The Secret of the Yoga Club: The Women's Identity is Not Simple

Lin Feng looked down at his right hand, his fingers slightly curled, and his fingertips trembling uncontrollably.

I recalled that scene again.

When the brick hit him, he could clearly feel the dull thud of the brick hitting his skull. The sensation was so strong that he couldn't shake it off.

And the skinny man's last look, his rolled-back eyes, the muffled groan squeezed out of his throat, the dark liquid slowly seeping under his head.

These images played repeatedly in his mind, becoming clearer the more he tried to stop thinking about them.

I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the trembling with my muscles, but it was no use.

My fingers started shaking even more.

Shangguan Jinghong noticed. He didn't say anything, but walked over from the French windows to Lin Feng. He was almost a head shorter than Lin Feng and looked up at him.

Her pupils, hidden beneath her single eyelids, appeared deep in the dim office light. Then she stretched out her arms and hugged him from the front.

"The first time is always like this. When I was nineteen, my dad had just been imprisoned, and creditors came to our door demanding repayment. One of the men pulled out a knife and tried to stab my mom. I hit him on the back of the head with an ashtray. When he fell, he looked like he was dead. I thought I had killed him. I trembled all night, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. My mom held me and slept through the night, saying it was okay, it was okay. Later, that man didn't die, but he had a concussion and spent half a month in the hospital. But I will never forget that feeling in my life."

Raymond Lam buried his face in her hair.

My hair has a very faint shampoo scent, not the kind with added fragrance, but a very clean and natural smell.

I took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. My hands were still shaking, but slightly better than before.

"Stay here tonight. I'll keep you company." Shangguan Jinghong's voice came from his chest, his tone still cold.

Lin Feng didn't speak, he just nodded.

Shangguan Jinghong's room was at the other end of the fourth-floor corridor, separated from his office by only two doors.

The room wasn't big, but it was spotless. There was a double bed, and on the bedside table were a book and a half-finished cup of black tea.

The curtains were dark gray and drawn tightly shut. A wardrobe stood in the corner, its doors closed.

The room had no unnecessary decorations.

Lin Feng sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his sneakers, which were covered in mud and blood. His bandaged feet stepped onto the wooden floor.

Shangguan Jinghong took a clean set of men's pajamas out of the closet and handed it to him.

Lin Feng took it and changed into it. The cotton fabric clung to his skin and carried a slight camphor scent from the wardrobe.

Then Shangguan Jinghong changed into his pajamas.

She took a dark purple silk slip dress from the closet and put it on, then turned off the lights, leaving only the warm yellow nightlight on the bedside table.

She lifted a corner of the blanket, lay down first, turned sideways towards the door, leaving Lin Feng with the half of the bed by the window.

Lin Feng lay down in bed, his back to Shangguan Jinghong. The mattress was of good quality; the weight of the two of them only created a shallow indentation.

You could feel her body temperature through the thin blanket, and the faint, clean scent of her shampoo.

I closed my eyes, and those images started playing in my mind again.

He quickly opened his eyes in the darkness.

He rolled over, facing the window. Then he rolled over again, facing Shangguan Jinghong.

The other person's profile was serene in the dim light of the night lamp, eyelashes slightly drooping, breathing even. They weren't asleep, but they weren't moving either, simply lying quietly on their side.

About an hour later, Lin Feng finally drifted off to sleep. But he was a light sleeper. In his dream, he returned to the empty lot next to the unfinished building. The skinny man's head was tilted on the pile of rubble, his eyes were half open, and his mouth was slightly open. Then, those eyes suddenly moved and stared straight at him.

Lin Feng suddenly opened his eyes. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and a small patch of his pajamas was soaked through his back. He turned over and buried his face in the pillow, taking several deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

Shangguan Jinghong, who was standing next to him, stirred.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"Mmm." Lin Feng's voice was muffled by the pillow. He turned over and put his arm over his eyes, and after a long while, he spoke, his voice a little hoarse. "You mean I..."

"You just did what you were supposed to do. If that person had run away and handed the video over to Zuo Ning, the consequences might have been even worse... Zuo Ning won't give you a second chance."

Lin Feng didn't speak. He knew these principles, but his body wouldn't obey his mind.

I rolled over again, trying to find a position that would allow me to relax, but no matter how I lay down, I felt uncomfortable.

His back muscles were taut, and his shoulders were stiff as if he had been carrying heavy loads all day. He simply sat up, put his bare feet on the wooden floor, went into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on his face several times.

Cold water dripped down his chin onto the collar of his pajamas, making him shiver several times, but it finally cleared his head a bit.

Looking up at her pale face and the two faint blue marks under her eyes in the mirror, she took a deep breath and turned back to bed.

I had barely lain down when I started dreaming again.

This time, I dreamt that Ma Jinli led a group of people to surround Bai Jinhai, each holding a machete, and Kui Zi was lying at the door covered in blood.

When she woke up again, Shangguan Jinghong was already sitting up. She turned up the brightness of the bedside lamp, and the warm yellow light shone on the two of them.

She propped up Lin Feng's pillow so he could sit against it, then picked up the now-cold cup of black tea from the bedside table and brought it to his lips.

Lin Feng took a sip, and the astringent taste of the tea spread in his mouth, relieving the dryness and tightness in his throat.

"Still can't sleep. What time is it?"

Shangguan Jinghong glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. "Four-thirty." He put the teacup back on the bedside table, then reached out and pressed his hands on Lin Feng's temples, gently massaging them with his thumbs.

After massaging his temples, I pressed the Fengchi acupoint on the back of his neck with just the right amount of pressure, my fingertips slowly drawing circles on his stiff muscles.

After pressing the Fengchi acupoint, she pushed down his spine, pressing down inch by inch along the muscles of his back with the heel of her palm. Her technique wasn't professional, but her strength was steady, and each press landed precisely on the acupoint.

Lin Feng felt the muscles in his back gradually relax under her pressure. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. "Sister Hong, when your insomnia was at its worst, how long did it take to get better?"

Shangguan Jinghong's fingers paused on his back for a moment, then continued to push down. "That year, when my dad first went to jail, I couldn't sleep every night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the look in his eyes when he was taken away. Later, my mom fell ill, and I had to take care of her during the day and go to the shop to repair phones at night. I was so tired that I would fall asleep right on the worktable, and that's how I slowly got better."

She removed her fingers from his back, lay back down on the pillow, draped her arm over his waist again, and pressed her body against his back. "Don't think about it too much. We can talk about anything tomorrow. Go to sleep."

This time, Raymond Lam finally fell asleep.