructed, patting his shoulder firmly before Xue Tuzi could protest. His tone left no room for argument.
As Xue Tuzi glanced down at the jar in his hands, he caught sight of Shudu. The man was calmly adjusting his collar, buttoning his shirt with practiced ease. With an air of effortless confidence, Shudu strolled over, his presence magnetic. He leaned in close, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air, and whispered into Xue Tuzi's ear, his voice low and teasing.
"Don't bother."
Before Xue Tuzi could react, Shudu's hand briefly rested on the latter's hip, a fleeting yet deliberate gesture. With a sly grin tugging at his lips, Shudu patted Xue Tuzi's behind—a gesture both playful and audacious—before striding away without a backward glance.
Xue Tuzi's grip tightened around the jar, his knuckles whitening as his cheeks flushed a vivid crimson. His lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Shudu disappear.
From behind a nearby pillar, the Fei twins observed the unfolding scene with wide, gleaming eyes. Their hushed whispers and barely-contained giggles betrayed their amusement as they watched the drama unravel. With synchronized movements, they slinked away, heading toward the field with expressions that hinted they'd be recounting this moment for days to come.
On the field, Xue Laohu stood tall, his energy magnetic as he prepared to lead batting practice. The team gathered around him, their bats gripped tightly in anticipation. With a clap of his hands, he called out, "Alright, everyone, listen up!" His voice carried across the field, commanding attention.
The group fell silent, eyes fixed on him, eager to absorb every word. "Batting isn't just about swinging as hard as you can," Xue Laohu began, pacing slowly as he spoke. "It's about control, timing, and making solid contact." He gestured with his hands, emphasizing each point, his enthusiasm infectious.
"First—stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Balance is everything," he explained, dropping into a perfect batting stance. The team murmured their agreement, a few quickly adjusting their positions to mimic his form.
"Good. Now, grip the bat—not too tight, not too loose," Xue Laohu continued, scanning the group. His sharp eyes landed on Li Zhameng, who was awkwardly hunched over, struggling to maintain a proper stance. Xue Laohu approached him with a warm, reassuring smile.
"Here, like this," Xue Laohu said, stepping behind Li Zhameng. His hands gently envelopedhis disciple's, guiding them into place on the bat. "Hold it like you're shaking hands with it. Dominant hand on top, hands close together—no gaps." His voice was low and steady, filled with patience.
Li Zhameng's breath hitched as he felt Xue Laohu's presence so close, his Shizun's warm breath brushing against his ear. His cheeks flushed a deep rose, the heat creeping up his neck as he tried to focus on the instructions.
"If your grip feels off, your swing will be off too," Xue Laohu emphasized before stepping back, giving Li Zhameng space. "Next—your eyes. Always, always on the ball." He moved with practiced ease toward Sect Leader Mao, who stood ready with his bat.
"From the pitcher's release to the moment it's in your hitting zone, track it. Don't blink. Don't guess. Let your brain calculate when and where to swing," Xue Laohu instructed, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that demanded attention.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Xue Laohu tossed a ball toward Sect Leader Mao. Determined, Sect Leader Mao swung with all his might, but his footing faltered. The bat whiffed the air, and with an unceremonious stumble, he nearly toppled to the ground.
Xue Laohu cleared his throat, the weight of his authority quieting the murmurs on the field. "Now, the swing itself," he began, his tone confident yet approachable. He took the bat from Sect Leader Mao with practiced ease, holding it up as if it were an extension of his arm. "Start with your hips," he instructed, stepping into position.
Demonstrating, Xue Laohu rotated his hips smoothly, his movements deliberate and controlled. "Hips, not arms. Rotate your body first. Your arms and hands follow, bringing the bat through the zone." His voice was steady as he swung in slow motion, the bat carving a clean arc through the air. The muscles in his toned arms flexed with the motion, a testament to years of precision and practice.
"The most important thing," he continued, tossing a ball lightly into the air, "is to make contact." With a sharp crack, the bat connected with the ball, sending it soaring into the distance. Xue Laohu nodded, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "You want the ball to meet the bat right here," he said, pointing to the sweet spot. "Hit it just right, and you'll hear that solid 'crack.' Feels good every time."
