Chapter 47: The Tide of Fate (1)
Chen Anan felt that if he kept watching, he’d get an eye infection.
“Half a pack of cigarettes, and they’re this happy?” he said, grasping for conversation.
“Tobacco taxes are high here. Cigarettes are expensive,” Lin Yiyang explained. “That same pack costs just over ten yuan back home, but here it’s over sixty.”
Homeless people without steady income rarely bought them, of course.
Once Chen Anan understood, his sympathy overflowed. He had Lin Yiyang buy two fresh packs for the homeless men and even dragged Lin Yiyang along as a translator, chatting with them late into the night.
By the time they got home, he was still buzzing from jet lag and alcohol. Worried that Chen Anan’s excitement might affect his performance in the next day’s match, Lin Yiyang coaxed and prodded him into lying down in his room.
After Chen Anan went inside, Lin Yiyang sat on the sofa and remembered Yin Guo’s so-called “precaution.” He pressed her for details.
With a mysterious air, Yin Guo dug out a small box of contraceptive patches from her suitcase and showed him.
Lin Yiyang poured them out—they looked like small medicinal plasters. Yin Guo had chronic issues with her shoulders and waist, so she often used various patches for recovery. Seeing these, he assumed they were for treating injuries.
Just as he was about to ask more, the door on the right opened again.
“Still can’t sleep—” Chen Anan froze when he saw the two of them—one sitting on the sofa, the other half-kneeling, their faces dangerously close—and immediately shut his mouth.
“Which one of you sprained something?” Spotting the item in Lin Yiyang’s hand, Chen Anan again grasped for conversation. “My waist hurts too. Didn’t sleep well on the plane. Give me one.”
Yin Guo snatched the box and patches from Lin Yiyang’s hand, stuffed them away, and fled.
Baffled, Chen Anan whispered, “Is Sister-in-law upset?”
Lin Yiyang shot him a glance. “Your waist really hurts?”
“Uh… yeah, a little.” Chen Anan clutched his waist—he didn’t dare lie.
Lin Yiyang stood up, rummaged through the plastic cabinet against the wall, and tossed him a box of genuine medicinal plasters. Without another word, he went to his room to sleep.
Starting Tuesday, the group stage matches began.
Yin Guo cut through her opponents like a hot knife through butter. On the final day of the group stage, she faced Ashly, a renowned American player. In that match, which had an unusually high attendance, she staged a jaw-dropping comeback from 5-10, clinging to the match point and scoring four consecutive breaks to tie 11-10, ultimately winning the game.
As a foreign player, she earned a standing ovation and cheers from the entire stadium of local fans that day.
With her outstanding form, Yin Guo advanced to the quarterfinals without a hitch. Surprisingly, Chen Anan also performed beyond expectations, making it to the Open quarterfinals for the first time in his career.
Saturday marked the men’s and women’s semifinals.
At 1:25 p.m., before her first match, Yin Guo changed into her competition shirt and pants and returned to her corner in the rest area, wondering where Lin Yiyang was.
He had been in Washington these past few days, handling matters at the pool hall there and catching up with old classmates and friends. He had promised to return today to watch her and Chen Anan’s matches. But for some reason, Yin Guo felt uneasy, afraid he wouldn’t make it in time.
Her phone wasn’t with her—a pre-match habit—so she couldn’t contact him.
At 1:30 p.m., as per routine, she entered the arena thirty minutes early.Along with her, several other female players entered, including Su Wei, who was closest to Yin Guo. Led by the staff, they made their way through the tunnel toward the competition area.
"I ran into Lin Yiyang outside just now," Su Wei whispered to her in Chinese, knowing about their relationship. "Did you know? A reporter interviewed him in Washington a couple of days ago and broke the news—he probably won’t be participating in any more Nine-ball tournaments in the U.S. from now on." Su Wei’s tone was full of regret.
"Yeah, he mentioned it briefly," Yin Guo replied. "After all, his energy is limited."
Lin Yiyang’s playing style had always been unique. Over the past year, he had not only earned countless accolades in the local scene but also introduced fresh techniques and attitudes to this niche community, attracting many new fans who previously didn’t follow Nine-ball.
