Disobedience To Control chapter 58
Stress
“Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?” Song Siheng moved a bit to create some distance between them and turned over to look at him.
“…No.” Yang Xiaobei denied it, but his eyes were still fixed on Song Siheng’s face, which made the latter feel a bit sour in his heart.
In the past, Yang Xiaobei had never shown this expression, like an injured little animal waiting to be licked. This wasn’t like him.
“The doctor said you can’t do too strenuous exercise yet.” Feeling a bit awkward in their current position, Song Siheng gently placed his hand on Yang Xiaobei’s shoulder.
“Then let’s take it slow.” But Yang Xiaobei directly hugged him, his arms tightening, their chests pressed together, and Song Siheng could almost hear his heartbeat.
Thump, thump, thump—
“Now there’s no monitor, who knows if you’ll have any problems.”
Yang Xiaobei lowered his eyelids at his words, and after his eyelashes trembled a few times, he faced Song Siheng again, burying his head in his neck.
After a barely audible sigh, he spoke softly as if pleading, “Could you help me with it?”
Song Siheng’s back stiffened for two seconds before gradually relaxing.
“Sure,” he replied in a low voice.
The slight trembling of his body, the sigh released as he looked up. Eventually, everything faded into darkness, and the heartbeat returned to a steady rhythm.
That night, the two of them went to bed early. In a daze, Song Siheng seemed to hear Yang Xiaobei mumbling something in his sleep again. However, he was too tired himself to fully wake up.
It wasn’t until around six in the morning that Song Siheng woke up again, only to find Yang Xiaobei still holding onto his waist tightly, clinging to his back like a koala all night.
…………………..
As usual, Yang Xiaobei continued his regular visits to the rehabilitation center for training every week, but he never mentioned swimming again since taking leave from the team.
Song Siheng was busy with work and rarely at home during the day, occasionally working overtime at the company on weekends. Since Yang Xiaobei took leave from the team, he had plenty of time to stay at home alone. Apart from regular rehabilitation training, he spent most of his time watching TV in the living room.
Yang Xiaobei wasn’t much of an online gamer, and besides working to earn money, he didn’t have many other hobbies. Soap operas, financial news, weather forecasts, puzzle variety shows—he watched whatever was on TV.
And so, another month passed. Summer had fully arrived, enveloping Jiangcheng in stifling heat. The trees and grass were swayed by hot winds, and the cicadas’ chirping seemed to permeate the city like radio waves.
It had been over three months since Yang Xiaobei was discharged from the hospital, and the doctors at the rehabilitation center said he could resume his usual level of physical activity. Yang Xiaobei simply nodded without saying much else.
One evening, when Song Siheng returned from work, he pushed open the apartment door, changed into slippers, and walked into the living room from the entrance. Upon glancing up, he saw Yang Xiaobei leaning on the sofa, his eyes unfocused. The TV was blaring, but it wasn’t clear if he was watching.
“How was training today?” Song Siheng put down what he was holding and casually asked.
“It was okay,” Yang Xiaobei replied, his gaze returning to the TV screen.
After the commercial break on TV, the evening news began.
Two news anchors, one male and one female, sat upright: “Recently, the National Swimming Championships officially began, with athletes from various teams—”
The screen showed images of a blue swimming pool, the starting gun fired, and eight swimmers dove into the water like flying fish. Yang Xiaobei reached out and pressed the remote control, shutting off the TV. The colorful image condensed into a dot and finally returned to darkness.
Just as Song Siheng was about to sit on the sofa, Yang Xiaobei stood up and walked towards the bedroom.
“Are we going out to eat?” Song Siheng asked.
“Hmm?” Yang Xiaobei turned around.
“There’s nothing to eat at home,” Song Siheng gestured towards the kitchen. The housekeeper didn’t come that day since she had a day off, and he didn’t eat at the company either.
“Oh, okay,” Yang Xiaobei turned back and found a jacket to put on.
It took twenty minutes to drive to the restaurant Song Siheng wanted to go to.
When Yang Xiaobei got out of the car, he found the place somewhat familiar.
“It’s close to our school,” Yang Xiaobei said.
“Yeah,” Song Siheng nodded. The restaurant was near the Jiangcheng Riverside Campus, and it was where he had passed by when he first visited the school to see Yang Xiaobei.
For the past month, Song Siheng felt that something was off with him. He would answer questions and attend his regular rehabilitation training classes, but he never mentioned going to the swimming pool again.
Song Siheng didn’t want to interfere too much with his life, but Yang Xiaobei’s current state was obviously not right.
Song Siheng booked a private dining room with a view. Outside the glass window by the dining table was the view of the Nanjiang River. The tide of the Nanjiang River in summer was surging, and there were no fishing boats on the river, only several large cranes standing by the riverbank.