With effortless grace, he tossed another ball into the air, meeting it with a swing so fluid it seemed second nature. The ball soared once again, drawing a collective gasp from the team, their admiration plain on their faces.
"What if we miss the ball?" Fei Hong asked, her voice soft as she glanced nervously at her sister, who mimicked Xue Laohu's motion, gripping the bat tightly as she practiced her stance.
"Then you adjust," Xue Laohu replied, his eyes warm with encouragement. "Everyone misses at first. That's why we practice." He shot her a playful wink, and her cheeks flushed pink as she tightened her grip on the bat.
Xue Tuzi, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes as he watched the exchange. His gaze flicked over Fei Hong, mentally throwing daggers in her direction. He clenched his fists at his sides, the fire of possessiveness igniting in his chest. Shizun belonged to him—or at least to him and Li Zhameng. He barely tolerated Xue Laohu's interactions with Shudu; watching him engage with anyone else was a test to his patience.
Xue Laohu clapped his hands, pulling the group's attention back to him. "Alright, who's up next? Let's see you put all this into action." His sharp gaze landed on Shudu, who stepped forward with a smirk curling at the edges of his lips.
Shudu gripped the bat, his posture casual but poised. Without waiting for further instruction, he swung the bat in a wide, deliberate arc, more reminiscent of wielding a sword than hitting a ball. The sheer force behind his motion caused Xue Laohu to arch an eyebrow, his mouth twitching in a faintly amused smile.
"Rhythm, not brute force," Xue Laohu called out, his voice tinged with humor as he watched Shudu reset his stance. "We're hitting balls, not fighting duels."
One by one, the disciples stepped up to the batter's box, each eager to test their skills under Xue Laohu's watchful eye. He tossed them soft, underhand pitches, giving them plenty of opportunities to connect with the ball. Shudu was a natural, his powerful swing sending balls soaring far into the distance, eliciting murmurs of admiration from the group. Even Jiao Jiao and Xiao Zongzi, despite their smaller frames and hesitant starts, managed to get the hang of it, their delighted laughter filling the air as they made solid contact with the ball.
All except Li Zhameng.
Try as he might, Li Zhameng couldn't connect with a single pitch. His swings were wild, mistimed, and desperate, each miss deepening the furrow in his brow. After his latest attempt, he let the bat drop to his side, tears welling up in his eyes and clinging to his lashes. "Shizun," he choked out, his voice trembling, "this disciple is no good." His expression was a mix of sadness and frustration, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his perceived failure.
Xue Laohu approached him with a kind smile, the corners of his eyes softening. He reached out, gently patting Li Zhameng's head. "Let's practice," he said reassuringly. "Shizun will guide you."
Standing behind him, Xue Laohu adjusted Li Zhameng's grip on the bat and positioned his arms. His embrace was firm yet gentle, his warmth a silent encouragement. "Relax," he said softly, his breath brushing against Li Zhameng's ear. "Feel the motion. It's not about power, it's about timing."
Li Zhameng's cheeks turned a deep red as he leaned back slightly, his heart racing at the closeness of his Shizun's touch. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let Xue Laohu guide him, their movements synchronized as they swung together in a slow, deliberate arc.
"Shizun!"
Xue Tuzi's voice cut through the moment like a blade. He stormed toward them, his hands on his hips, his long hair swaying with each indignant step. His sharp eyes were locked on the pair, his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
"Don't baby him!" Xue Tuzi snapped, his tone clipped and accusatory. He stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms and glaring at Li Zhameng. "That's exactly what he wants." He rolled his eyes, his disdain clear as he narrowed them at his fellow martial brother.
Li Zhameng, still nestled in Xue Laohu's guidance, looked up with wide, pleading eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. His innocent, round face seemed to silently beg for understanding. Xue Tuzi huffed, his irritation mounting as he recognized the deliberate play for sympathy.
But Xue Laohu simply sighed, his patience unshaken. "He's not doing it on purpose, A-Tuzi. He just needs a little extra help." He glanced down at Li Zhameng, his voice softening. "A few more practice swings, and we'll call it a day."
Li Zhameng's face lit up, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. If he'd had a tail, it would've been wagging furiously. Xue Tuzi, meanwhile, stood fuming, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. He shot Li Zhameng a death glare, silently warning him that his indulgence wouldn't last forever.
