Chapter 15 – Devoted

Gu Yiming used to think a week was short—just a few thousand bullets, and it would pass in the blink of an eye. But now, a week felt unbearably long—agonizingly so. When he was at the shooting range, it was manageable, but once he left, every second felt suffocatingly crowded. He couldn’t think about anything else; his mind was completely occupied by Fang Xiao. Fang Xiao, Fang Xiao, Fang Xiao. And Fang Xiao’s confession.

Gu Yiming wasn’t unfamiliar with confessions. He had developed late—short and unremarkable in middle school, barely noticeable. No one expected him to shoot up to 180 cm shortly after starting high school. Gu Yiming was a shooter, arguably the most mysterious and coolest discipline in their sports team. Combined with his good looks, which stood out among a sea of acne-ridden teenagers, he occasionally received love letters disguised as holiday cards during Western festivals like Christmas.

But those confessions were nothing like Fang Xiao’s. For one, those confessors were all girls—girls Gu Yiming barely interacted with, whose names he couldn’t even recall. And more importantly… none of them were Fang Xiao.

Gu Yiming recalled the way Fang Xiao had smiled at him, and his thoughts abruptly stalled. He couldn’t think any further. This was his first brush with romance, and he was entirely unfamiliar with these emotions—like a mole accustomed to darkness suddenly peeking out at dawn instead of midnight, unexpectedly encountering a spring so radiant it was blinding. All the beauty was right there, dazzling and overwhelming. That brilliance was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Gu Yiming thought of those photos. After returning to Beijing, he had spent nights after training organizing their travel pictures. He blamed Fang Xiao’s high-definition DSLR—every detail in the images reminded him of the moments they captured, of Fang Xiao’s actions in the frame and their exchanges outside it. Fang Xiao gazed at him through the camera lens—aloof and composed when not smiling, but when he did, it was as if he had been looking at Gu Yiming that way for years, his eyes full of pure affection. Gu Yiming realized he remembered everything—every smile, every glance, down to the finest detail. He even remembered the texture of Fang Xiao’s hair in the biting wind.

This was terrifying.

Gu Yiming should have felt panic, but perhaps he was a bit slow—even fear and alarm felt like a fleeting breeze brushing past him, too weak to shift the boulder that had settled in his heart. He wasn’t afraid. He just missed Fang Xiao more and more.

Beijing saw its first snowfall. Gu Yiming paused by the corridor window, looking outside, thinking: Fang Xiao likes me. During anti-pressure training with the women’s team, Gu Yiming stood expressionless amidst the cheering crowd, clapping mechanically, thinking: Fang Xiao likes me. Back in his dorm after training, scrolling absently through his social feed, thinking: Fang Xiao likes me.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it—the moment he stepped off the firing point, his mind wandered there.

Fang Xiao likes me. Gu Yiming considered this fact with complete calm and full immersion.

The shooting team’s Monday-to-Friday schedule consisted of routine technical, live-fire, and psychological training. Saturdays were reserved for experimental anti-pressure drills—like performing standard procedures in pitch darkness or blindfolded. For this winter training, Qin Shan had devised new methods to desensitize athletes to environmental noise under the new rules, inspired by the South Korean women’s archery team’s graveyard training sessions at night.

Gu Yiming was paired with Senior Xie Qingyun. They started with ten sets of 30-second one-on-one pressure drills, followed by a sixty-shot quasi-routine session—except the athletes’ noise-canceling earplugs were replaced with Bluetooth headphones playing horror movie soundtracks, complete with background music, dialogue, and sudden screams or effects at unpredictable intervals.

After finishing a set, Gu Yiming saw his total score was 568, noticeably lower than his usual performance. His heart rate data showed intermittent spikes, corresponding to slight fluctuations in his shooting results—his stability still needed improvement. Glancing at Xie Qingyun’s results on the adjacent screen, Gu Yiming was surprised to find they were nearly identical to his normal training scores.

After the sixty-shot qualification round came solo benchmark training, still with the horror soundtrack headphones. The coach set Gu Yiming’s target at three consecutive perfect 100s. His average ten-shot score in training had long surpassed 10.3, so this task didn’t sound difficult—but achieving three flawless sets under noise interference, consecutively, demanded extremely tight error margins. Gu Yiming was in good form lately and finished his specialized training early. His idol complex told him leaving prematurely was inappropriate, so he headed to the weight room—where he coincidentally ran into Xie Qingyun again.