A rising star announcing his departure at the peak of his career was undoubtedly big news. Online reactions from fans were intense, with many doing everything they could to persuade him to stay. Some were critical and harsh, but most were supportive, hoping for his eventual return and looking forward to seeing his thrilling performances again.
Lin Yiyang had no public social media accounts, so all the comments were under news articles. Yin Guo had skimmed through them.
Zheng Yi, spurred by discussions among her classmates who were pool enthusiasts, had also grown curious and spent an evening reading the comments. By the end, she was heartbroken and bluntly remarked, "Your man’s heart is pretty ruthless, honestly."
...
As Yin Guo and Su Wei chatted, they walked through the tunnel.
The sudden commotion from the stands made the group of female players pause. Yin Guo looked up as well.
The entrance she was at happened to be the same as the southern stands, so her view was blocked. She could only wait for the crowd to move forward. But clearly, she heard someone shouting, "Lin!"
Soon, she spotted him—surrounded by enthusiastic fans.
Lin Yiyang was dressed entirely in black, with dark red sneakers and a black baseball cap in an attempt to stay low-key, though it clearly didn’t work. In such a niche sport, anyone who made it to the venue on time was a die-hard fan—who wouldn’t recognize him?
Unlike Yin Guo, an international player here for a single Open, Lin Yiyang had competed locally, earning genuine hometown fans. Some asked for photos, others for autographs, though most just wanted a handshake.
The southern stands erupted with chants of "Lin! Lin!" drawing the attention of every fan in that section.
The other three sides of the stands, too far to see clearly, buzzed with curiosity, eager to find out who had arrived.
This was the first time Yin Guo had seen him interact with fans like this, and she found it fascinating. She watched from below like an excited admirer, shifting angles to get a better look.
Sun Zhou noticed Yin Guo first and struggled through the crowd, patting Lin Yiyang’s arm and shouting, "Your girl’s down there—look below!"
Lin Yiyang glanced down and saw Yin Guo waving at him from behind the railing in the competition area. His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but stare a little longer, drawing the attention of the fans in the stands.
Yin Guo froze.
Beside her, Su Wei quickly pulled her away. "Trying to go public today?"
"No," she blushed. "It’s just my first time seeing him interact with local fans like this. It was fun.""Having fun?" Su Wei teased with a smile. "Who was it that insisted on showing me the WeChat messages, claiming there wasn't the slightest connection?"
"At that time... there really wasn't anything."
Su Wei's expression was full of disbelief, leaving Yin Guo with no way to defend herself.
Soon, she was led to her assigned table.
There were still twenty minutes until the match.
On the small table beside her, the staff politely placed two glass cups and pointed to them, indicating they were for Yin Guo's use. With a smile, she thanked them and pulled out her own thermos, pouring hot juice into it to drink during breaks in the match.
She set the thermos aside.
Stealthily, she glanced at the spectator stands to see how he was doing.
The fans in the southern stands gradually settled down, and Lin Yiyang finally reached his seat. Accompanying him weren't just Sun Zhou but also several students from his own pool hall. He kept his voice low as he discussed hall matters with Sun Zhou, half his face obscured by the brim of his cap, trying to blend in as an ordinary spectator.
But clearly, the audience's enthusiasm had caught the attention of the broadcast director.
The primary revenue source for such events was selling broadcasting rights, and having a star player in attendance was something the director wouldn't overlook.
"Dear viewers watching the live broadcast, as my colleague has pointed out, we have a heavyweight guest at today's Open. Let's turn the camera to our Lin."
On the big screen, Lin Yiyang's corner suddenly zoomed in.
Sun Zhou was stunned and nudged Lin Yiyang with his shoulder, alerting him—boss, you're on live broadcast.
Lin Yiyang was equally surprised.
"Lin, won't you say hello to everyone?" the commentator asked with a laugh.
On screen, Lin Yiyang's eyes were barely visible under his cap brim. He politely raised his right hand in greeting to the spectators in the other three stands and the live audience.
A spontaneous round of applause lasted a full half-minute.
Seizing the moment, a staff member rushed over and handed him a microphone.
Lin Yiyang waved it off, declining.
But obviously, no one was going to let him off that easily: "Lin, are you here today to see your old friends on the court one last time?"