But Li Zhameng barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his Shizun's presence as they prepared for another swing.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson as practice came to an end. The field was quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the faint sound of someone swinging a bat. As Xue Laohu made his way toward the bathhouse, a movement caught his eye.
Li Zhameng was still there, alone in the fading light, his figure silhouetted against the warm glow of dusk. He gripped the bat tightly, his hands red and raw, fingers calloused from hours of practice. Determined but visibly weary, he swung again and again, each motion more labored than the last.
Xue Laohu's brows furrowed. He approached silently, his footsteps light against the grass. Stopping just behind Li Zhameng, he reached out, wrapping his arms around his disciples to adjust his grip. "Hold the bat like this," Xue Laohu murmured, his voice soft and low, his breath grazing Li Zhameng's ear.
The warmth of Xue Laohu's body pressed against him sent a shiver down Li Zhameng's spine. His mind wandered, spiraling into a vivid fantasy. He imagined his Shizun's arms tightening around him, pulling him closer. In his daydream, Xue Laohu tilted him gently, his intense gaze locking onto Li Zhameng's lips before leaning down to capture them in a searing kiss. The kiss was deep, consuming, their breaths mingling as Li Zhameng wrapped his arms around his Shizun's neck, surrendering completely.
"Meng Meng!"
The sharp, impatient call jolted him back to reality. He blinked rapidly, the dream shattering like glass. Xue Laohu had stepped back, his hands now on his hips, looking at him with a faintly amused expression. "Did you hear what I said? Let's do some practice swings."
Embarrassed, Li Zhameng nodded quickly, his face flushed. He adjusted his stance as Xue Laohu picked up a ball, tossing it underhand toward him. But no matter how hard he tried, his swings didn't connect. One after another, he missed, frustration mounting with each failed attempt.
Xue Laohu's patience, was wearing thin. On the next toss, the ball slipped from his fingers, veering off course. Before either of them could react, it struck Li Zhameng square on the cheek with a dull thud.
A sharp gasp escaped Li Zhameng's lips as he dropped the bat, his hand flying to his face. Tears spilled over immediately, streaming down his cheeks as he cried, "This useless disciple has angered Shizun!" His voice broke, raw with emotion, as he turned away, clutching his stinging cheek.
Xue Laohu's expression softened with guilt. "Hey, hey, that's not true," he said quickly, rushing to his disciple's side. He pulled Li Zhameng into a firm embrace, patting his head gently. "It slipped, I swear. I didn't mean to hit you."
He tilted Li Zhameng's chin upward, his thumb brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. His gaze lingered on the swelling cheek, his brows knitting together in concern. "Let me see," Xue Laohu murmured, his fingers ghosting over the tender skin as he tried to soothe the pain. "I'll buy you some sweets." Xue Laohu bargain trying to appease Li Zhameng.
Li Zhameng sniffled, his tears still flowing freely. "This disciple doesn't want any sweets," he stammered, his voice trembling. He hesitated, his gaze flickering up to meet Xue Laohu's. "This disciple… wants… a kiss from Shizun."
Xue Laohu froze, his hand hovering over Li Zhameng's cheek. For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out.
Li Zhameng's cheeks burned brighter than the setting sun, but his wide, tear-filled eyes didn't waver at his outrageous request.
Xue Laohu froze in place, his gaze fixed on Li Zhameng. Li Zhameng glanced up at him hesitantly, stealing furtive looks before quickly lowering his eyes, guilt written all over his face. His lips trembled slightly, as though he regretted his shameless request but couldn't find the words to take it back.
He wants me to kiss him? Xue Laohu's mind raced, struggling to make sense of what had just transpired. His thoughts flickered to the times Li Zhameng had spoken about his late mother, always with such warmth and reverence. A mama's boy, Xue Laohu mused silently, remembering how Li Zhameng had described her gentle way of comforting him. It reminded Xue Laohu of the mothers he'd seen soothe their children with tender kisses to their scrapes and bruises.
But Xue Laohu's own upbringing had been far different. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unsympathetic: "Stop crying and come on." He sighed, brushing aside the memory. Perhaps, he reasoned, a small gesture of comfort was what his disciple needed.