Physical training for pistol events was relatively flexible. Beyond the scheduled endurance, balance, and light equipment sessions each week, daily workouts were left to the athletes’ discretion—jogging was fine, and even slacking off at the rehab center was acceptable. Winter training for the second-tier junior team didn’t overlap with the national A team’s schedule or facilities, so the weight room was empty except for the two of them.

Recalling Xie Qingyun’s machine-like steady heart rate, Gu Yiming decided to ask for advice. Xie Qingyun shrugged helplessly: “My wife loves horror movies. I’ve seen this one several times—I know exactly when the screams come from the background music. Didn’t get scared, didn’t get trained.”

When Xie Qingyun mentioned his wife, his expression was exasperated, but his eyes were warm with tender amusement. Gu Yiming thought of the family photos on Xie Qingyun’s social feed—their relationship must be very harmonious. The old Gu Yiming would’ve acknowledged this as a good thing and left it at that, but now, atop the usual “happiness for them,” he felt a sliver of “curiosity.”

Gu Yiming was introverted and reticent—outside his coach and roommate, he wasn’t close to anyone. Broaching personal topics felt abrupt. He tried imagining how someone with normal social skills might approach this. The first person he thought of was Fang Xiao—of course, he was always thinking of Fang Xiao.

Then it hit him. Fang Xiao had said it was okay.

Gu Yiming had already managed one ordinary conversation with Hu Xueyue. Xie Qingyun was their senior brother—surely he wouldn’t be harder to talk to than Hu Xueyue. Even if he was, it didn’t matter. Awkward silences were fleeting—they decided nothing.

Judging boundaries with a ruler was too simplistic. Between people, connections weren’t taut threads on the verge of snapping. Gu Yiming never looked back, so he hadn’t realized he always had an escape route. More than that—now he even had someone who treated him well not out of expectation, but out of genuine fondness.

Gu Yiming carefully chose his words: “Senior Xie, could you share how your relationship started?”

“Hmm?” Xie Qingyun narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Yiming, are you in love?”

“Not yet…” Gu Yiming didn’t know why the plain truth sounded so hollow.

“Ah, ‘not yet.'” Xie Qingyun repeated meaningfully. Seeing Gu Yiming’s brows knit into a frown, he mercifully dropped the topic. “My experience isn’t worth learning from. We were high school classmates—her family ran a convenience store, and she brought me soda every day. I had a crush on her for three years, planning to confess after her college entrance exams, but she beat me to it.”

Gu Yiming thought it over. “So… she liked you before you confessed?”

“Obviously,” Xie Qingyun said, eyebrows quirking smugly. “Why else would she bring me soda every day? Listen, confessions don’t work without emotional groundwork—just look at those cringeworthy public proposals. You’ve got to dismantle the enemy’s defenses in daily life first, strike when they’re vulnerable, then deliver the final blow. If both sides are already sweet on each other, confessing is just the natural next step.”

…Exactly what Fang Xiao had done. Using his fan identity to lull Gu Yiming into lowering his guard—what a schemer. That kind, gentle, understanding true fan? He didn’t exist. All an act, just to woo him. Gu Yiming thought coldly.

Gu Yiming decided Fang Xiao was downright cunning. He’d read those relationship articles on social media—he knew Fang Xiao was at a “gender disadvantage” pursuing him, with an “age gap” to boot, making it an “uphill battle.” Fang Xiao must’ve meticulously embedded himself in Gu Yiming’s life for over a month to erode his defenses.

Admittedly, Fang Xiao had done an excellent job. The thought that Fang Xiao liked him didn’t anger or repel Gu Yiming at all. There was a sliver of shock, but it was negligible. He was actually… deliriously happy.

Gu Yiming thought Fang Xiao didn’t need any of those tactics. He was so beautiful and so kind—even if he did nothing, Gu Yiming would’ve easily fallen for him. Even if he did everything, Gu Yiming would’ve forgiven him without hesitation—then easily fallen for him anyway.

Gu Yiming made up his mind.