thefictionvixens Chapter 165
Chapter 165
July 7th, 5:00 AM.
Lin Feng's pager vibrated.
It wasn't someone paged him; it was an alarm he set himself. This thing didn't actually function as an alarm clock, so he clipped the pager to his pillow. When it vibrated, the whole pillow shook, like someone was hitting it with a hammer from under the bed.
He opened his eyes; the room was still dark. A sliver of light, pale blue, shone through the gap in the curtains, not yet fully bright.
He reached for his pager, turned off the vibrate, and lay still, letting his consciousness slowly return. On the next bed, Gao Yuan's snoring continued, the rhythm unchanged, like a smoothly running old engine. There was no sound from Chen Hao's side, not even a whisper of breathing, as if he didn't exist.
Five minutes later, he sat up, put his feet under the bed, and put on his slippers.
He got out of bed very quietly, but the bed still creaked. Chen Hao rolled over and then fell silent. Gao Yuan's snoring paused for a second, then resumed.
Lin Feng picked up his toiletries and left the dormitory.
The motion-activated lights in the corridor turned on, casting an orange glow. He walked to the end, and the lights went out. He stomped his foot, and the lights came back on. The bathroom door was open, but no one was inside—most of the provincial team members didn't get up until after 6:30, so he was there alone.
He turned on the tap, and the water was cold. He washed his face first, then brushed his teeth. The toothbrush was new; Cheng Yuxin had put it in his luggage bag. It had a blue handle and the bristles were of medium softness. The toothpaste was also bought by her—a Zhonghua brand, packaged in an aluminum tube. It was white and a little spicy.
After brushing his teeth, he returned to his dorm and changed into his training clothes. Today he was wearing the blue T-shirt and black shorts issued by the provincial team, with the words "Provincial Sports" printed on the chest. The clothes were a bit big, but he didn't mind. His sneakers were still the same Double Star brand; the soles were almost worn out, but the uppers were cleaned, so they still looked decent.
He picked up the ball, gently opened the door, and went out.
The hallway was still dark. He held onto the wall as he went downstairs, his steps very light. When he reached the first floor, the door was already open—the cafeteria staff were there even earlier than him. The kitchen lights were on, and through the windows, he could see figures moving around inside. Steam rose slowly from the exhaust fan, white and rising slowly in the morning light.
He pushed open the door and walked into the courtyard.
The morning air was cool, carrying the dampness of dew and the scent of grass. The track and field was deserted, its surface tinged with a dark red in the dawn light. The swimming pool and gymnastics hall in the distance remained dark; only a few windows in the canteen and dormitories were lit.
He walked to the entrance of the basketball court.
The door was locked.
He paused for a moment, then remembered—the training facility didn't open until 7 a.m.
He stood at the door, looking at the iron lock, and suddenly smiled.
In Beichuan, the sports field is always open at four in the morning. There are no doors, no locks, and no security guards. It's open when you come and it doesn't close when you leave.
This place is different.
He turned around and walked to the open space next to the basketball court. It was a small concrete area, about half the size of a basketball court, but it was enough. There were a few cracks in the ground, and a few blades of grass grew in the cracks, somewhat like the basketball court in Beichuan.
He stood on that open space and started dribbling.
Boom, boom, boom.
The ball hit the concrete ground, the sound carrying far in the morning air. It struck the wall of the building opposite, bounced back, and created a faint echo.
He practiced with his right hand first, 500 dribbles in place. Then he practiced with his left hand, 500 times.