Puckering his lips slightly, Xue Laohu closed his eyes and leaned forward, aiming for the swollen cheek where the ball had struck. But just as he drew closer, Li Zhameng's wide eyes gleamed with sudden determination. Seizing the moment, he tilted his head, letting their lips meet instead.
The kiss was soft but full of intent, lasting only a heartbeat yet feeling infinitely longer. Li Zhameng's lips pressed warmly against his Shizun's, a bold act that sent both of their hearts into a frantic rhythm.
Xue Laohu's eyes snapped open in shock, his breath catching in his throat. What just happened? He had aimed for Li Zhameng's cheek—how had he ended up here? His mind reeled as he pulled away abruptly, his face burning with embarrassment.
"I—I'm sorry," Xue Laohu stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush. His expression was a mix of mortification and disbelief as he stumbled back, his body rigid with awkwardness. Without giving Li Zhameng a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and bolted, his steps uneven as he fled the scene.
Li Zhameng stood rooted to the spot, his lips still tingling from the kiss. His face turned scarlet, his heart pounding against his ribs. He reached up, touching his lips as if to confirm what had just happened.
A small, dreamy smile spread across his face, his earlier tears forgotten. "Shizun…" he murmured under his breath, watching Xue Laohu's retreating figure disappear into the shadows of the evening.
Xue Tuzi's brows knitted together, a shadow of uncertainty clouding his usually composed face. His fingers fidgeted with the frayed hems of his sleeves, betraying his hesitation as he softly murmured, "Shizun."
Xue Laohu turned at the sound, his sharp gaze softening as it landed on his disciple's troubled expression. "A-Tuzi…" he said, his voice carrying a faint weariness. Rising to his feet, he exhaled deeply and grabbed the ceramic jar resting on the table. With deliberate movements, he placed it in Xue Tuzi's trembling hands.
"Pick up where I left off," Xue Laohu instructed, patting his shoulder firmly before Xue Tuzi could protest. His tone left no room for argument.
As Xue Tuzi glanced down at the jar in his hands, he caught sight of Shudu. The man was calmly adjusting his collar, buttoning his shirt with practiced ease. With an air of effortless confidence, Shudu strolled over, his presence magnetic. He leaned in close, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air, and whispered into Xue Tuzi's ear, his voice low and teasing.
"Don't bother."
Before Xue Tuzi could react, Shudu's hand briefly rested on the latter's hip, a fleeting yet deliberate gesture. With a sly grin tugging at his lips, Shudu patted Xue Tuzi's behind—a gesture both playful and audacious—before striding away without a backward glance.
Xue Tuzi's grip tightened around the jar, his knuckles whitening as his cheeks flushed a vivid crimson. His lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Shudu disappear.
From behind a nearby pillar, the Fei twins observed the unfolding scene with wide, gleaming eyes. Their hushed whispers and barely-contained giggles betrayed their amusement as they watched the drama unravel. With synchronized movements, they slinked away, heading toward the field with expressions that hinted they'd be recounting this moment for days to come.
On the field, Xue Laohu stood tall, his energy magnetic as he prepared to lead batting practice. The team gathered around him, their bats gripped tightly in anticipation. With a clap of his hands, he called out, "Alright, everyone, listen up!" His voice carried across the field, commanding attention.
The group fell silent, eyes fixed on him, eager to absorb every word. "Batting isn't just about swinging as hard as you can," Xue Laohu began, pacing slowly as he spoke. "It's about control, timing, and making solid contact." He gestured with his hands, emphasizing each point, his enthusiasm infectious.
"First—stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Balance is everything," he explained, dropping into a perfect batting stance. The team murmured their agreement, a few quickly adjusting their positions to mimic his form.
"Good. Now, grip the bat—not too tight, not too loose," Xue Laohu continued, scanning the group. His sharp eyes landed on Li Zhameng, who was awkwardly hunched over, struggling to maintain a proper stance. Xue Laohu approached him with a warm, reassuring smile.
"Here, like this," Xue Laohu said, stepping behind Li Zhameng. His hands gently envelopedhis disciple's, guiding them into place on the bat. "Hold it like you're shaking hands with it. Dominant hand on top, hands close together—no gaps." His voice was low and steady, filled with patience.
