Peninsula: Aiming for a Grand Slam

Chapter 88 Only this once

Chen Jixian really wanted to ask FILA, what do girls' lips taste like?

Now, he doesn't need to ask anymore.

soft.

Warm.

When it was placed on me, it still carried a bit of her body heat.

Liu Zhimin's lips parted slightly, her breath sweeping into his mouth, warm and moist, carrying her body temperature.

After the kiss ended, his lips didn't move away.

His forehead was still pressed against hers, and their noses were touching.

Chen Jixian felt her fingers slide down and land on his collarbone, pressing lightly.

It's like saying—

"That's fine."

Chen Jixian did not back down.

His lips continued to slide down.

"That's enough."

Liu Zhimin's voice was very low; she wasn't being coquettish, nor was she playing hard to get.

Xiao Chen raised his head.

Her eyes were still glistening with tears, her lips were slightly swollen, and the redness on her cheeks had spread from her ears to her neck.

But her eyes were clear.

Chen Jixian suddenly realized that his breathing was more rapid than hers, and his fingers were still gripping the hem of her cardigan, his knuckles turning white.

He let go.

He took half a step back.

"----Feel sorry."

Chen Jixian's voice was terribly hoarse.

He did lose control; in the last few minutes, his hands weren't always getting her permission first.

He didn't know what he was apologizing for—for the kiss that made her lips swell, or for his transgression?

Liu Zhimin did not speak immediately.

She leaned against the windowsill, bent down to straighten her crumpled cardigan, and pulled the side that had slipped down back onto her shoulder.

Her movements were unhurried, as if she were adjusting her clothes in front of a mirror after rehearsal.

Then, Liu Zhimin raised her head.

"What were you thinking about just now?"

This is not a question.

Liu Zhimin knew the answer, but he wanted him to say it.

Chen Jixian didn't speak, the red on his neck spreading from his collar all the way to the tips of his ears—he wanted her!

Liu Zhimin looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

Then, she sighed softly and straightened up from the windowsill.

Liu Zhimin took a step forward and stood in front of him again.

"Just this once."

She grasped Xiao Chen's wrist, pulled his hand up, and placed it on her soft waist.

"This time, stick your tongue in, but the rest—"

She paused, and her ears turned even redder.

"We'll talk about the rest when you get back."

My phone vibrated.

Chen Jixian opened his eyes, then reached for his phone to retrieve a confirmation message from the taxi company: the driver was almost there.

He sat up from the sofa, the blanket slipping off him and piling up on his knees.

There were more traces of last night than just this one.

There were two cups on the coffee table, and she drank half of them.

The cardigan was draped over the back of the sofa; she had taken it off before she left.

She said, "This is for you," but didn't explain why.

He didn't ask.

On the kitchen sink, there was a thin, black hair tie, wrapped around the bottom of the faucet handle, as if she were washing her hands.

I picked it off casually and then forgot to take it back.

He didn't touch the hair tie, just glanced at it, and then turned and went into the bathroom.

Wash up.

Change clothes.

Do a final check on the golf bag.

He pulled his suitcase over, the handle clicking into place with a satisfying "click." Then, standing in the middle of the living room, he took out his phone and opened Kakao.

Liu Zhimin's chat box was at the top, and the last message she sent after arriving home was "Arrived".

It's strange, even though it's just going up or down the stairs, they still have to say it.

He stared at those two words for two seconds, then typed: "I'm off."

1

The taxi driver honked the horn.

He put away his phone, pulled his suitcase, and walked out of the apartment. The door closed gently behind him.

In the elevator, Xiao Chen took out his phone, and two new messages popped up in Schneider's chat box.

One is flight confirmation.

The other one is the weather forecast for Monastir: sunny, 26 degrees Celsius, 60 percent humidity.

He concluded by saying, "I've arrived. I'll come straight to the competition venue."

Chen Jixian replied with an "okay" and put his phone in his pocket.

