Gao Xiaojie was a true Hangzhou girl, embodying the delicate charm of江南 (Jiangnan), China's southern water towns. Standing at just 1.6 meters, her proportions were flawless—curves where they belonged, a slender waist, still a touch youthful but radiating the captivating allure of a Jiangnan maiden. Her skin was fair and tender, a testament to the saying "the land shapes its people." This Hangzhou girl's complexion was the kind you'd see in ads—rosy beneath the white, uniquely radiant, so soft it seemed you could pinch water from it. One small gripe, though: her cheeks carried a hint of baby fat. But far from detracting, it only amplified her cuteness and purity, making people itch to give them a playful squeeze.
If you thought Gao Xiaojie was some fragile, dainty Jiangnan flower, though, you'd be dead wrong. Most of the time, no one with a functioning brain would peg her as weak or easy to push around.
Take her first night at school. Two dorm mates dragged her to check out the student union's activity room. A senior guy spotted this stunning Hangzhou girl and was instantly smitten. Using his position as an excuse, he shamelessly asked for her phone number. That very night, he bombarded her with cheesy texts—starting sweet, then veering into downright crude territory.
If it'd stopped there, fine. Gao Xiaojie was confident in her looks; attracting a swarm of lovesick fools wasn't new. Being pursued on her first day at uni even gave her a smug little thrill. But then, as she basked in that glow, she noticed Zhan Jing's phone buzzing nonstop too. Snatching it, she saw the same guy's name—sending identical messages to them both!
That pushed her over the edge. This creep was beyond shameless. So, she fired up her computer, and under the blushing, wide-eyed stares of her dorm mates, logged into a delightfully mischievous site called "Flower-Picking Hall."
In the site's "friendship" section, she posted the guy's number with a note: "Pure, lonely 18-year-old maiden, alone in an empty room, aching for company—awaiting your arrival."
Her dorm mates finally got it: Gao Xiaojie was a girl who loved fiercely and hated just as hard. Cross her, and you'd regret it for eight lifetimes. Case in point: a poster on her dorm door of some European hunk—except it doubled as her dartboard. She adored Zinedine Zidane, and that poor poster guy? Marco Materazzi.
Today, though, Gao Xiaojie wasn't her usual spirited self. She trudged along a tree-lined campus path, thoroughly bummed out.
Reason one: in class, she'd blurted out "downloading porn," shattering her ladylike image. Sure, she was hyped about "SMMH," but that slip dulled her excitement.
Reason two: she'd just overseen the freshman soccer team tryouts as their self-appointed manager. Tons of guys showed up—thirty or forty—but skill-wise? Counting Qin Xiao'an, maybe two or three were decent. Compared to her powerhouse high school team, this was a letdown.
"Goddamn rotten luck! Why'd I get stuck with a bunch of pigs dumber than the national team?" She shoved her hands in her pockets, kicking pebbles in frustration. "No hot guys, no talent—leading this squad? Ugh, my life's plunged into darkness!"
Her dad was a die-hard soccer fan, cradling her as a kid to watch matches together. Her real passion kicked in during fifth grade, 1999—the golden year for China's women's team. She devoured every game from group stages to the finals, bawling when they lost on penalties. From then on, she was hooked.
She'd tried playing with her girlfriends at first, only to realize she wasn't cut out for it. Plus, too much exercise could bulk her up or bow her legs—not ideal. So, she switched to managing. From middle school to high school, her teams dominated locally. She'd dreamed of leading a college squad to the Philips National College Soccer League, but now? That felt tougher than China winning the World Cup.
"Arghhh!" She let out a frustrated yell into the grove, only to hear voices snap back:
"Any sense of decency?"
"Yeah! Don't you know interrupting a couple's moment gets you struck by lightning?"
"Honey, ignore her—curse her to stay flat-chested and a virgin forever!"
Gao Xiaojie fled, face in hands.
Her already sour mood tanked further. She glanced down at her chest—Jiangnan girls were petite, and her breasts weren't exactly standout. Proportionate, sure, but smallish. Last night, she'd barged in on Zhan Jing's shower and gawked—Zhan Jing's weren't huge, but they fit her frame perfectly, shaped like the legendary "bamboo shoot" type. Gao Xiaojie had stewed in jealousy ever since. Then there was Guan Yi, another class beauty with a C-cup—cleavage popping effortlessly in a fitted bra. It drove her nuts. Anger shrinks boobs, she'd heard, so she resolved not to fume—and planned to grab some papaya milk at the store later.
In her funk, her thoughts drifted to her roommate, Zhan Jing.
She envied Zhan Jing's calm—always serene, unruffled by anything. Gao Xiaojie, meanwhile, was a ball of nerves. She'd never have guessed Zhan Jing was a decade-long Fiorentina fan—not into dreamy Beckham, but the rugged Argentine war god, Batistuta. Even after he left, she stuck with the middling purple lilies of Fiorentina.
"Ten years ago, I liked a team because of one person," Zhan Jing had said with a quiet smile. "Ten years later, I like every player because of the team. Results don't matter—just that the players and fans give their all."
Recalling that, Gao Xiaojie clenched her fists. "So what if their skills suck? I watched my old team grow from scratch. With hard work, can they really be worse than the national team's pigs?"
Suddenly, the weather seemed glorious, the air crisp. She was an emotional rollercoaster—tiny things could flip her mood entirely.
She decided to head back to the field. Those guys seemed earnest, and as Chairman Mao said, "The only thing to fear is lack of effort!" With grit, they might shine in the freshman cup.
