Chapter 142: Extra 4: Beach Chronicles
Ning Zhuo was a quick study at anything, especially sports-related. He could grasp the essentials in no time and, with a bit more practice, master them completely.
It wasn’t that Ning Zhuo didn’t know how to have fun—he just never had the time.
With his intelligence, stamina, and focus, he could succeed at anything.
When he tried tennis, one swing warped the strings of Shan Feibai’s carefully tuned racket.
In basketball, no one dared challenge him for the ball—a 200-pound “Panqiao” mercenary got shouldered so hard he nearly flew off the court.
Even in video games, he’d dive right in, fiercely competitive.
When rhythm games were all the rage on Ping’an Island, Ning Zhuo, stone-faced, tore through a teenage DJ’s songs, securing the top spot on the local leaderboard before washing up and hitting the sack.
The only problem? Ning Zhuo found little joy in these games.
Or rather, he’d been wound so tight for so long that he’d forgotten what “relaxed” even felt like.
Recently, Shan Feibai had crafted a surfboard and was teaching him to surf.
As expected, Ning Zhuo picked it up fast. In three or four tries, he paddled into the wave zone, instinctively reading the swell. After just two wipeouts, he could ride small waves.
To Ning Zhuo, it was another unsurprising day.
The small wave passed quickly.
Shirtless, Ning Zhuo sat aimlessly on his board, feeling like he was wasting time.
Last month, he’d visited Ping’an Island’s main island to check prices and stock up on essentials. While there, he’d gotten a full check-up at the general hospital.
No signs of imminent death.
His life unexpectedly extended, Ning Zhuo now had time to spare.
But how to spend it? He hadn’t figured that out.
As he pondered grand questions about life and time, a group of shirtless, muscled guys on the beach quietly ogled him.
“I mean, we’re all rough-and-tumble guys, same as him,” a “Haina” mercenary said, patting his chiseled pecs, genuinely puzzled. “…But when the boss goes shirtless, why does it feel like he’s not even the same species?”
Min Min, lounging in a bikini on Phoenix’s sculpted thighs, sipping a drink, glanced over. “What, you saying he’s my gender?”
The other mercenaries shook their heads in unison. “No, it’s just… just…”
Their education—barely prenatal level—left them scrambling for words, despite Ning Zhuo’s recent push for them to study. After “just”-ing for ages, they couldn’t pin down how to describe him.
As their vocab failed them, Ning Zhuo shifted, revealing the elegant groove of his spine.
White sea foam splashed onto him, water droplets gleaming under the golden sun.
“…Oh, come on,” someone groaned. “Let’s get the boss a shirt.”
Unaware of the gossip, Ning Zhuo sat cross-legged on his board, asking Shan Feibai, “You find this fun?”
“Of course,” Shan Feibai, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder waiting for the next wave, nodded firmly. “The whole point of surfing is to look cool.”
Ning Zhuo lowered his gaze. “You think you’re cool?”
Shan Feibai, as if praised, grinned with a mix of smugness and shy charm.
No words needed.
Ning Zhuo rolled his eyes, turning to face the blue sea and sky, resisting the urge to kick him off the board.
But Shan Feibai couldn’t sit still—idleness made him antsy.
From somewhere, he pulled out a water gun, aiming at Ning Zhuo from behind. “Don’t move!”
Reflexively, Ning Zhuo smacked the nerve in Shan Feibai’s wrist, snatching the gun and pressing it to his temple, pulling the trigger—
Squirting water in his face.
Shan Feibai lost balance, tumbling into the sea.
Quick as ever, he grabbed Ning Zhuo’s shoulder mid-fall, dragging them both under, a pair of dunked lovebirds.
Moments later, they surfaced, clinging to the board’s buoyancy.
Shan Feibai wiped his eyes, grinning. “Wasn’t last night just like this? You shooting…”
Ning Zhuo kicked him hard underwater, shutting him up for a solid ten minutes.
Just then, a commotion erupted on the beach.
Ning Zhuo glanced back to see “Haina” and “Panqiao” crews at it again, led by their two hotheaded mercenaries, brawling in swim trunks, rolling in the sand.
Neither Ning Zhuo nor Shan Feibai knew the fight started over who’d provoked whom in their earlier tussle.
Hot sea breeze ruffled Ning Zhuo’s hair.
In a fleeting moment, he saw a family of four at the beach’s edge.
A woman in a vibrant swimsuit built a small, sturdy sand堤 to hold back the waves—a dream her marriage and health had denied her.
Beside her, a young boy crawled forward, fearlessly exploring his new world.
A man in a “White Shield” uniform hoisted a thirteen-year-old boy by the armpits, spinning him in circles, sweating buckets but beaming.
The teen, mentally more mature than his father, indulged the childish game with resigned patience, fully playing along.
As if sensing a stranger’s gaze, the boy turned, locking eyes with Ning Zhuo.
His green eyes, like Ning Zhuo’s, shimmered with a faint glassy blue in the sunlight.
Tilting his head, his usually cool demeanor betrayed a hint of curiosity: Who are you?
Ning Zhuo refused to blink, but the idyllic vision vanished.
The beach held only a rowdy pack of punks, burning off excess energy.
He turned back, unfazed.
Noticing his mood shift, Shan Feibai snapped his fingers in front of him. “Ning-ge, what’s on your mind?”
Ning Zhuo thought it made sense he felt no joy or thrill—after blood, fire, life, and death, everything seemed dull.
He still didn’t know how to use his newfound time, still felt living was a waste.
But with Shan Feibai, these games weren’t so tedious.
If he was wasting time, wasting it on Shan Feibai wasn’t bad.
Looking at him, Ning Zhuo asked, “When’s the next wave? Can we go again?”