Li Zhameng's breath hitched as he felt Xue Laohu's presence so close, his Shizun's warm breath brushing against his ear. His cheeks flushed a deep rose, the heat creeping up his neck as he tried to focus on the instructions.
"If your grip feels off, your swing will be off too," Xue Laohu emphasized before stepping back, giving Li Zhameng space. "Next—your eyes. Always, always on the ball." He moved with practiced ease toward Sect Leader Mao, who stood ready with his bat.
"From the pitcher's release to the moment it's in your hitting zone, track it. Don't blink. Don't guess. Let your brain calculate when and where to swing," Xue Laohu instructed, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that demanded attention.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Xue Laohu tossed a ball toward Sect Leader Mao. Determined, Sect Leader Mao swung with all his might, but his footing faltered. The bat whiffed the air, and with an unceremonious stumble, he nearly toppled to the ground.
Xue Laohu cleared his throat, the weight of his authority quieting the murmurs on the field. "Now, the swing itself," he began, his tone confident yet approachable. He took the bat from Sect Leader Mao with practiced ease, holding it up as if it were an extension of his arm. "Start with your hips," he instructed, stepping into position.
Demonstrating, Xue Laohu rotated his hips smoothly, his movements deliberate and controlled. "Hips, not arms. Rotate your body first. Your arms and hands follow, bringing the bat through the zone." His voice was steady as he swung in slow motion, the bat carving a clean arc through the air. The muscles in his toned arms flexed with the motion, a testament to years of precision and practice.
"The most important thing," he continued, tossing a ball lightly into the air, "is to make contact." With a sharp crack, the bat connected with the ball, sending it soaring into the distance. Xue Laohu nodded, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "You want the ball to meet the bat right here," he said, pointing to the sweet spot. "Hit it just right, and you'll hear that solid 'crack.' Feels good every time."
With effortless grace, he tossed another ball into the air, meeting it with a swing so fluid it seemed second nature. The ball soared once again, drawing a collective gasp from the team, their admiration plain on their faces.
"What if we miss the ball?" Fei Hong asked, her voice soft as she glanced nervously at her sister, who mimicked Xue Laohu's motion, gripping the bat tightly as she practiced her stance.
"Then you adjust," Xue Laohu replied, his eyes warm with encouragement. "Everyone misses at first. That's why we practice." He shot her a playful wink, and her cheeks flushed pink as she tightened her grip on the bat.
Xue Tuzi, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes as he watched the exchange. His gaze flicked over Fei Hong, mentally throwing daggers in her direction. He clenched his fists at his sides, the fire of possessiveness igniting in his chest. Shizun belonged to him—or at least to him and Li Zhameng. He barely tolerated Xue Laohu's interactions with Shudu; watching him engage with anyone else was a test to his patience.
Xue Laohu clapped his hands, pulling the group's attention back to him. "Alright, who's up next? Let's see you put all this into action." His sharp gaze landed on Shudu, who stepped forward with a smirk curling at the edges of his lips.
Shudu gripped the bat, his posture casual but poised. Without waiting for further instruction, he swung the bat in a wide, deliberate arc, more reminiscent of wielding a sword than hitting a ball. The sheer force behind his motion caused Xue Laohu to arch an eyebrow, his mouth twitching in a faintly amused smile.
"Rhythm, not brute force," Xue Laohu called out, his voice tinged with humor as he watched Shudu reset his stance. "We're hitting balls, not fighting duels."
One by one, the disciples stepped up to the batter's box, each eager to test their skills under Xue Laohu's watchful eye. He tossed them soft, underhand pitches, giving them plenty of opportunities to connect with the ball. Shudu was a natural, his powerful swing sending balls soaring far into the distance, eliciting murmurs of admiration from the group. Even Jiao Jiao and Xiao Zongzi, despite their smaller frames and hesitant starts, managed to get the hang of it, their delighted laughter filling the air as they made solid contact with the ball.
All except Li Zhameng.
Try as he might, Li Zhameng couldn't connect with a single pitch. His swings were wild, mistimed, and desperate, each miss deepening the furrow in his brow. After his latest attempt, he let the bat drop to his side, tears welling up in his eyes and clinging to his lashes. "Shizun," he choked out, his voice trembling, "this disciple is no good." His expression was a mix of sadness and frustration, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his perceived failure.