She called Zhan Jing to ask if she'd join her at the field. Zhan Jing hesitated, said she was busy, and suggested next time. So, Gao Xiaojie trotted off alone, chipper again.
It was past seven, the sky darkening. Nearing the field, her sharp 5.0 vision spotted a group running around. One guy, yelling his head off, was unmistakably Qin Xiao'an.
She chuckled. Earlier, she'd asked him his position. Scratching his head, he'd said, "Midfield—defensive, roaming near the center circle." She'd snapped, "Just say 'defensive midfielder'—why the detour?" That left Qin Xiao'an dazed. Coming from a small-town school focused on tests, he'd never met a girl who knew soccer—let alone a pretty one. It threw him off.
Still, Gao Xiaojie could see his strengths: sturdy build, great stamina, decent speed, and years of experience giving him better instincts than the other rookies. His footwork was rough, but for a defensive midfielder, he was solid—anchoring the midfield could elevate the team's defense.
"Worst case, we play counterattacks!" She clenched her little fist. She'd always hated Italy's sluggish defensive style—zero passion—but with their limits, it might be the only option.
Seeing the guys still training late, she figured they deserved a boost. She stopped by a stall near the field, bought a dozen water bottles, and lugged them over in two plastic bags.
Though night had fallen, a stunner like Gao Xiaojie glowed like a firefly in the dark—especially amid a crowd of sweaty guys. Eyes turned instantly.
Liu Guang was one of them.
A third-year chemistry major, Liu Guang was mildly handsome, 1.83 meters tall, with a toned physique from soccer and skin that refused to tan. His fair, "pretty boy" look earned him the title of Chemistry Department's top heartthrob.
Fresh off a breakup—his ex's frame was "too big," not dainty enough—he spotted Gao Xiaojie and was floored. Seeing her with two bags of water, a plan sparked.
To reach the soccer field, she had to cross the bustling outdoor basketball court. Gao Xiaojie tiptoed carefully, guarding her load, when a gust whooshed by. Before she could turn, something smacked her left shoulder.
It wasn't a hard hit, but it wasn't light either. Caught off guard, she yelped, lost her balance, and crashed to the ground. Water bottles spilled everywhere.
"Who did that?!" Spinning around, she saw a soccer ball and knew she'd been hit. Fuming, she scanned for the culprit—some klutz worse than the national team, daring to kick here?
A clean-cut guy jogged over, wearing a Real Madrid No. 23 jersey—Beckham's number, her favorite. That stoked her ire. This guy thinks he's Beckham?
She was ready to string him up and flog him—justice for the Party, the people, and Beckham himself! But he ran straight to her, not the ball, blurting, "Sorry, sorry! It's so dark—I didn't see you. You okay?"
His earnest concern doused her anger a bit. She was fiery but not unreasonable. Getting clonked by a ball wasn't new after years around fields, and his apologetic grin—well, you don't slap a smiling face. She couldn't snap back.
"Damn bad luck," she muttered, standing and dusting off her butt. Good thing she'd worn pants, not a skirt, or it'd be mortifying. She said, "I'm fine," and started gathering the scattered bottles.
"Let me help!" The guy, clearly guilty, bent to assist. But one bag had torn in the fall—no way to carry seven or eight bottles by hand, especially with the other bag still full.
Gao Xiaojie glared at him, annoyed. Liu Guang scratched his head sheepishly, then yanked off his jersey.
She nearly yelped, thinking he was stripping in public. But he grinned, "Use my shirt to hold them. The bottles are unopened, and I just changed—no sweat."
He had an angle. Years of training gave him a killer torso—not hulking, not scrawny, but strong, with broad shoulders perfect for showing off. During department matches, he loved whipping off his shirt after scoring, earning squeals from the girls in the stands.
Gao Xiaojie, though, was unfazed—no blushing, no lingering stares. She sighed, "Fine, thanks," grabbed a bag, and headed for the field. Liu Guang chirped, "No trouble!" and trailed her, shirtless, cradling the water.
Qin Xiao'an and the others gawked as she approached with this bare-chested stranger. He looked familiar—decent skills from that afternoon's kickaround. Before they could ask, they spotted the water and cheered, "Gao Xiaojie, you're the best! We're lucky to have a manager like you!"
She laughed, "Oh, shut it. I only splurged 'cause you're working hard." Liu Guang seized his chance. "This beauty's your manager? You guys hit the jackpot. Freshmen, right? What department? I'm Chemistry, third year. How about I set up a friendly—your department's freshmen versus ours?"
Gao Xiaojie perked up. "Great idea—let's test the team." Booking matches was her job, and she'd already forgotten the ball incident. "Senior, let's settle on a time."
Liu Guang had been fishing for this. "No problem! I'll call my juniors later, check their schedules, and pick a slot. And, uh, sorry again for kicking the ball at you. How about I treat you to dinner as an apology? We can call over our freshman captain and hash out the match details."
She caught his drift—he was angling to get close, snag her number, and start the late-night texting routine. Normally, she'd shut it down cold. But with the team's first match on the line, she hesitated, then nodded.
Liu Guang was thrilled. He'd already decided to fake an excuse later—say the freshman couldn't make it—and enjoy some one-on-one time with this petite stunner, leaving a solid impression.
Just as he opened his mouth to say, "Let's go," a voice cut in from behind: "Hey, that guy totally kicked the ball at you on purpose!"
It was Chen Xu!