The plan was a total bust. Now, I had to hurry up and finish cleaning, or there’d be nothing left but scraps by the time I made it to the canteen. The training hall was massive, but Coach Hu only required us to put the equipment away and give the floor a quick mop. At my speed, ten minutes was plenty.
I pushed a meter-wide, old-fashioned flat mop from one end of the hall to the other and back again, moving with flying efficiency. Unfortunately, the mop was so ancient it was practically balding; it screeched against the floor like chalk on a blackboard, giving me goosebumps.
Zhang Ting and I were each responsible for half the floor. I was already mostly finished with my side when I paused to wipe away some sweat, only to see that he had barely started.
I watched as he stopped mid-mop, frowning as he looked down and flexed his fingers.
Was he injured? I walked over and saw a bloody gash on his index finger. It had been dampened by water, staining his fingertip a pale red. In training, bumps and bruises were unavoidable; it wasn't unusual for someone on the fencing team to have a small cut like that. However, an athlete’s injuries had to be handled carefully. If a wound wasn't treated properly and ended up affecting training, the loss would far outweigh the gain.
I fished a Band-Aid out of my bag and handed it to him. Zhang Ting took it and offered a quiet "thanks." I grabbed my mop again. "You really should’ve treated that first. What if it gets infected? ...Anyway, don't worry about your side. I'll take care of the rest!"
Zhang Ting didn't argue, but he didn't stop either, simply slowing his pace as he continued to mop. I paused to glance at him. I hadn't expected such a delicate-looking guy to be so stubborn.
In the end, I still finished half of his work for him. When our mops finally met, Zhang Ting, who had been keeping his head down, looked up at me in surprise. I shrugged. "Alright, all done. Let's hit the canteen!"
Zhang Ting remained silent for a long moment, surveying the vast training hall. "It feels like we did a bit of a sloppy job..."
"Who cares?" I slung my bag over my shoulder. "Coach Hu told us to put the gear away and 'give the floor a mop.' He said 'give it a mop,' not 'make it spotless.' Come on, let's go."
Coach Hu’s full name was Hu Bingyao. He was the coach for the sabre group and the leader of the fencing team—a big shot. He’d presided over the glory days when our fencing team went from being nobodies to international contenders. He was my idol when I was younger, but now... well, word has it the training base used to have professional cleaners. Ever since he took office, he’s insisted we do it ourselves. Back then, I suggested that since the national team was clearly going through hard times, we should all chip in and buy a robot vacuum. I asked for a show of hands, but Coach Hu just gave me a death glare. From that moment on, I knew this "big shot" was going to be trouble. Sure enough, he’s spent every day since then finding new ways to torment us, keeping the entire team under his thumb. His training intensity is practically demonic; it’s like he wants us all to trot back to his feet with gold medals in our mouths, wagging our tails to make up for the regrets of his youth.
"The coach does it for our own good," Zhang Ting said. "He says cleaning the training hall helps calm the soul after a long day."
He was quoting Coach Hu verbatim. I scoffed. "Please. Every time I finish cleaning, my soul is more restless than ever. How is anyone supposed to feel 'calm'?"
"...I suppose for someone like you, the necessity isn't as obvious," Zhang Ting said from behind me.
I was confused and turned around. "Why wouldn't it be obvious to me?"
Zhang Ting didn't answer. As we headed downstairs, he suddenly asked, "Do you think I can make it to the Olympics next year?"
"Anyone selected for the national team has a chance," I replied.
"But the sabre group already has you and Ling Xiao."
His bluntness made me realize my previous answer had been a bit thoughtless. We’d been training at the Zishan Base for over a month now, eating and training together every day, but no one ever brought this up. I hadn't really let myself dwell on it, but while many are called to the national team, Olympic spots are limited. When it comes down to who will actually get a ticket... as much as I hated to think about it, I assumed it would be Ling Xiao and me.
"Isn't there still the team event? We have spots for the team event too," I said.
Zhang Ting gave a bitter smile. "The team event only has four spots."
And one of those four is a substitute. I watched his back as he walked down the stairs ahead of me, feeling a bit uneasy. I often fantasized about standing on the Olympic podium with Ling Xiao to my right, or facing off against powerhouses like Russia or Hungary alongside Lao Qi and Gao Dabang. But there was no guarantee I’d even see them on the strip when the time came. Competitive sports are just that cruel.
