The Art School Angler Reeled in the Ice Hockey Prince - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Powder Snowball Melts

The fishing license was essentially his meal card; he carried it with him every day. But now, no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find it. He didn’t have the money to pay for a replacement.

Neil comforted him, “Don’t panic, it probably just fell out somewhere.”

They searched all around the booth, wondering if it had been dropped in the shop. It was pitch black, so White Ming turned on his phone’s flashlight and bent over, searching from where he sat all the way back to the entrance. Connor, sitting in the neighboring booth, watched as a small head moved past him.

There was nothing, even by the door. Neil asked the shop owner on his behalf, but no one had turned in a similar ID. There was no point in stealing a fishing license, could it have fallen out at the Glow Night game site?

“Neil, you stay here and eat. I’m going back to look, don’t wait for me.”

Before Neil could call out to him, White Ming had already run out into the street.

The area below the library, the corridors, the storage room, the small garden—he searched every hollowed-out tree trunk he had hidden in, but his license was nowhere to be found. He sat on a trunk, deep in thought.

The last time he saw that ID… It was when he was fishing by the lake!

Tracing the timeline back further, he returned to the dorm. Ignoring his roommate—who rarely came back, but when he did, he brought someone over to hook up—White Ming put on earplugs and rummaged through his things. Still nothing. He placed his new fishing rod on the desk.

Could it be by the lake?

A full day had passed, and the hope of finding it was slim, but he decided to go take a look anyway. He checked the green belts and footpaths along the way, sliding all the way down to the shower rooms. It was empty, nothing was there. His phone battery drained rapidly and soon died. In the total darkness, White Ming looked toward the lakeshore.

Ghostly winds howled. This massive lake looked completely different at night than it did during the day. All the beautiful scenery had vanished; the darkness was boundless, like the end of the world. The surging black lake water roared like a lurking monster. It was terrifying.

The thought that this might be the final resting place of his ID made him feel chilled to the core, as if he had fallen into the icy lake himself. But without the license, he’d have to get a replacement, and he couldn’t… Wait, what if it didn’t fall into the lake but was still on the shore? Even if it did fall in, the waves might have washed it up! If he could float, why couldn’t his ID float?

As if in response to his hesitation, a white speck flashed on the shore where he had been fishing!

The size looked just like a license.

White Ming’s heart raced. He would just walk to a completely safe spot on the shore to take a distant look. If it was the ID, he could come back to pick it up tomorrow morning.

He had just taken his first step when a voice rang out behind him.

“White Ming.”

White Ming was so startled he dropped his phone on the ground with a thud. The voice sounded like Chinese and English mixed together. Guided by the moonlight, he looked up to see the person who had appeared beside him unnoticed.

It was Connor again.

“What are you doing here?”

In the haze, he couldn’t quite see the other’s expression. Connor asked, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for my fishing license. By the way, have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” White Ming looked at the speck of light on the shore, unwilling to give up. “I think it might have fallen over there. I’m going to take a look.”

Connor grabbed him instantly. “It’s dangerous here. Do you really love fishing that much?”

How did this “fishing nut” manage to turn fishing into an extreme sport? First falling into the lake, now ice skating at night—it was more dangerous than playing hockey.

An athlete’s strength was no joke; White Ming was genuinely worried about his bones. “No, no, no, I’m just looking from a distance.”

“Do you know how many bodies are pulled out of the Great Lakes every month?”

White Ming’s skin crawled. “Don’t tell me! If you say that, how will I ever dare to go to the lake again?” Why was he terrorizing a lowly fisherman like this?

“It’s better if you don’t dare to go.”

The wind picked up, and as if to set the mood, snow began to fall. Once the snow starts at the Great Lakes, it doesn’t stop. White Ming completely abandoned the idea of going to the shore tonight. Connor let go of him. The disappointment on White Ming’s face was almost tangible, like a cold snowflake fluttering in his heart.

“I didn’t say you absolutely couldn’t go, but that isn’t your ID.” Connor’s voice softened. He turned the boy around to look, the light reflecting off the ice had changed. It was just a protruding mound of ice.

Knowing the truth caused White Ming to break down completely. The “powder snowball” suddenly melted, he crouched down, tears hitting the pavement with a patter.

Connor froze, looking a bit at a loss. He wanted to rescue this melted snowman, but water kept seeping through his fingers. “The weather has been too bad lately. When it clears up, you can just apply for a new license. I was just scaring you with the talk about bodies. I’m sorry.”

White Ming shook his head, mumbling incoherently about how he couldn’t get a replacement.

“Don’t you have a fishing club? Members of sports clubs can apply for free permits.”

White Ming whispered, “But it has to go through the club…”

White Ming didn’t know how to explain to Connor that his club’s existence was a complete accident; getting a replacement through them wouldn’t work.

Connor didn’t press further. “I’ll have the hockey club help you get a replacement.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah. I’m the reason you fell into the lake, consider it compensation for that time.”

The aching feeling in his heart slowly faded. His license was coming back; White Ming, the snowman, was frozen solid again. His stomach gave a very timely growl. “Thank you. I’m so hungry, I’m going back to the dorm to eat.”

“There’s a restaurant over there that’s still open.”

“I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“I did. My treat—consider it part of the compensation.”

White Ming wanted to say he was going back to eat salad, but the weather was so cold. He struggled between the thought of a cold salad and the warm, glowing restaurant down the street. A small pang of hunger made him decide quickly.