Xue Laohu approached him with a kind smile, the corners of his eyes softening. He reached out, gently patting Li Zhameng's head. "Let's practice," he said reassuringly. "Shizun will guide you."
Standing behind him, Xue Laohu adjusted Li Zhameng's grip on the bat and positioned his arms. His embrace was firm yet gentle, his warmth a silent encouragement. "Relax," he said softly, his breath brushing against Li Zhameng's ear. "Feel the motion. It's not about power, it's about timing."
Li Zhameng's cheeks turned a deep red as he leaned back slightly, his heart racing at the closeness of his Shizun's touch. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let Xue Laohu guide him, their movements synchronized as they swung together in a slow, deliberate arc.
"Shizun!"
Xue Tuzi's voice cut through the moment like a blade. He stormed toward them, his hands on his hips, his long hair swaying with each indignant step. His sharp eyes were locked on the pair, his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
"Don't baby him!" Xue Tuzi snapped, his tone clipped and accusatory. He stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms and glaring at Li Zhameng. "That's exactly what he wants." He rolled his eyes, his disdain clear as he narrowed them at his fellow martial brother.
Li Zhameng, still nestled in Xue Laohu's guidance, looked up with wide, pleading eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. His innocent, round face seemed to silently beg for understanding. Xue Tuzi huffed, his irritation mounting as he recognized the deliberate play for sympathy.
But Xue Laohu simply sighed, his patience unshaken. "He's not doing it on purpose, A-Tuzi. He just needs a little extra help." He glanced down at Li Zhameng, his voice softening. "A few more practice swings, and we'll call it a day."
Li Zhameng's face lit up, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. If he'd had a tail, it would've been wagging furiously. Xue Tuzi, meanwhile, stood fuming, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. He shot Li Zhameng a death glare, silently warning him that his indulgence wouldn't last forever.
But Li Zhameng barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his Shizun's presence as they prepared for another swing.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson as practice came to an end. The field was quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the faint sound of someone swinging a bat. As Xue Laohu made his way toward the bathhouse, a movement caught his eye.
Li Zhameng was still there, alone in the fading light, his figure silhouetted against the warm glow of dusk. He gripped the bat tightly, his hands red and raw, fingers calloused from hours of practice. Determined but visibly weary, he swung again and again, each motion more labored than the last.
Xue Laohu's brows furrowed. He approached silently, his footsteps light against the grass. Stopping just behind Li Zhameng, he reached out, wrapping his arms around his disciples to adjust his grip. "Hold the bat like this," Xue Laohu murmured, his voice soft and low, his breath grazing Li Zhameng's ear.
The warmth of Xue Laohu's body pressed against him sent a shiver down Li Zhameng's spine. His mind wandered, spiraling into a vivid fantasy. He imagined his Shizun's arms tightening around him, pulling him closer. In his daydream, Xue Laohu tilted him gently, his intense gaze locking onto Li Zhameng's lips before leaning down to capture them in a searing kiss. The kiss was deep, consuming, their breaths mingling as Li Zhameng wrapped his arms around his Shizun's neck, surrendering completely.
"Meng Meng!"
The sharp, impatient call jolted him back to reality. He blinked rapidly, the dream shattering like glass. Xue Laohu had stepped back, his hands now on his hips, looking at him with a faintly amused expression. "Did you hear what I said? Let's do some practice swings."
Embarrassed, Li Zhameng nodded quickly, his face flushed. He adjusted his stance as Xue Laohu picked up a ball, tossing it underhand toward him. But no matter how hard he tried, his swings didn't connect. One after another, he missed, frustration mounting with each failed attempt.
Xue Laohu's patience, was wearing thin. On the next toss, the ball slipped from his fingers, veering off course. Before either of them could react, it struck Li Zhameng square on the cheek with a dull thud.
A sharp gasp escaped Li Zhameng's lips as he dropped the bat, his hand flying to his face. Tears spilled over immediately, streaming down his cheeks as he cried, "This useless disciple has angered Shizun!" His voice broke, raw with emotion, as he turned away, clutching his stinging cheek.
