Chapter 3: The Underdog vs. The Benchwarmer

Zhou Zhexiao lifted his chin as if that alone could defy gravity and open his eyes. Instinctively, he strode straight toward the round bed, slipped off his shoes, flopped onto it, and wrapped himself entirely in the blanket, leaving only a few strands of black hair and his forehead exposed.

Xia Chiyi wasn’t sure if Zhou had noticed the wild leopard print on the bedspread or the suggestive plastic rose, but it was clear Zhou’s energy had been completely drained. There was no way Xia could drag him to the next destination.

Resigned, Xia arranged Zhou’s shoes neatly to prevent tripping in the morning. When he looked up, something caught his eye by the edge of Zhou’s side of the bed. He picked it up and was a bit surprised.

“A Nokia 5230, really…” Xia glanced at Zhou wrapped in the blanket. “Not bad, brother. In this flashy, noisy era, someone still resisting the lure of smartphones.”

Xia drew the curtains over the floor-to-ceiling window, moved to the other side of the bed, tugged the blanket over himself, and gradually drifted off to sleep.

How long he slept, he didn’t know, but Xia was forced awake. Every inch of skin touching the blanket was itching unbearably. He sat up and started scratching his neck, arms, and calves.

How could anyone sleep like this?

“Could this blanket be toxic… or maybe the last guest didn’t get it changed?”

Checking his phone, Xia saw it was already nine in the morning. Zhou was still curled up, sleeping deeply—so deeply that Xia couldn’t even hear his breathing.

Was he even alive? How else could he remain in the same position all night?

Images from recent horror movies flooded Xia’s mind—sleeping back-to-back with a roommate’s corpse and the like.

Carefully, Xia leaned over and slowly pulled the blanket down. Zhou’s nose tip gradually appeared, framed by thick eyelashes resting on his eyelids, looking peaceful, like a sleeping beauty.

When Xia’s knuckles approached just beneath his nose, Zhou’s wrist suddenly gripped his hand with enough force to crush bones.

Zhou’s eyes snapped open, staring vacantly at Xia as if disoriented and just waking from a nightmare.

Right—this guy had been in a car accident. Xia’s sudden touch probably scared him.

“It’s okay, don’t be afraid.” Xia gently stroked his hair with his other hand. It was so soft.

Zhou frowned, his shoulder and back muscles tense. A warm, soothing male voice whispered in his ear.

“This is the guesthouse room. You were so tired last night you fell asleep without even looking around. I’m Xia Chiyi, here to pick you up from the airport. Do you remember me?”

“Mm.” Zhou nodded.

Feeling Zhou inch closer, Xia grew bolder, resting his head on Xia’s shoulder and gently patting his back.

The warmth radiated through Zhou’s thin cotton T-shirt, mingling with a faint, sweet scent of oranges around Xia’s neck.

After a while, Xia faintly heard a drawn-out breath beside his ear.

What? This guy had fallen asleep again?

“Wake up, wake up!” Xia shook his shoulder.

Zhou sat up in confusion, rubbing his hair, then scratching his neck and arms just like Xia.

“You’re itching too?”

“Mm.” Zhou nodded.

Feeling a sense of fairness, Xia’s mood lifted. “The disinfectant on the sheets and duvet probably wasn’t rinsed off properly, so we’re itchy. Let’s freshen up; I’ll take you for breakfast afterward.”

“Okay.” Zhou slipped into his sneakers and went to the bathroom.

Leaning on his chin, Xia watched Zhou’s silhouette behind the frosted glass, thinking both of them were covered in scratch marks—somewhat embarrassing.

But wasn’t this guy supposed to be rebellious? Why did he seem so well-behaved?

A while later, Zhou came out of the bathroom and said, “The toothbrush is too hard.”

“Oh, hang in there. I’ll take you to the supermarket later; you can get a softer one.”

Standing by the sink, Xia noticed red streaks in the foam when Zhou spat his toothpaste. He suddenly realized Zhou wasn’t whining about the hard toothbrush but warning him not to brush too hard.

Leaving the guesthouse, they stood under the sun. Xia stretched lazily. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Milk, boiled eggs, chicken breast, broccoli,” Zhou replied.

“Uh…”

These were standard athlete staples, but hadn’t Zhou always said he didn’t want to be an athlete? Was he really this disciplined?

“You’re in college now. No need to be so restrained. Let’s have something flavorful.”

Xia tugged his sleeve gently to signal him to follow. Ningchang’s breakfast stalls offered a wide variety.

Passing a neighborhood basketball court, Xia stopped abruptly; Zhou nearly bumped into him.

Two tall men in provincial team jackets approached them.

The one in front grinned broadly, trying to get close to a nearby girl, who quietly sidestepped him.