Only when they reached the door did White Ming realize the “restaurant” Connor had casually mentioned was a Michelin-starred one. He had passed it many times without noticing. He hesitated, but Connor had already walked in.

There weren’t many customers on a snowy night. Elegantly dressed servers greeted them warmly. The shop was much warmer, smelling of food and sweet wine. Connor handed him the menu.

“You order. I can eat anything.” White Ming blew hot air into his palms. The cursive script on the menu was quite difficult to read.

Connor flipped through the menu. “You aren’t going to ask why I suddenly appeared by the lake?”

Actually, White Ming wanted to ask, but asking would start a conversation. Chatting with locals always made him nervous—a mess of grammar and vocabulary errors, not understanding and having to ask them to repeat…

But since he was at the man’s table, it felt impolite not to speak.

“Are you really a safety inspector?”

Connor thought he was joking and played along humorously. “Yeah. A volunteer.”

“Wow, so that’s how it is,” White Ming remarked with total sincerity.

Connor’s hand paused on the menu before he continued ordering. While Connor ordered, the waiter handed White Ming a portable charger. He plugged his phone in and searched for “Ice Hockey”—a sport he knew nothing about. Maybe he could find some conversation topics.

Since they were near campus, a search for hockey immediately brought up Connor himself. The homepage featured a compilation of Connor’s highlight goals. White Ming became genuinely curious. He showed the screen to Connor. “Would you think I’m impolite if I look at my phone while we eat?”

A handsome smile curled at the corner of Connor’s mouth. “Go ahead.”

White Ming’s eyes widened as he clicked the video. Hockey was much more thrilling than he had imagined. The massive Connor was ferocious on the ice, yet as agile as a leopard, cutting through the crowd like a wave breaking the wind.

The waiter served foie gras toast, steak, duck breast, and chestnut mousse. This was the most luxurious meal White Ming had eaten since coming here. Even though Connor was the one who caused him to fall in the lake, he felt oddly guilty, until the second dessert arrived.

Seven golden egg tarts!

“The reward for ‘saving my life’ last time.”

“Does… does a Michelin restaurant make egg tarts?”

“I know the manager here. I asked him to add them last minute.”

Connor had actually understood White Ming’s rambling at the lake last time and remembered it! White Ming felt he had a duty to preserve the correct meaning of the culture he was sharing. He wanted to open a translator to explain, but Connor covered his hand. “Speak slowly. I’ll understand.”

So, White Ming scoured his meager vocabulary to explain. Basically, saving a life is a meaningful thing and had absolutely nothing to do with seven egg tarts.

White Ming’s stuttering explanation was full of grammatical errors, but it didn’t stop Connor from understanding. He nodded with a smile. The restaurant lights hit his face; his golden-brown hair softened the sharpness of his features. He looked very gentle. White Ming breathed a sigh of relief.

Such a person—a top athlete, a responsible volunteer, someone with the willpower to swim in winter, and someone patient and kind to strangers… what did he have to do with being an “obsessive freak”? Honestly, baseless rumors were everywhere.

The egg tarts were delicious. The filling was made with fresh eggs, not tart liquid. White Ming thought it would be cloyingly sweet like many American desserts, but the sweetness was just right, and the crust was perfectly crisp. Connor also ordered him a hot milkshake. White Ming took a sip, feeling physically and mentally comfortable. He was no longer so resistant to talking. “How did you know I was in the fishing club?”

“I saw this week’s campus newspaper.”

So it was that interview. He hadn’t had time to read it yet and didn’t know what Neil had said, but surely no secrets had been leaked.

Connor continued to emphasize the safety of his fishing. “I understand you like fishing, but why go out in a snowstorm? It’s dangerous, especially since you can’t swim.”

“…Winter fish taste better.”

Speaking of fish, White Ming became loquacious. Which fish were easy to catch in winter, the ratio of bait formulas, how to adjust the float marks in winter… He had dealt with the owner of the tackle shop many times and spoke about these professional terms with great expertise.

White Ming’s license still needed Connor’s help to apply for. He wondered how many days he should stall.

Winter desserts put one in a good mood. White Ming didn’t finish the egg tarts, so Connor had the staff pack them for him to take home. White Ming held the box against his chest, thinking that since the student apartments had microwaves, a quick heat-up would make another meal. When they parted at the shop door, White Ming thanked him. Just as he was about to say goodbye, he remembered he still had Connor’s blanket.

“Are you in a hurry? The dorm isn’t far. I’ll give you back the blanket.” A milky white mist escaped White Ming’s mouth. Luckily, he had taken the blanket in from the balcony before the game tonight, or it would have been soaked by the snow.

White Ming guessed that wealthy young men like Connor didn’t usually live in student dorms. Connor paused, then said he wasn’t in a hurry and could go.

White Ming led Connor all the way to his room. He blew on his frozen fingers and swiped his electronic card to open the door. The heat from the room rushed out, accompanied by the sounds of two people gasping and moaning ambiguously.

… His roommate wasn’t done yet?!

Both White Ming and Connor froze. White Ming slammed the door shut, feeling awkward. But he couldn’t just leave Connor waiting here. He pushed the door open a tiny crack. “Wait here. I’ll go in, grab the blanket, and come right back out.”

Connor grabbed him. “Your roommate? This is a violation of rules. You can report this to the RA.”

White Ming had told the roommate once, but the roommate wore headphones and he didn’t know if he’d been heard.

Connor hadn’t expected White Ming to be so indifferent to this sort of thing. The anger on his face became more apparent. “Don’t go in.”

White Ming blinked at him. “Then where do I sleep tonight?”