Song Siheng didn’t like beating around the bush. After ordering the food, he looked up and asked directly, “What’s been going on with you lately? Why don’t you want to swim anymore?”
Yang Xiaobei paused, his gaze shifting to the window. “Nothing, I just want to wait a bit longer.”
“Wait for what? The doctor said you can swim now,” Song Siheng flicked a lighter in his hand, making a clicking sound.
Yang Xiaobei pressed his hands against the table, pushing himself back twenty centimeters.
“I know, I know. Just don’t rush me!” he couldn’t suppress his volume, which attracted the attention of the waiter who peeked in.
Realizing he had been somewhat out of line, he covered his eyes with his palm and took five seconds before lowering it.
Seeing his reaction, Song Siheng looked away. “Okay. I won’t rush you. I just…noticed that something’s not quite right with you and wanted to know the reason.”
Yang Xiaobei’s hands remained on the edge of the table, his eyelashes drooping, his breaths deep and long.
The waiter pushed the door and began serving the dishes, and there was a moment of silence between the two.
“I’ll go smoke a cigarette,” Song Siheng got up.
Song Siheng lied; he didn’t bring any cigarettes. He walked outside to the restaurant’s large terrace facing the Nanjiang River. Then he took out his phone and made a call.
The other side answered quickly, and after exchanging greetings, Song Siheng got to the point.
“I want to ask you a question about Yang Xiaobei.”
“Go ahead.” Fu Xuehua seemed to be driving, and the sound of flicking turn signals came from the phone.
“He’s been out of surgery for a long time now, and the doctors at the rehabilitation center have assessed that his body is fine. But last time, he seemed very uncomfortable when he went swimming, with irregular breathing and tension in his body. Now he seems…very resistant to the idea.”
Fu Xuehua interrupted him, “Hold on, let me park the car.”
Song Siheng held his phone, waiting for the response on the other end.
After about ten seconds, there was a beep, and Fu Xuehua’s voice came again: “Last time he came, he did a full check-up, and there were no organic problems. What you described is indeed strange. Does he react like this when doing other exercises like running? Or is it only swimming that triggers this?”
“Other sports are fine. Besides, he’s already started using gym equipment, and there haven’t been any issues with his cardiovascular function during normal strength training monitoring.”
Fu Xuehua remained silent for a moment on the other end before speaking, “If there’s such a reaction, there’s another possibility…”
“What possibility?” Song Siheng hurriedly asked.
“Psychological factors,” Fu Xuehua sighed softly, “There are cases like this in clinical practice. If he has had similar traumatic experiences or psychological trauma, once he encounters a sensitive event again, it can trigger a stress response in his body. It could range from irregular heartbeat and nausea to suffocation and shock.”
Song Siheng suddenly remembered that Yang Xiaobei had mentioned having surgery when he was fifteen. And then it took him three years to regain his state.
But during those three years, he only mentioned it briefly.
After responding with a couple of acknowledgments, Song Siheng hung up the phone but didn’t return to the private room.
The evening breeze tousled his hair, carrying the heat of the Nanjiang River.
A few minutes later, someone tapped his shoulder from behind, “Done smoking?”
Song Siheng turned around to find Yang Xiaobei standing behind him.
Song Siheng’s fingertips were empty, so he clapped his hands together, “Hmm, let’s go back.”
After the two returned to the room, they hastily finished their meal, hardly chatting throughout, creating an awkward atmosphere.
The waiter poured them each a glass of lemon sparkling water, and the transparent bubbles bubbled continuously.
“Have you ever considered that it might be your own psychological issue?” Song Siheng didn’t want to beat around the bush anymore; this awkward way of conversing was uncomfortable.
Yang Xiaobei’s grip on the glass tightened suddenly, understanding what he was implying. Then he shook his head firmly, “It’s impossible.”
“Yang Xiaobei, there’s nothing wrong with that. Psychological issues are just like heart problems; if there’s discomfort, it needs treatment. I can find an experienced psychologist for you. You don’t have to feel…”
Yang Xiaobei’s glass suddenly slipped from his fingertips, and the glass shattered sharply against the hard floor, making a piercing sound.
The scent of lemon water filled the air, and glass shards scattered all over the floor.
Yang Xiaobei quickly moved his chair aside, bending down and reaching out to pick up the glass fragments.
The nearby waiter heard the sound and rushed in, “Sir, please don’t move, I’ll take care of it.”
Song Siheng hurriedly squatted down, wanting to pull Yang Xiaobei up, but found that his index finger had been cut by the glass, leaving a small wound.
Drip, a drop of bright red blood fell to the ground.
At the same time, as Song Siheng raised his head to meet his gaze, he noticed that Yang Xiaobei’s eye sockets were as red as that drop of blood.