“Hmm?” Zhou made a nasal sound, seemingly asking why Xia had stopped.

Xia turned away with a sigh, thinking he hadn’t checked the almanac before going out today—otherwise, how else would they have run into Gao Qing and Lü Hang?

During provincial team tryouts, Gao Qing, having trained under Coach Ma since middle school, looked down on others with disdain.

Lü Hang was like the peacemaker, but actually just Gao’s sidekick.

Xia didn’t want any confrontation—college was about to start, and the provincial team chapter was over.

But the girl next to Gao Qing’s eyes lit up when she saw Xia and called out.

“Xia Chiyi! What are you doing here?”

Xia put his hands in his pockets and glanced back. “Picking up my college roommate. Just passing by.”

When they chose the guesthouse yesterday, they hadn’t realized the provincial team trained nearby.

Gao Qing immediately showed a smug look like a minor villain on TV, glancing at Lü Hang.

“Isn’t that Xia Chiyi? The best three-point shooter in our batch! But shooting well doesn’t matter now—anyone can shoot. It’s the physicality that counts. Collide and you fall—that kind of shooter is useless!”

Lü Hang shook his head helplessly at Xia, signaling Gao to let it go.

But since joining the provincial team, Gao’s ego had swollen; his sharp tongue knew no bounds.

He caught sight of Zhou behind Xia and grew even more enthusiastic.

“Oh—this is Zhou Zhexiao, the elite from America’s Oak Hill Academy. You know Oak Hill, right? The basketball school that produced over 40 NBA stars! Heard you had that car accident, broke your leg and brain, got PTSD, still seeing a shrink? NCAA didn’t want you, so you’re trying to make it here, but we’re not a dumping ground—”

Gao Qing met Zhou’s eyes, a cold flash passing through, and the air seemed to thicken with silent waves of pressure. Gao was momentarily shaken, but when he snapped back, Zhou’s gaze was indifferent—so detached it was as if Gao didn’t exist.

The girl grew impatient, frowning as she tugged at Gao’s jacket. “Are you done yet?”

Her name was Xu Mi, a talented journalism student at the Communication University. Her Weibo had over 100,000 followers, focusing on college basketball news and commentary. She’d even been invited to commentate games.

Thanks to a professor’s recommendation, Xu had attended the provincial team tryouts and had favored Xia Chiyi from the start, which made Gao incredibly jealous. He often claimed Xia’s game relied on looks, not skill.

“You got picked for the provincial team, but you live like a jealous villain every day,” Xia said, pointing at Zhou behind him. “Apologize to him.”

“Apologize? Why should I apologize to a loser? All you can do now is bark.”

Several middle schoolers playing basketball stopped and watched the scene unfold after Gao’s harsh words.

Xia looked into Gao’s eyes and shouted, “Zhou Zhexiao, is your brain really okay or not?”

“...Okay.”

“And your leg? Is it broken or not?”

Zhou looked down from his ankle to his knee. With no visible scars, he answered, “It should be fine.”

“Then let’s try.”

“Try what?” Zhou asked.

“Who’s better—us two losers or the provincial team benchwarmers?” Xia tilted his head toward Gao.

Gao, already intimidated by Zhou’s stare, snapped at the word “benchwarmers” like pricked by a needle. “Let’s do it! Who’s afraid?”

Lü Hang stood stunned with his mouth slightly open, Xu sighed in resignation.

Gao strode onto the court without ceremony and told the middle schoolers, “Hey kids, lend us your ball!”

The lead boy frowned, “We’re not kids—we’re in middle school!”

But Gao’s imposing height—1.96 meters—and recent muscle training, plus his stern expression and the provincial team jacket’s authority, made the boys hand over the ball.

Xia warmed up his shoulders at the sidelines while Zhou, seemingly unaware he was part of this challenge, stood with his arms down beside Xia.

“I’ll introduce you. That mouthy guy is Gao Qing, a power forward. The provincial team values his strength and physicality. He’s got no sense of subtlety—doesn’t know if he’s playing basketball or driving a tank.”

Zhou’s expression remained indifferent, repeating, “Physicality…”

Xia read the doubt in his eyes and said earnestly, “The physicality is for real.”

“Oh.”

Xia nodded toward Lü Hang. “Lü Hang can play both forward and guard but isn’t proficient at either. However, he’s a strong defender and an expert at disrupting passes.”

“Mm.” Zhou gave a perfunctory reply.

Though Xia didn’t know Zhou’s skill level or style, he was confident that even if Zhou was just a mascot on the court, Xia alone could handle Gao and Lü.

“Let’s play one quarter—ten minutes! Our time’s precious, no wasting it on you,” Gao said.