Xue Laohu's expression softened with guilt. "Hey, hey, that's not true," he said quickly, rushing to his disciple's side. He pulled Li Zhameng into a firm embrace, patting his head gently. "It slipped, I swear. I didn't mean to hit you."
He tilted Li Zhameng's chin upward, his thumb brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. His gaze lingered on the swelling cheek, his brows knitting together in concern. "Let me see," Xue Laohu murmured, his fingers ghosting over the tender skin as he tried to soothe the pain. "I'll buy you some sweets." Xue Laohu bargain trying to appease Li Zhameng.
Li Zhameng sniffled, his tears still flowing freely. "This disciple doesn't want any sweets," he stammered, his voice trembling. He hesitated, his gaze flickering up to meet Xue Laohu's. "This disciple… wants… a kiss from Shizun."
Xue Laohu froze, his hand hovering over Li Zhameng's cheek. For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out.
Li Zhameng's cheeks burned brighter than the setting sun, but his wide, tear-filled eyes didn't waver at his outrageous request.
Xue Laohu froze in place, his gaze fixed on Li Zhameng. Li Zhameng glanced up at him hesitantly, stealing furtive looks before quickly lowering his eyes, guilt written all over his face. His lips trembled slightly, as though he regretted his shameless request but couldn't find the words to take it back.
He wants me to kiss him? Xue Laohu's mind raced, struggling to make sense of what had just transpired. His thoughts flickered to the times Li Zhameng had spoken about his late mother, always with such warmth and reverence. A mama's boy, Xue Laohu mused silently, remembering how Li Zhameng had described her gentle way of comforting him. It reminded Xue Laohu of the mothers he'd seen soothe their children with tender kisses to their scrapes and bruises.
But Xue Laohu's own upbringing had been far different. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unsympathetic: "Stop crying and come on." He sighed, brushing aside the memory. Perhaps, he reasoned, a small gesture of comfort was what his disciple needed.
Puckering his lips slightly, Xue Laohu closed his eyes and leaned forward, aiming for the swollen cheek where the ball had struck. But just as he drew closer, Li Zhameng's wide eyes gleamed with sudden determination. Seizing the moment, he tilted his head, letting their lips meet instead.
The kiss was soft but full of intent, lasting only a heartbeat yet feeling infinitely longer. Li Zhameng's lips pressed warmly against his Shizun's, a bold act that sent both of their hearts into a frantic rhythm.
Xue Laohu's eyes snapped open in shock, his breath catching in his throat. What just happened? He had aimed for Li Zhameng's cheek—how had he ended up here? His mind reeled as he pulled away abruptly, his face burning with embarrassment.
"I—I'm sorry," Xue Laohu stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush. His expression was a mix of mortification and disbelief as he stumbled back, his body rigid with awkwardness. Without giving Li Zhameng a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and bolted, his steps uneven as he fled the scene.
Li Zhameng stood rooted to the spot, his lips still tingling from the kiss. His face turned scarlet, his heart pounding against his ribs. He reached up, touching his lips as if to confirm what had just happened.
A small, dreamy smile spread across his face, his earlier tears forgotten. "Shizun…" he murmured under his breath, watching Xue Laohu's retreating figure disappear into the shadows of the evening.
Ultra Super Blah Blah Blah:
Xiao Mei: "Congratulations, Professor, on reaching your 50th chapter! Any plans to celebrate?"
The author leaned back in their chair, a smirk tugging at the corners of their lips. They stretched lazily, their joints cracking in the quiet room, before reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the cluttered desk. The foil crinkled as they tapped the pack against the table with practiced ease, pulling out a single cigarette.
With deliberate slowness, they placed it between their lips and flicked open a lighter. The flame danced briefly before igniting the tip, a faint orange glow casting fleeting shadows across their face. They took a deep drag, the smoke curling around them like a lazy phantom before escaping their lips in a soft exhale.
"Survey," they said at last, their voice low and smoky, the single word hanging in the air.
Xiao Mei: "Huh? Survey? What does that mean?"
The author leaned forward, their elbows resting on the desk, a glint of mischief in their eyes. "I'll be conducting a character ranking survey," the cigarette balanced casually between their fingers.