Volume 1, Chapter 38: Secret Affection

Susan raised her hand to knock, but fearing a loud noise might invite unnecessary trouble, she pressed her ear against the door instead. Hearing no sound of running water, she concluded that Jiang Ming was not currently bathing. Her hand moved to the keypad, and she pressed 0811.

She had heard this code once before and felt a vague familiarity, though she hadn’t understood why. This time, however, time was tight and her nerves were frayed with the guilt of an intruder, leaving no room for reflection.

The door clicked open. It seemed Jiang Ming hadn’t lied to her, nor had he changed the code—was this his way of silently permitting her presence?

With this thought, Susan pushed the door open, poked her head inside, and hurried in before closing it behind her. She had just exhaled in relief and turned to look for Jiang Ming when she found him standing barely half a meter away, staring at her with wide, shocked eyes.

Susan’s pupils dilated in equal measure.

Before her stood Jiang Ming, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp, two droplets of water clinging to his sharp jawline. In his hand, he held a bottle of "Medicine King Sun" oil. The sight was... indescribably distracting. To put it bluntly, it was a feast for the eyes.

With his defined, muscular arms, broad shoulders, narrow waist, and an eight-pack of abs just inches away, Susan felt her breathing turn erratic. His skin, pale from years of being submerged in water, was even fairer than her own, leaving her feeling quite put to shame.

He wasn’t showering, but he had clearly just stepped out of one.

Susan’s composure shattered instantly. She cursed herself, thinking that if Jiang Ming had thought her bold before, he would surely think her a pervert now.

Eyes locked, neither spoke, caught in a tense, silent stalemate.

Susan reconsidered. Of the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing is best; rather than remain passive in this silence, she should make her escape. The next second, without a word, she turned to grab the door handle. Unfortunately, before her fingers could touch it, Jiang Ming’s long fingers hooked her collar and hauled her back.

"Trying to run after taking advantage of me? Aren't you afraid of being caught red-handed out there?"

Jiang Ming’s low voice sounded from behind her, equal parts annoyed and helpless. Susan turned back with an awkward smile, holding up her hands in a gesture of innocence.

"No, I didn't—I mean, I wasn't trying to take advantage. Oh, wait, it’s not that you’re cheap..."

Susan grew more flustered as she spoke, eventually losing the thread of her own words. Looking around, she spotted the wardrobe she had peered into last time. An idea struck her; she darted over, pulled the door open, dove inside, and pulled it shut, sealing herself tightly within.

"Go put your clothes on! I’m not looking!"

Hearing Susan’s muffled voice from inside the closet—five parts aggrieved, three parts helpless, and two parts regretful—Jiang Ming let out a hearty laugh. Such laughter was rare for him, but it lingered in the air, feeling more revitalizing than his cold shower.

"Stop laughing! Hurry up, call me when you're done."

Susan wanted to bang her head against the wardrobe to prove her innocence. Although there wasn't much clothing inside, the scent of cedarwood—identical to the scent of Jiang Ming’s own skin—combined with the sound of his incessant laughter outside, made her face flush even deeper. In the enclosed space, the temperature rose, and she felt quite overwhelmed.

Fortunately, as the laughter faded, the closet door was pulled open.

"Come out."

Jiang Ming was now fully dressed in a clean tracksuit, looking refreshed and revitalized. Though he had reined it in, his eyes still held a hint of playful amusement. He extended a large hand, and as he spoke, his pleasant voice made Susan feel as though she were suffering from oxygen intoxication.

As if bewitched, Susan placed her hand in his without hesitation. Feeling the warmth of his palm and a gentle pull, she stepped out of the wardrobe and back onto the floor.

"Reporter Susan, why is it so thrilling every time I see you?" A teasing glint danced in Jiang Ming’s cool, handsome eyes, adding a new layer of charm to his expression.

"God knows! Why is it that every time I see you, I have trouble breathing?" Susan panted, retorting indignantly.

"Is someone chasing you?" Jiang Ming’s voice suddenly tightened.

"No! Lin Tingyuan is too busy to bother with me right now. He’s occupied with sweeping up gold medals, collecting prize money, and milking his fans for all they’re worth," Susan replied crossly.

Her frustration wasn't entirely aimed at Lin Tingyuan; it was more because she felt that, in Jiang Ming’s eyes, she had become a habitual "nuisance."

Jiang Ming, unaware of her true thoughts, felt a wave of relief upon hearing she wasn't in danger, and his tone softened considerably.

"Are you looking for me for something?"

"No, just... checking on you."

"Checking on me? You spend all day at the sidelines. You've seen me enter and exit the pool, wearing winter coats, tracksuits, and swim trunks—haven't you seen enough? Did you really have to break in to see me fresh out of the shower?"

Jiang Ming arched a brow, feigning mockery, yet he carried an intense air of pressure. A single look was enough to force the truth out of Susan.

"I can't get any answers during normal interviews, so I had to break in. You weren't in good form today. Is your wrist injury acting up? Or are you just tired?"

Jiang Ming was taken aback, seemingly stunned that Susan had braved his private locker room just to show concern.

For as long as he could remember, despite having coaches and teammates by his side, swimming had ultimately been a solitary pursuit. Deep down, he was lonely. Having spent years accompanied only by water, he felt a different kind of warmth and tranquility at this moment.

His heart softened, and he relaxed, his lips curling upward involuntarily.

"Are you asking as Reporter Susan? Or as Zoe?"

"Whether it's Reporter Susan or Zoe, in front of you, I'm just Susan! I've already embarrassed myself enough times, what does identity matter? You don't have to worry about giving me leverage; after all, I have even more dirt on you."

Susan pouted. Her words were laced with helplessness, but the underlying intimacy was genuine.

"The wrist is fine; I'm using the routine medication you prescribed. If I didn't, who knows what heaven-shaking, earth-shattering thing you’d do next?" Jiang Ming smiled, his expression slightly rakish.

Susan had no time to appreciate the charm; her face darkened, and she clenched her fists.

"Well? Tell the truth!"

Seeing this, Jiang Ming knew he couldn't hide it any longer. This woman before him seemed to be his fated challenge. With a barely audible sigh, he spoke slowly.

"I'm tired. After the Olympics last year, the World Aquatics adjusted the competition rules. As I mentioned in previous interviews, whether it's this tournament, next month’s National Championships, or even the World Championships three months from now, they are all benchmarking the schedule of the new Olympic cycle. Under the new system, the physical demands on multi-event athletes are much greater. Back in the day, the American 'Flying Fish' could win eight golds in one Olympics. While the competition format was friendlier then and the schedule not as dense as it is now, his success was primarily due to his superior strength and proper energy distribution. I’m currently exploring that myself—not just physical endurance, but the allocation of that energy."

Susan looked at Jiang Ming, dazed, her eyes filled with a deep affection she hadn't even realized herself.

So, in his heart, Jiang Ming was measuring himself against the American "Flying Fish"—the legend of yesterday who remained a myth today. No wonder he was so single-minded and focused. He might seem indifferent to everything else, but in reality, he cared deeply about the things that truly mattered to him.

After all, to become the "Flying Fish" of China—of the world—required not just talent, but relentless effort. At crucial moments, perhaps a little bit of luck was needed, too. The former was predetermined, the latter uncontrollable; the only thing he could truly master was that middle component: effort.