The elevator doors opened, and he dragged his luggage across the lobby. A silver-gray taxi was parked on the side of the road with its hazard lights flashing.

Xiao Chen stuffed his suitcase into the back seat and sat by the window.

As the taxi merged into Seoul's traffic, he glanced at his apartment building through the car window.

Then, Chen Jixian lowered his head and opened Kakao.

In Liu Zhimin's chat box, the message status changed from "unread" to "read".

A few seconds later, she replied with a message.

"Play well."

Just three words.

There were no emojis, no extraneous symbols besides punctuation, yet the reply was almost instantaneous.

She kept looking at her phone.

This wasn't Chen Jixian's first time traveling far from home, but it truly was the first time he had ever traveled this far!

My parents aren't around either.

When he first came to Seoul, at least his mother was with him.

The flight from Seoul to Habib Burjiba International Airport in Monastir took more than ten hours.

When filling out the entry card, Chen Jixian was very serious, writing each stroke carefully as if he were filling out a form that would determine his fate.

But after getting off the plane, you realize that nobody is looking up at you.

When the customs officer in Monastir took Chen's passport, he only glanced at it and then said in French-accented English, "Tennis?"

Xiao Chen nodded.

The other person flashed a bright white smile: "Good luck."

*Snap*, the stamp was applied.

It took less than thirty seconds in total.

However, his "good luck" seemed to have a slightly malicious undertone, as if he were looking at yet another foolish sucker.

There are too many newcomers like Xiao Chen. Monastir has a lot of young players like this every year. They come with great ambition, but leave in disgrace in less than a week.

There are no direct flights from Seoul to Monastir.

Chen Jixian had to fly to Istanbul first, and then transfer to Monastir.

He spent more than ten hours crammed into a middle seat in economy class, his knees pressed against the seat in front of him, dozing off and waking up intermittently.

He never expected that after flying thousands of kilometers, landing would be so easy.

As he bent down to pick up his luggage, a balding middle-aged man next to him casually remarked:

"Professional?"

Xiao Chen paused for a moment before realizing that he was being asked if he played professional tennis—they generally don't ask about other sports here.

"————Yep.

""

Good luck.

Another encouragement.

He hasn't played a single game, yet three strangers have already cheered him on.

Schneider was waiting for him in the arrival hall.

The German stood among a group of people who came to pick him up, his expression unchanged.

But when Chen Jixian came out, he glanced at his watch, then at Xiao Chen, and then snorted through his nose.

It's like saying "It's not too late," or "It's finally here."

"Get in the car."

Schneider turned the car onto the coastal highway, and a dry wind blew in through the cracks in the car window, carrying a slightly salty smell.

Xiao Chen squinted and yawned.

Schneider reminded him, "Don't sleep, stay awake until tonight, otherwise you won't be able to adjust to the time difference."

Chen Jixian opened his eyes.

Outside the car were gray streets and low white houses. Occasionally, a Tunisian flag would flash by on the roadside, flapping loudly in the sea breeze.

"A big shot used to come from here," Schneider said, gripping the steering wheel.

"Who's the important person?"

"Tunisia's first president was born in this city."

Xiao Chen glanced again at the drab houses outside the window.

The president walked out from here.

His goals are much smaller, so he's more likely to go out into the world, right?

Schneider turned the car onto a narrower road, where a cluster of off-white buildings came into view in the distance, with palm trees peeking out from behind the walls.

Several rows of tennis courts are right next to the main building, and the lights around the courts are on in the afternoon sun, as if they had been on all night and hadn't been turned off yet.

"arrive."

Schneider parked the car and engaged the handbrake.

He turned around and added a few more words: "Almost every grassroots player in the world has been here. Whether you can name them or not, they've all played on this court."

"Dozens of tournaments a year, every week. This isn't Wimbledon, it's not Flushing Meadows, but without this place, there wouldn't be those people."

The German pushed open the car door, and a wave of dry heat rushed in.

Welcome to Monastir—the Mecca of the tennis world.