Chapter 3: The Hand That Took the Photo Trembled

The line went quiet for about five seconds. Through the phone, Gu Yuan could hear the other party breathing—shallow, restrained, like they were holding it in.

"How long's it been since you saw him?"

"Thirty-one years."

"Does he know you?"

"He knows me."

"Does he believe you?"

Gu Yuan didn't answer. A draft slipped through a window at the end of the hallway, chilling the back of his neck.

The voice on the other end said, "Don't force it. If he asks, you admit it."

Gu Yuan ended the call.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway hummed, the white glare stinging his eyes. He stared at his phone screen for two seconds, locked it, and shoved it back into his pocket.

The phone buzzed again.

"Brother Yuan, a student on the third floor took a fall. Climbed down the ladder, hit the back of his head on the floor. He's in the infirmary. The nurses can't handle it, they want to send him to the hospital."

"Who?"

"Chen Hao. It's the external hire, Taekwondo black belt, just joined last week. He's gripping the bed rails so tight he won't let you go."

"Let him wait."

Gu Yuan turned into the third-floor training room.

Two people were standing in the doorway. A young guy in a dobok, barely out of his teens, was leaning against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and his left eye swollen shut, his shoulders hitching with every breath. Next to him stood a middle-aged man in a suit, forty-ish, round face, wire-rimmed glasses. He was on the phone, waving his hands and speaking with real venom.

"...Let me be clear, this guy is just a doorman. How are you letting him manage my student? Total mess! I demand that immediately,"

Gu Yuan walked over and stopped next to him.

The man in the suit turned. "Coach Gu."

"Mm."

"Chen Hao fell off the ladder during training. I suspect someone pushed him—"

"Who pushed him?"

"We checked the footage. No one. But he hit the back of his head. Says he's got a headache and feels sick. Could be a concussion."

Gu Yuan said nothing. He walked into the training room. The ladder was metal, three meters high, the anti-slip treads intact, nothing loose. He crouched down, checked the friction marks on the floor, and rubbed a spot on the rubber mat with his fingertip.

"He fell on his own."

The man in the suit froze.

"How do you know that?"

"How long did Chen Hao train today?"

"Three hours."

"What was the routine?"

"High-altitude ladder work, obstacle climbs, continuous sprints."

Gu Yuan nodded. "He has a bad left ankle. Old injury from a competition in Korea last year. After three hours of high-intensity work, his ankle stability drops. He slipped on the top rung of the ladder."

The man in the suit opened his mouth. "How do you know that?"

"He went to the infirmary twice yesterday to get medication for it. The patch is still on his ankle."

The infirmary was on the second floor, thick with the smell of disinfectant.

Gu Yuan pushed the door open. Inside, there were seven or eight people, all of them too scared to make a sound.

Chen Hao was lying on a stretcher, eyes closed, face pale, sweat beading on his forehead.

When he saw Gu Yuan, his eyes snapped open.

"Coach Gu."

"If you're awake, quit playing dead."

Gu Yuan walked to the bedside and pressed three spots on the back of Chen Hao's head, then pressed C1 of the cervical spine. His movements were steady, neither fast nor slow.

"Headache?"

"Yeah."

"Which side?"

"Left."

"Vomiting?"

"No."

Gu Yuan pressed his temples, then checked the pulse on the inside of his wrist.

"Dilated pupils. Pain when I press on the neck. No bone protrusion in the occipital region. No bleeding." He pulled his hand back. "Concussion, mild at the most. No intracranial hemorrhage."

A coach nearby poked his head in. "How are you determining that?"

Gu Yuan ignored him.

"Chen Hao. You stay lying down for two hours. If the headache fades, you stop vomiting, and you can talk normally, it's a mild concussion. If the pain gets worse or you vomit, we send you to the hospital immediately."

"Two hours?" Chen Hao didn't sound convinced.

"Two hours. Don't try to stand up before time's up."

Liu Zhendong—Gu Yuan only now realized the man in the suit was Chen Hao's agent—had been listening, and finally lost his patience.

"Coach Gu, are you sure? No CT scan, no blood test. No diagnostics at all."

Gu Yuan swept the white coat aside and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his hand over Chen Hao's head, feeling from the skull to behind the ears.

"Who do you think I am?"

Liu Zhendong was stunned.

"You're... our school's fitness coach."

Gu Yuan looked at him, saying nothing.

Silence hung for a few seconds. The monitor beeped in a steady rhythm.

One of the younger coaches spoke up in a low voice. "Brother Liu, Brother Yuan used to be in the military."

"The military? Can they treat injuries?"

"He was special forces. He learned first aid."

Liu Zhendong repeated the words "special forces," the tone subtle, his eyes behind the glasses sweeping back and forth over Gu Yuan's face.

Gu Yuan stood up.

"Coach Liu, I take responsibility for Chen Hao's injury. If something goes wrong within two hours, come find me."

"And if nothing goes wrong?"

"If nothing goes wrong, stop sending your external coaches into my training zone."

Liu Zhendong's face darkened. "What did you say?"

