Chapter 94: Why Do You and Lin Jinghang Both Want to Sleep With Me? Part 1
Outside the athlete’s lounge, people were coming and going.
A team of interviewers knocked on the door of Zhao Zeyang’s lounge. “Hello, we wonder if it is convenient for Zhao Zeyang to conduct the pre-match interview now.”
Zhao Zeyang unscrewed his water bottle for a sip, frowning as he asked, “Did you go to Shi Ye’s side first?”
The interviewers didn’t know about the grudge Zhao Zeyang held against Shi Ye and nodded honestly. “Shi Ye has already been interviewed.”
“Get out—”
The bottle in Zhao Zeyang’s hand flew in a parabola through the air, smashing against the door with a bang, water splashing everywhere.
Wen Rong entered the door and was splashed all over, a distinct gray stain appearing on his snow-white clothes.
Zhao Zeyang hadn’t expected him to come. He froze, turning his head away, daring not look at the door, and yelled indiscriminately at the coach, “What the fuck are you throwing things for? Apologize to Wen Rong immediately.”
“No need.”
Wen Rong waved his hand and entered. His face showed no sign of impatience, as if what happened just now hadn’t occurred.
There were many beautiful faces in the world, and those who were elegant and gentle were not few, but Wen Rong possessed a calmness completely unbefitting his age.
It was a unique, wondrous infectious power that made everyone who approached him feel comfortable, easy to get addicted to.
Like a child addicted to games, or an adult addicted to alcohol and tobacco. It was completely instinctual; even without looking at him, the thought “I want” would bubble up in the brain.
Zhao Zeyang believed many people felt the same as he did, especially Shi Ye.
Thinking of this, Zhao Zeyang trembled all over.
That day Wen Rong ate with Shi Ye, and Leon was there too.
Had their relationship become that good?
Zhao Zeyang felt deeply that in the few months since dropping out of Floriman Academy, he had lost too many opportunities to get close to Wen Rong.
“Zhao Zeyang, can we proceed with the pre-match interview now?”
“…”
“Zeyang.”
Feeling a nudge on his elbow, Zhao Zeyang came back to his senses, asking Wen Rong urgently, “Are you talking to me?”
“Is there anyone else here besides you who needs to do a pre-match interview?”
The staff member followed up on Wen Rong’s words: “Yes, yes, yes, Young Master Zhao, you still need to prepare an interview. When you win later, we will put this segment at the end of the live broadcast.”
Zhao Zeyang stared dead at Wen Rong. “Are you interviewing me?”
Staff: “Sorry Young Master Zhao, Wen Rong is working on the post-match interviews.”
“He’s right here. Why can’t he interview me?”
Zhao Zeyang wanted Wen Rong to interview him.
Wanted to talk to him.
Wanted to listen to him speak.
When leaving Floriman Academy, Zhao Zeyang had suffered for a period, even locking himself in his room all day in panic.
Until his parents wanted to trouble Wen Rong.
In that moment, Zhao Zeyang exploded with unprecedented strength, shouting at them, threatening them that if Wen Rong lost a single finger, he would die.
Yes, if Wen Rong was gone, he wanted to die too.
Only then did Zhao Zeyang discover that among all the emotions of dropping out of Floriman Academy, hatred was the only one missing.
He didn’t hate Wen Rong at all. He even regretted leaving the school, only able to learn news of Wen Rong through gossip on Bluebook.
As Wen Rong appeared more on Bluebook, this feeling of regret grew.
Especially when the school anniversary video came out. Wen Rong was so dazzling, so excellent. Bluebook had his massive fanbase; those people were obsessed with Wen Rong to the point of madness, and Zhao Zeyang was dragged deeper by the fanatic atmosphere.
When not training, Zhao Zeyang would zoom in on Wen Rong’s face on the TV again and again, unable to resist kissing the screen.
The cold, flat touch could never satisfy him. Later, Zhao Zeyang found people who looked like Wen Rong, making them wear Floriman Academy uniforms, cut their hair like Wen Rong, wear the same glasses… But not a single one could replace Wen Rong, replace that captivating, addictive feeling.
So Zhao Zeyang rallied his spirits, determined to climb up. Once he climbed to a position as high as Wang Sichen’s, he could forcibly bind Wen Rong to his side.
At this moment, the person he longed for stood right in front of him, walking past him… Slender fingers pulled out a few tissues, wiping the water stains from his clothes.
