Chapter 85 – The Crimson Beneath His Eyes
In the dream, the person was so obedient, so soft. In the darkness came the faint sound of panting. Half-drunk, Shao Zhan kissed along the Adam’s apple, the tense neck, down to the trembling chest. When he moved lower, trailing kisses along the skin, his hand was suddenly caught.
Yang Sa’s eyes were flushed with crimson. His voice hoarse, he asked, “Do you know… who I am?”
In the quiet room, a sense of intimacy swirled in the air.
The vibration of a phone broke the moment’s atmosphere. Yang Sa turned to look, only for his chin to be caught by Shao Zhan. The next second, an uncharacteristically intense and fiery kiss ignited like a spark, burning from between their lips all the way through them.
The phone kept vibrating relentlessly, but it could no longer disturb the passionate, quiet night that belonged to just the two of them.
…
The next morning, Shao Zhan woke up to find the space beside him empty. Recalling the events of the night before, he pulled the blanket over his face and muttered, “Another dream…”
Even though they were adults, and liked each other, having dreams like that without permission still made him feel a bit guilty.
Still hungover and needing work to distract himself from the guilt, Shao Zhan was just about to call his secretary to ask about the day’s schedule when Qin Chuan’s call came in first.
The guy started rattling off like a machine gun the moment he opened his mouth: “You old bast*rd—are you even human anymore?!”
Totally confused by the outburst, Shao Zhan moved the phone away from his ear and rubbed his throbbing temples. “Talk properly. How exactly am I not human?”
“You still have the nerve to ask?! You really don’t know?!” Qin Chuan, holed up in the base’s meeting room in his pea-green jumpsuit, was practically hopping with rage. “Your hand’s injured, right? Can’t play, right? We finally got our hands on this rare gem—just won the Asia Cup, I haven’t even had time to warm him up—and then you, you damn flower-picking scoundrel, went and plucked him…!”
“What? What are you saying?” Shao Zhan stopped what he was doing, his gaze landing on the mess on the other side of the bed. He muttered to himself, “No way…”
“No way? No way my ass! You old pervert, old scoundrel! The marks all over Xiao Sa—there’s no hiding them! You bast*rd!”
“Wait… the marks on him—how do you know?” Shao Zhan asked, an involuntary urge to fire someone rising in his chest.
“I saw them, of course I saw them!” Qin Chuan was still raging. “Yesterday’s interview didn’t happen, so I rescheduled it for today. The moment Xiao Sa walked in—his neck, tsk tsk tsk, I couldn’t even look. Can’t you show a little restraint? He’s Xinghai’s captain, and he still had an interview today!”
A faint smile crept into the corners of Shao Zhan’s eyes, though he kept up the act of a stern boss. “You rescheduled the interview—who gave you permission?”
Whether from gasping for air or sheer rage, Qin Chuan clutched his stomach and roared, “I called you last night and you didn’t even pick up! You—you were too busy having your fun to answer!!!”
Shao Zhan tsk‘ed and thought to himself, He knew he was coming to see me last night, and still called? Is this kid trying to get himself fired? He waved his hand dismissively and said, “Since it’s already been postponed, let him rest properly.”
“As if I need you to say that! Of course I care about him—don’t I care just as much as you do?!” Manager Qin Chuan roared like a king of shouting. “The Asia Cup just ended—this is the perfect time for him to build his reputation! I’m begging you, please don’t come and mess things up, okay? First thing in the morning, I find—find him like that—I tore the whole base apart, woke up the cleaning lady, and still couldn’t find a single bottle of foundation! I just personally drove to a 24-hour drugstore to buy foundation and concealer, but they don’t work at all! Listen here with your dog ears, it doesn’t cover anything! You old bast*rd, as the manager of Team Xinghai, I’m officially warning you: from now on, stay away from my captain!”
“How far away do I need to stay?” Shao Zhan asked lazily, his mood inexplicably light.
“As far as possible, get lost to the ends of the d*mn earth, #%&%%@%&&!” Qin Chuan unleashed every curse he’d stored up in his entire life, not giving Shao Zhan a single chance to respond, then handsomely hung up the phone.
He smoothed down his tousled hair from all the yelling, stepped out of the meeting room, walked to Yang Sa’s door, knocked, and gently pushed it open. “Xiao Sa, how are you feeling?”
The moment he saw his new captain, Qin Chuan had never felt such a strong urge to die.
“How is it… is it really obvious?” Yang Sa asked, voice barely louder than a mosquito’s.
“No, no, not at all.” Manager Qin Chuan immediately denied it, afraid the boy would get embarrassed. But Yang Sa’s skin was so fair—and now that daylight had come, those marks were even more visible. He didn’t know whether the foundation he’d bought was the wrong shade or what, but it seemed to do absolutely nothing.
Qin Chuan dabbed with the compact again and again. Eventually, he couldn’t pretend anymore. He collapsed into a chair, utterly defeated, and said, nearly in tears, “Xiao Sa… how about we just go with a turtleneck sweater…”
…
While Yang Sa was being interviewed, Qin Chuan held onto his phone. Every time Shao Zhan called, he declined it. Call after call—decline, decline, decline. And with every decline came a heartfelt curse directed at Shao Zhan’s ancestors going back eighteen generations.
But the persistent old bastard wouldn’t give up and started sending texts instead. The message bar kept lighting up with notifications:
“Why’d you leave?”
Qin Chuan rolled his eyes. “Why? You think he should’ve stayed to murder you instead?”
“Ghosting me, huh, little captain? One night and you’re gone?”