"His training plan is wrong. Three hours of high intensity is unreasonable for a student with a bad left ankle. If you keep doing this and someone gets hurt, that's on you."

Gu Yuan turned and walked out.

"Gu Yuan!"

Liu Zhendong was standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.

"How can you be so sure?"

Gu Yuan looked back at him for three seconds.

"I'm sure because you wouldn't dare let me touch him."

Liu Zhendong was stuck for words.

2:10 PM.

Gu Yuan returned to the infirmary. Chen Hao could sit up now, color returning to his face, leaning against the headboard drinking water.

He'd turned his head, raised his arms, squatted, and stood on one leg. Everything checked out.

"All clear."

"Are you really okay?"

"I'm really okay."

The young coach leaned in, keeping his voice down. "Brother Yuan, did you really just diagnose it like that?"

"Do you believe me?"

"I..."

"Doubting me is normal." Gu Yuan scribbled a few lines on the chart. "The results are right there."

Gu Yuan sat back down in his chair and flipped through his phone.

A message from "Big Brother."

"He's coming back this afternoon. Don't push him away this time."

Gu Yuan dialed back.

"Why is he coming?"

Silence for a few seconds. The sound of smoke being exhaled.

"He wants to meet your master."

"Where's my master?"

"You know where."

"I don't."

"Then you should know by now."

The call ended.

The door opened.

Liu Zhendong walked in, holding a stack of documents. His face was grim, his suit jacket buttons undone.

"Gu Yuan. I looked into you."

Gu Yuan looked up.

"You weren't always a fitness coach."

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"Your real name."

Liu Zhendong placed the files on the desk, flipped to the first page, and tapped a name with his finger. His knuckles were white.

"Gu Yuan isn't your real name."

"You found out?"

"You used to be Gu Changfeng."

Gu Yuan's eyes narrowed.

"You dug deep."

"I just wanted to check your coaching credentials, but I stumbled on a name from thirty years ago." Liu Zhendong flipped to the third page. "Gu Changfeng, Dongjiang Province First People's Hospital. Attending physician."

"Continue."

"And then," Liu Zhendong's voice dropped, the words squeezed out through his teeth, "...that incident."

Gu Yuan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"Which incident?"

"Thirty years ago, a general in the Dongjiang Province Military District had a heart issue. No one in the entire army could treat it." Liu Zhendong spoke slowly, word by word. "In the end, you were the one who did it. You cured him. And then you vanished. Resigned, disappeared, and no one could find you."

"You found quite a bit."

"That's not all." Liu Zhendong turned to the last page. "There are your three apprentices. One in the business world, one in politics, one in academia. All top-tier."

"So?"

"So this identity you have now," Liu Zhendong closed the file, pressing his palm on the cover, "you shouldn't be our fitness coach."

The infirmary went quiet. Footsteps passed down the hallway, then faded.

Gu Yuan stood up.

"Coach Liu, go back and change Chen Hao's training plan. Bad left ankle. No more than two hours of high intensity per week."

"Alright."

Liu Zhendong took two steps, then turned back.

"Gu Yuan... Gu Changfeng."

"Hm?"

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure because you wouldn't dare let me touch him."

Liu Zhendong froze, then let out a helpless laugh.

"You said that line twice."

"Then remember it twice."

Liu Zhendong left.

Gu Yuan sat in the chair and flipped to the last page of the file.

Three photos. Three names. The paper was slightly damp, the edges frayed from being turned.

He looked at them for a long time.

Then he slid the file under the desk.

The phone buzzed again.

"Big Brother."

"He's here."

Gu Yuan stood up, shoved the chair back into place, put his hands in his pockets, and walked toward the hallway. It was a long hallway. His footsteps echoed off the walls.

At the far end of the hallway, a thin old man stood by the door, his trench coat collar up, his hair streaked with gray.

When he saw Gu Yuan, the old man grinned, showing a mouth of uneven teeth.

"Gu Yuan."

Gu Yuan stopped.

"Why are you back again?"

The old man pulled a photo from his pocket and handed it over. His hand was covered in age spots.

The photo was old, black and white, yellowed at the edges, with a crease running through it.

Two people standing together. One young, one even younger.

The younger one wore a white coat, holding a book. The even younger one wore a dobok, standing beside him, beaming.

"Do you recognize this?"

Gu Yuan looked at the photo.

He looked for a long time. The hallway lights flickered across the surface.

"I don't recognize it."

The old man took the photo back, carefully tucking it into his pocket, as if afraid of creasing it.

"Fine. If you don't recognize it, then you don't recognize it."

He turned to leave.

"Wait."

The old man turned his head.

"Your master,"

"My master?" The old man laughed, the wrinkles in his face bunching up together. "My master is Gu Changfeng."

Gu Yuan didn't speak.

"You're not him?"

"I'm not."

"Then why do you call him master?"

"I do call him master." The old man looked at him, the smile fading inch by inch. "But whether you acknowledge Gu Changfeng is your own business."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps growing fainter.

Gu Yuan stood in the hallway, staring at the direction the old man had disappeared. The fluorescent lights were still humming.

Then he looked down at his own hands.

The hand that had held the photo was trembling slightly.