I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. For now, eating was the priority.
By the time I reached the canteen, Lao Qi and Gao Dabang were already wiping their mouths, getting ready to leave. They waved when they saw me. I dropped my bag and sprinted toward the service window.
"Sister Yuan! Did you save me any Lion’s Head meatballs?"
Sister Yuan was a large woman who commanded the kitchen with an iron ladle. She gave me a look of pure disdain and pushed a tray forward. The dish was mostly watery broth, with only two golden meatballs left. "Every single time with you. Come earlier next time. The national team doesn't give out special treatment."
"Thanks, Sister Yuan! I can't help it, I’ve been drafted into the National Cleaning Team!"
I sat down with my tray and scrutinized the two remaining meatballs. As expected, they were the rejects—lumpy and misshapen. When I picked one up with my chopsticks, I could immediately tell it was underweight.
Lao Qi saw me weighing the meatball on my soup spoon and scoffed. "The national team is going to go bankrupt just trying to feed you!"
I popped the undersized meatball into my mouth, thinking to myself that the eyesight of our fencing team really was top-tier—not a single person had left me a plump one.
While sipping my soup, I caught sight of Ling Xiao sitting two tables over. The guy had a habit of sitting alone by the window. A handsome man by a window is always a picturesque sight, especially an "iceberg" like Ling Xiao. Whenever he sat by a window, I felt like I was looking at a classic painting of "eternal snows on a distant peak." I often used his presence as a side dish for my meals; he was truly a feast for the eyes. Unfortunately, this young master radiated an aura that screamed "do not approach." If you dared to provoke him, he’d probably whip out a blade and parry you into oblivion.
I noticed Ling Xiao was staring down with intense focus. I thought he was lost in deep thought, but upon closer inspection, he was actually picking out fish bones! It seemed the great Ling Xiao didn't know how to eat fish; he’d put a piece in his bowl and spend ages picking at it. No wonder he was still here struggling while I’d already finished cleaning the hall. If you can't eat fish, just eat something else! Like my glorious Lion’s Head meatballs. Why pick a fight with a fish? I watched as he finally conquered a single piece of fish after half an eternity and carefully put it in his mouth. Looking at him... Hahaha, was that a look of satisfaction?
"What are you smirking at?" Lao Qi asked.
Over there, Ling Xiao’s eyes flicked up alertly. I immediately buried my face in my meatballs.
A moment later, Ling Xiao finally stood up to leave. But a perfectly good plate of fish was left on the table, only half-eaten. I couldn't help but mutter, "What a waste..."
Gao Dabang let out a "tch." "That’s all he ever eats. For someone who stalks him all day, you’d think you’d notice he leaves half his food behind every single time."
Really? I looked back at the fish, which had been meticulously deboned on only one side. He was such a picky eater. How did he end up taller than me eating so little?
Lao Qi teased me, "Want to eat it? Aren't you always complaining you're never full and need more protein?"
Very funny. Why would I eat someone else's leftovers? I’m not *that* desperate for a good meal.
But then again, leaving half a meal really is intolerable. I’ve been taught since I was a kid never to leave a single grain of rice, a virtue I maintain to this day. I figured if I ever managed to actually strike up a conversation with him, I’d have to give him some friendly advice. It’s not easy for the country to raise us, and it’s even harder for someone as stout as Sister Yuan to sweat over a stove making fish. Frugality is a virtue! If you really can't finish it, you can always find someone to share it with...
Gao Dabang curled his lip. "He doesn't even clear his own tray, just leaves it for someone else to clean up. He really thinks he’s some kind of aristocrat just because he fences."
I corrected him. "Sabre is the sword of the knight, it has nothing to do with being an aristocrat. Besides, what’s your deal with Ling Xiao? Why are you always so salty about him?"
"I just can't stand how he’s always giving you a hard time."
Holy crap, don't go spreading rumors about my standing in the national team! "How is he giving me a hard time?"
"Then why won't he take a photo with you?"
*Ouch!* It felt like I’d been stabbed right in the ribs. I slammed my chopsticks down, obliterating a meatball. "The photo is going to happen!"
***
