During The Blizzard (Amidst A Snowstorm Of Love)

Canto 10: A Ghost In The Past

"In the corridors of memory, the ghost of the past lingers, whispering echoes of moments gone by haunting, yet a testament to the indelible imprints time leaves on the soul."

Translator: Wuxia Studio, Editor: M.H Lovecraft

Canto 10: A Ghost In The Past

Morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the apartment in soft hues. Silence had replaced the bustle of moving boxes, leaving him unsure if it was the sisters' departure or the hush of dawn. His phone chimed, the alarm shattering the quietude. Fatigue clung to him, a reminder of the whirlwind day.

When he opened the door, living room chaos greeted Lin Yiyang. Three young men and two women, barely past their teens, sprawled across the sofa, their laughter echoing in the morning stillness. His gaze swept over their youthful faces, landing on two smaller figures, clearly younger, fidgeting nervously. Wu Wei, ever the casual host, leaned against the fridge, a man in his thirties his only companion.

Lin Yiyang emerged from the bedroom, a picture of disheveled slumber. White linen shorts clung to his lean frame, contrasting with the black sweatpants that offered little warmth against the winter chill. He held the door open, the fabric of his sleeves wrinkled, his black eyes heavy-lidded and barely open. A faint scar traced the right side of his face, whispering of past battles.

The room fell silent, their attention drawn to the newcomer. The teenage boys shifted, mesmerized by his imposing height and striking features. The girls followed suit, their gazes lingering on his tousled hair and sleepy demeanor.

He was their teacher's sixth junior brother, a legend in their circles. Like his mentor, he'd conquered the junior group at 12, stepping into the professional arena a year later. Titles adorned him like trophies - Young Master Yang, Duzuo, Sixth Brother, variations whispered with reverence within the club walls. Here, he was simply Lin Yiyang.

His initial reaction was a furrowed brow, a silent question directed at Wu Wei. Money troubles? Seeking new recruits? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Across the room, the younger students buzzed. "So tall..." one whispered, his eyes wide with awe. "He's even more handsome in person!" another chimed in, earning a giggle from her friend.

But Lin Yiyang wasn't interested in their admiration. His gaze locked with Jiang Yang's, the thirty-year-old teacher sporting thin-rimmed glasses and a casual shirt-and-trouser combo. Their eyes held for a beat, a silent conversation playing out between them. Early mornings spent chasing perfection in the training hall, bicycle rides to school under the summer sun - shared memories etched into their bones.

"They arrived last week and failed to see you," Jiang Yang finally spoke, his voice laced with amusement. "Thought you might vanish again this time."

Lin Yiyang's throat felt dry. He slipped on his slippers, the sound muffled by the plush carpet. Reaching the counter, he opened the fridge, disappointment washing over him as he found it empty. Settling for a cold beer, he took a long swig, the icy liquid chasing away the remnants of sleep. Propping himself against the counter, he met Jiang Yang's gaze, his response unspoken.

"Here for a competition?" he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

Jiang Yang gestured toward the wide-eyed youngsters. "Youth groups. My new apprentices."

The younglings chorused a respectful, "Hello, little uncle."

Lin Yiyang scoffed, waving dismissively. "Left the club early, remember? No uncles here. Call me Brother Ju Liu if you think I'm young, Uncle Ju Liu if you think I'm old."

"Hey! It's not appropriate," Jiang Yang's lips twitched in a sneer. "I am their master and you're my junior brother. If they call you brother, what ranked am I?"

A ghost of a smile curved Lin Yiyang's lips. He raised his beer bottle in a silent toast, their eyes locked.

Years of wandering, each goodbye leaving a scar on his soul, had honed his solitude into a sharp edge. He closed his eyes, the memory biting colder than the air: snowflakes swirling like ghosts, the warmth of noodles a fleeting comfort, the echo of unshed tears frozen on his cheeks

He'd navigated the blizzard on his bicycle, a lone sparrow seeking shelter. The club door creaked open, revealing a haze of smoke and the rhythmic clatter of billiard balls. A tall figure emerged, wiping down a table with a languid hand.

"Shorty," the figure drawled, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Are your parents okay with this? Ask your mama first. Master doesn't take orphans."

Lin Yiyang's breath hitched. He swallowed, staring up at the towering figure, the amusement in his eyes like a cruel mirror reflecting his own vulnerability. "No... no parents."

The smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. Jiang Yang, barely a teenager himself, hadn't expected this raw truth. He shoved the rag into his pocket, a gruffness masking the unexpected pang in his chest.

"Alright, shorty," he muttered, the gruffness softening into a gruff kindness. "Show me what you got."

That night, in the smoky haze of the pool hall, their bond took root. Hours spent chasing perfection on the green baize, whispered secrets under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights, the shared sting of defeat, and the intoxicating euphoria of victory were the threads that wove their unlikely friendship. Now, years later, their eyes met across the room, a silent dialogue carrying the weight of shared memories.

Nicknames buzzed within the club, a currency traded among them during their pre-fame teenage years. He was their setback incarnate, while Jiang Yang bore the moniker "Thief" for his nimble fingers. Wu Wei, ever the enigma, was "Indifference" personified. Fan Wencong hawked goods as the "Peddler," Lin Lin commanded as the "General Manager," and Chen Anan, christened "Anmei," carried the weight of her unfortunate homophone.

Under the tutelage of multiple masters, He and Jiang Yang shone brightest among Old He's apprentices. Legend held that Old He originally sought six, but found only two gems upon "closing the mountains." One, of course, was the peerless Lin Yiyang, handpicked by the master himself.

By thirteen, competition thrummed in their veins. Domestic tournaments became their battlegrounds, and victories, their spoils. Rankings dictated playful jabs, the champion crowned "Master," the runner-up a playful "Fool." These were carefree days, camaraderie forged in sweat and shared dreams.

The ache in Lin Yiyang's chest remained, a constant companion. But alongside it bloomed a warmth nurtured by the bond he'd chosen, a brother forged in the crucible of hardship, a reminder that even amidst the wreckage of his past, there was still kindness, connection, and a place to call home.

To  be continued. . .