Back at the dorm, I habitually checked Weibo. My notifications had exploded again. Half the comments were asking why I hadn’t posted a photo today, and the other half were demanding to know why I never posted any pictures with Ling Xiao.
What’s the rush, people? Your beloved poster is working on it, okay?!
The comment count kept climbing. Thinking about that far-off, non-existent photo made my head ache.
“Hey, do any of you know how to use Photoshop?” I asked.
“PS? I do!” Gao Dabang looked up from his computer, eyes gleaming with excitement.
I immediately tried to butter him up. “Dabang, buddy, can you help me fake a photo? I’ll buy you dinner!”
Out on the balcony, Lao Qi spat out a mouthful of mouthwash. “Qiao Mai, have you no shame?”
Gao Dabang was already rolling up his sleeves, eager to start. “You came to the right man. Why bother trying to crack an iceberg like Ling Xiao? Forget a regular photo—I could even P a bed scene for you two!”
So, the two of us huddled together to pick out the source material. I had an absurd number of photos of myself, so that wasn't an issue. The problem was finding a photo of Ling Xiao. Fortunately, Lao Hu was a photography nut. Sometimes during training, he’d get a sudden burst of inspiration and snap a few shots of us looking absolutely wrecked. Then, while everyone was chatting happily in the fencing team’s WeChat group, he’d drop those mood-killing photos just to watch the conversation die. Our team leader clearly derived a twisted sense of satisfaction from our collective silence.
Gao Dabang and I carefully sifted through the options and finally settled on one. It was taken after a particularly brutal footwork session; everyone was scattered on the floor like broken dolls, clutching water bottles. Ling Xiao happened to be the focal point of the shot, so he was relatively clear. Honestly, the guy was so photogenic he didn't have a single bad angle. I told Gao Dabang to take a photo of me resting and edit me in right next to him.
If two people are sitting together during a break, it implies they’re on good terms, right?
With Ling Xiao’s photo selected, it was time to choose mine.
Gao Dabang pointed. “How about this one? You’re drinking water in this one too.”
“No, not that one. It makes my face look huge.”
“What about this? The angle is good; it’ll look natural when I stitch them together.”
“Forget it. It makes my legs look short by comparison.”
Lao Qi couldn't take it anymore. “Qiao Mai, for the love of god, stop with these shady tactics. If Ling Xiao finds out, I’ll be embarrassed for you even if you aren't! And you’re actually letting Dabang do it? Last time I asked him to brighten my skin a bit, he turned me into a literal beacon of holy light! My own mother wouldn't have recognized me. If you ask me, just be honest and ask the guy for a photo. Isn't he covering your shift next week? That’s your chance!”
Looking at the photos of myself—either panting with my tongue out like a dog or looking as pathetic as a dying salted fish—I really didn't have the courage to paste myself next to Ling Xiao. Lao Qi had a point. Since Ling Xiao was covering for me anyway, if I played my cards right and acted thick-skinned enough, I might be able to get close to him. But I couldn't let him play me again. I needed to come up with an excuse he couldn't refuse...
Every Wednesday, Lao Qi and I were paired up for cleaning duty. Next Wednesday, Ling Xiao would be taking my place. I could pretend I had an errand to run and leave early, then "rush" back as soon as I was done. I could get Lao Qi to help me put on a show—maybe he "sprained his ankle" or his "girlfriend had an emergency." What choice would Ling Xiao have then? He’d be stuck with me! Plan: Success!
Sigh. Honestly, it was all Ling Xiao’s fault for being so difficult. He’d turned a perfectly upright young man like me into a total scheming boy!
“What ‘scheming boy’? You’re a scheming gay,” Lao Qi chimed in.
But the Weibo comments were still piling up. This was getting out of hand.
Lao Qi walked over and slammed my laptop shut. “Take this opportunity to quit Weibo for a bit.”
My world went blissfully dark. Lao Qi really knew how to take decisive action. Finally, some peace and quiet.
***
Lying in bed with nothing to do, Zhang Ting’s words drifted back into my mind. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to scroll through Weibo, but surely checking Tieba would be fine.
The forum was called "Fencing Enthusiasts." Back when I first started learning sabre, I used to hang out there a lot. I’d posted quite a bit and learned a lot of useful tips. Now, I occasionally dropped by to give advice to rookies and encourage the newcomers.
On the front page, there was a thread asking why their blade tip always missed the target. The first few replies asked if the original poster was doing Foil or Epee, but it turned out they were a Sabre fencer. A lot of the comments were saying that in Sabre, you just need to practice your cuts and parries; thrusts are rarely used and aren't a primary way to score.