Just this movement made his imagination run wild, his Adam’s apple rolling uncontrollably.
“If you win, it’ll be my turn to interview you.”
He’s talking to me!
Zhao Zeyang said excitedly, “I will definitely win.”
“Then what’s the difference between interviewing a bit earlier or a bit later?”
“I just want—”
The coach leaned into his ear and whispered, “Lin Jinghang said as long as you go on court you’ll win. Don’t delay the pre-match interview.”
Right, definitely win. Wen Rong will interview me later anyway.
Zhao Zeyang’s gaze finally shifted slightly away from Wen Rong. He accepted the staff’s arrangement and sat by the sofa for the interview.
The content of the interview was nothing more than pre-match declarations, preparations made in the past year for this match… nothing innovative.
Zhao Zeyang should have answered fluently, but his peripheral vision was constantly drawn to Wen Rong dressed all in white.
This outfit suited Wen Rong’s temperament very well. White, the fabric possessing a pearlescent texture, stitching and cut excellent, fitting his body perfectly. The waist was a section narrower than the shoulders; the folded legs were extremely long, calves upright, knees a section higher than the chair.
And his sitting posture was upright, two hands resting lightly on his knees, expression serious, not even noticing Zhao Zeyang’s naked staring.
This made Zhao Zeyang feel he was blaspheming.
But the act of “blasphemy” itself made one burn with lust.
Thus, Zhao Zeyang became inexplicably restrained, and the 5-minute interview became particularly long.
Wen Rong’s fingertips tapped his knee; Zhao Zeyang’s heart beat along with the tapping.
“Alright, thank you for your cooperation, Young Master Zhao.”
“I have another question.”
It was Wen Rong’s voice.
Zhao Zeyang: “Wh-what?”
“What color do you like?”
Zhao Zeyang’s heartbeat paused for an instant, joy about to burst out. “I—”
“Oh my, sorry, forgot to ask this question. What color does Young Master Zhao like? If you win the championship, our company plans to design a tennis ball specially for you. The color will be according to your request.”
Zhao Zeyang glared fiercely at the staff member. “…”
“Young Master Zhao?”
Zhao Zeyang didn’t know why this company arranged for someone so unable to read the room to do the interview. Anger was about to rise, but catching a glimpse of Wen Rong, desire rushed out first, and he said ambiguously: “Yellow.”
“Thank you, Young Master Zhao.”
The staff finished the interview and stood up. Zhao Zeyang watched Wen Rong preparing to stand up too, eagerly standing up with him, asking anxiously, “You’re leaving just like that?”
The staff member paused. “Do you need anything else?”
Zhao Zeyang looked at Wen Rong, but Wen Rong turned a blind eye completely, preparing to leave.
Wait until I finish the match. I’ll say Wen Rong is my boyfriend in the post-match interview. With so many people watching, no one will believe Wen Rong even if he denies it.
Zhao Zeyang made up his mind.
However—Wen Rong, who was following the staff out, suddenly turned his head.
Those shallow eyes looked over obliquely. “Zhao Zeyang, I have something to tell you.”
Bang—
His heart exploded.
Laughter spilled from Zhao Zeyang’s mouth uncontrollably, even though Wen Rong’s expression was indifferent and carried impatience.
He turned and shouted at the coach, “You, get out.”
“No need for him to leave.”
Zhao Zeyang repeated again: “Get out.”
“I made a bet with Lin Jinghang. If you win, I sleep with you.”
The air fell silent. A thunderclap struck from the clear sky, rooting Zhao Zeyang to the spot.
He didn’t know when Wen Rong left. The coach reminded him it was time to go on court. Zhao Zeyang woke as if from a dream, shouting loudly, “Go to bed?”
Coach: “Go on court, the match!”
Zhao Zeyang pinched his face hard with trembling hands. “He said he would sleep with me, really?”
If Wen Rong entering just now had put Zhao Zeyang in a state of accelerated heartbeat and loss of autonomy, then now he was completely dumbfounded. Everything felt unreal. His brain was blank, his face burning red.
The person he longed for wanted to sleep with him!
That unique person whom no one could replace!
“Yes—he said if you win he will sleep with you.”
This kind of pre-match motivation of “if you win I give you my first kiss/night” was too cliché. The coach could be said to be battle-hardened and completely used to it. At most… he admitted the person doing the pre-match motivation this time was indeed very good-looking; his young master sinking into it was only natural.
Zhao Zeyang swallowed his saliva. “Will he really sleep with me?”
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