Another eye-roll. “You’re the ghoster. Your whole damn family are ghosters.”
“So irresponsible… he was pure as snow, you know…”
Qin Chuan’s eyes were practically stuck in the back of his head at this point. Seeing that Yang Sa had just wrapped up the interview, he quickly shoved the phone back into his hands.
“Manager, are you okay?” asked an oblivious Yang Sa.
“I’m fine,” said a drained Qin Chuan. “Just… I don’t think I’ll ever look at white paper the same way again.”
“White paper?”
Qin Chuan held it in as long as he could, but in the end, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He handed off the media follow-up work to a colleague in the publicity department, then pulled Yang Sa into the meeting room, carefully locked the door, and took a long moment to compose himself.
It was Yang Sa who finally broke the silence. “Manager, are you feeling unwell?”
“I feel unwell everywhere! There’s not a single part of me that feels okay!” Qin Chuan was so upset he was nearly in tears. “Xiao Sa, you’re still young, so take some advice from me—getting emotionally involved with your boss isn’t as simple as the dramas make it look. Right now he might give you the stars and the moon, but what if one day he doesn’t? What if he falls for someone else? By the time you regret it, it’ll be too late!”
“He won’t fall for someone else,” Yang Sa replied.
“Oh, captain…” Qin Chuan gave a bitter smile. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, do you even realize that?”
Yang Sa didn’t know if he was truly a hopeless romantic. He only knew his own strength. “Even if he falls for someone else, I’m capable of protecting myself.”
The backgrounds of all players were vetted before joining the team. Qin Chuan knew about Yang Sa’s circumstances—he’d even heard about his older brother, Qu Jin, from colleagues at headquarters. He knew Yang Sa wasn’t some fragile flower raised in a greenhouse. In fact, he was well aware that what Yang Sa had been through in his teens probably surpassed what anyone else on the team had.
Still, he couldn’t stop worrying. He spoke with genuine concern: “But matters of the heart are different. He, he…”
Yang Sa placed a hand on Qin Chuan’s shoulder. “Manager, I really do like him—and I’ve thought it through.”
Seeing that Qin Chuan still wanted to persuade him otherwise, he added, “I’ve been thinking about it for three years. I like him, and I’m ready for whatever comes next.”
Yang Sa said he had promised to duo queue with Tangyuan, so he left first.
That left Qin Chuan alone in the spacious meeting room, covering his face and muttering, “It’s over. I’m finished. My entire future’s in the hands of an old bastard and a lovesick fool. I’m so, so screwed…”
…
After finishing the call with Qin Chuan, Shao Zhan’s hangover seemed to magically vanish. He told his assistant to clear two hours in the evening for him, no matter what.
Then he raced straight to the Xinghai base. Just as Yang Sa was finishing a training discussion with the coaching team, Shao Zhan intercepted him.
“What are you doing here?” Yang Sa asked.
Shao Zhan smirked. “My club. My captain. I’ll come see him whenever I want.”
As he spoke, his hand instinctively reached for Yang Sa’s waist—only for Yang Sa to nimbly dodge away. He looked up and down the hallway like a meerkat on lookout in Planet Earth.
“What are you looking for?” Shao Zhan couldn’t help teasing—his posture was just too adorable. Seeing Yang Sa shoot him a frosty glare, he quickly straightened up and handed over a tube of anti-inflammatory cream.
“You came all the way here just to give me this?” Yang Sa held the medicine box in his hand, unsure whether to accept it or throw it away.
…
“It’s not just for this,” Shao Zhan said, unusually bashful as he rubbed his ear. “How about… I help you apply the ointment? I drank too much last night, didn’t really know my own strength…”
Flustered to no end, Yang Sa turned to leave—only to be grabbed from behind.
“Alright, alright, I won’t say anything more,” Shao Zhan offered a sheepish smile, clearly knowing he was in the wrong. “Don’t go, okay? Just say a few words to me.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Yang Sa’s tone was cold. When he lifted his gaze, he suddenly noticed someone standing just around the corner behind Shao Zhan. Who knew how much that person had overheard?
Shao Zhan followed his line of sight and saw Zhuang Bai holding a thermos, mechanically raising his hand in greeting. “C-Captain…”
…
The little bit of warmth he’d just managed to coax out was instantly extinguished by the unexpected interruption.
The moment Yang Sa spotted Zhuang Bai, he took off faster than a rabbit.
Zhuang Bai, clearly flustered and out of place, mumbled, “Did I… do something wrong?”
“No, it’s me who did,” Shao Zhan replied, shifting his gaze from Yang Sa’s retreating figure to his old teammate.
He knew Zhuang Bai’s temperament—he wouldn’t show up to disturb him unless it was something serious. And this guy… had really thrown him a curveball.
Shao Zhan convened the team leadership for a meeting to announce Zhuang Bai’s retirement. Yang Sa didn’t look the least bit surprised.
Coaches Du Changcheng and the foreign coach, Li Bai, were veterans of many lineup changes. After asking about Zhuang Bai’s situation, they fell into silence.
Manager Qin Chuan had been mentally preparing himself for this and tried to reassure everyone. “It’s okay, it’s okay. The new captain has already grown into his role. Besides, the old bast—uh, our former captain’s injury is almost healed, right?”
“There’s one more thing.” Shao Zhan lifted his right arm, still in a sling, and announced something even harder to accept than Zhuang Bai’s retirement.
Qin Chuan, who had been somewhat annoyed with the team owner, now looked utterly defeated. He slumped over the back of his chair like overcooked noodles, unmoved even by teasing or sarcasm.