This reminded me of when I first started. In Sabre, points do mostly come from cuts because, combined with footwork, the attacking range is larger and it’s easier to score. So, back then, I didn't take thrusting seriously either. It wasn't until I started facing more and more high-level opponents that the gap became apparent. Especially when facing taller opponents with long arms and legs—there were many times I’d be pushed to the baseline, and in a split second, I’d spot a tiny opening. But the distance was too short for a cut. That’s when you remember you can thrust. In a desperate gamble, I’d lunge for a thrust, but the tip of my blade would wobble around like it was mocking me. I couldn't hit the mark, couldn't find the power, and the opponent would easily dodge backward.
In matches between masters, details determine success or failure. When everyone is equally good at cutting and parrying, that one overlooked thrust might be what decides the final point. Don't forget, many experts start with Foil before switching to Sabre; when it comes to thrusting, their starting point is already a level above pure Sabre players. After reflecting for a moment, I decided to reply to the girl’s post.
I wrote a long, heartfelt response. When I refreshed the page, I saw that someone else had replied at the same time. Compared to my long-winded essay, their answer was a single sentence: *Try practicing more double unders.*
The ID was "Wu Feng." It looked familiar. If I remembered correctly, they had registered around the same time I did. They didn't show up often, and unlike me—who loved to hang out in gossip threads—this user almost exclusively appeared in technical discussions. Their replies were always concise and to the point, with zero fluff.
I counted the words in my own reply. *Tsk.* Seventy-eight words. All those adjectives, adverbs, prepositions, and a cliché encouraging remark at the end... looking at it next to Wu Feng’s brief reply, I looked incredibly wordy. My point was exactly the same as his—suggesting she work on wrist strength and finger control through target practice and double unders—so why was I so long-winded? Was Lao Qi right? Was it because I wasn't "straight" enough?
Wu Feng and I weren't exactly close forum friends. Usually, if I saw that he shared my opinion, I’d give him a "like" or a supportive comment. Typically, it took three or five of my "likes" before the guy would even bother replying with a "thanks."
This time, I couldn't resist replying: *Wu Feng, my friend! What a coincidence!*
I waited for a while with no response and figured he’d logged off. But when I refreshed again, he had actually replied.
Wu Feng: *Quite a coincidence.*
I sat up in bed and quickly typed out a conversation starter: *Back when my hands weren't flexible enough, my coach made me jump rope too. The results were amazing!* OK, click send.
A moment later, Wu Feng replied: *Yeah, I heard you mention that before.*
I froze. Wu Feng had heard me mention that before? Wait, that’s weird. I didn't remember ever saying that on the forum.
Me: *I said that before? Hahaha, I don't even remember!*
I don't know if I said something wrong, but Wu Feng didn't reply after that.
I thought about it for a long time and decided it was probably that string of "hahahas" that drove him away. Actually, I was much better than I used to be; for the sake of the National Team’s image, I barely even used emojis anymore. I turned off my phone and lay back down, telling myself that next time, I had to eliminate all onomatopoeia and unnecessary fluff. I had to be a man of pure, clean prose.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 微博 | Weibo | A major Chinese social media platform, similar to X/Twitter. |
| PS | PS / Photoshop | Common Chinese shorthand for photo editing. |
| 贴吧 | Tieba | Baidu Tieba, a Chinese communication forum organized by topics (bars). |
| 击剑爱好者 | Fencing Enthusiasts | The name of the specific forum (Tieba) Qiao Mai visits. |
| 花剑 | Foil | One of the three disciplines of modern fencing. |
| 重剑 | Epee | One of the three disciplines of modern fencing. |
| 佩剑 | Sabre | The discipline the protagonist competes in; allows cutting with the edge. |
| 劈 | Cut / Slash | A scoring method in Sabre fencing using the edge of the blade. |
| 刺 | Thrust / Stab | A scoring method using the tip of the blade. |
| 双飞 | Double unders | A jump rope technique where the rope passes under the feet twice per jump. |
| 无风 | Wu Feng | A username meaning "No Wind" or "Windless." |
| 心机boy | Scheming boy | Slang for someone who is manipulative or has hidden intentions. |
| 心机钙 | Scheming gay | A punny variation of "scheming boy" used by Lao Qi to tease Qiao Mai. |
| 咸鱼 | Salted fish | Slang for someone with no ambition or who looks pathetic/lifeless. |