Another female commentator chimed in: "Almost every male player on the court today has crossed cues with him. They must all be regretting not having another match against him at the U.S. Open—"
The female commentator suddenly paused. After three seconds of silence, she laughed cheerfully: "Barry just posted on Facebook—'Thank you, Lin, for not signing up for the Open. Not a single player wants to see you, not one.'"
Everyone burst into laughter.
Amid the laughter, the female commentator raised her voice slightly, reading from her phone with even more delight: "Barry posted again—'Please, someone find the footage from last year's Open, the final match of the women's group stage. You'll uncover a shocking secret.'"
Yin Guo's grip on her glass tightened.
She knew exactly what they were referring to...
In less than half a minute, amidst the audience's restlessness and anticipation, an old clip appeared on the big screen—
A girl who had just won her match set down her cue and immediately ran toward the southern stands. In the footage, only three Chinese men could be seen in the stands. Last year's commentator had explained: "Among the spectators are two Chinese male players. It seems our female player is going to high-five her teammates in celebration."
At the time, the commentator had assumed this was the case and didn't give a close-up.
The scene flashed by just like that.But today, upon revisiting, everyone at the scene recognized that the only Chinese man no one knew last year was Lin Yiyang.
No close-up was needed—fans wouldn’t mistake him. Even a silhouette would have been enough for them to identify him.
It was unclear who started clapping and whistling first, but the entire venue erupted. Applause, whistles, laughter, and chants of “Lin” filled the air, making the arena livelier than ever.
Su Wei was also laughing nonstop, nudging her from behind. Knowing more than the audience, she was naturally even more excited.
Yin Guo turned around and swatted Su Wei’s hand away, but her own palms were already drenched in sweat.
She had never imagined being the center of such attention—it was terrifying.
Amid the uproar, the commentator’s voice shifted focus to the heroine of the moment: “The girl in the replay is sitting right here in our arena, about to compete in today’s semifinals. In her group stage two days ago, she pulled off a stunning comeback, defeating the champion of the last Open.”
The screen split in two as the commentator spoke.
One half showed her.
“You’re on screen,” Su Wei reminded her.
Yin Guo reflexively lowered her hands, struggling to maintain the composure of a top-seeded champion.
Her expression gave her away. The fair skin of the Asian girl was now flushed, her eyes glistening—clearly overwhelmed by the spotlight.
“So, Lin, this time last year, who were you here for?” the commentator asked point-blank.
In the other half of the screen, Lin Yiyang chuckled at the question.
“Too hard to answer? Then let me rephrase,” the female commentator pressed with a smile. “Who are you here for today?”
Knowing he couldn’t dodge it this time, he reached out to a staff member for a microphone.
Amid the applause and laughter around him, he held the small black mic. After a brief silence, he spoke slowly, his voice echoing through the stadium: “Since you’ve already seen it all… do I really need to answer?”
The cheers and noise surged to another crescendo.
“Of course, of course we want to hear it from you,” the commentator countered.
On screen, Lin Yiyang shifted the mic from his left hand to his right, his gaze fixed on the distant figure in the arena.
Yin Guo clutched her right wrist with her left hand, holding her breath. She couldn’t guess what Lin Yiyang was thinking.
Her younger cousin had been using a VPN at home to stream her matches for Grandma, so whatever answer came now would definitely reach her family.
She waited, just like everyone else.
Lin Yiyang, still on camera, slowly switched the mic back to his other hand, his eyes never leaving her in the arena. The stands were high, the court low, so in the live broadcast, he appeared with his head slightly bowed, his expression hidden from view.
“Last year, in a small bar here, I saw her. At the time, I didn’t go in—I stood outside the window, watching her for three or four minutes,” Lin Yiyang’s voice resonated in every corner of the stadium. “But she had no idea.”
A rare hush fell over the crowd, lending weight to his words.
“I remember thinking, ‘I want to know this girl. I want to go in and buy her a drink. I want to get her contact details tonight.’ I knew—I wanted to pursue her. But I didn’t know how to say it. She was so beautiful. I was afraid I’d mess it up.”
A few seconds of silence passed.
Then he added, “Believe me, I was really afraid I’d mess it up.”This was the stadium, the place where he had won many honors, surrounded by his local fans. Yet he was openly admitting his caution and the stirring of his heart back then, without any concealment...
Yin Guo's vision was blurred with tears, her lips trembling slightly. She wanted to bite them, but couldn't hold back.
"So you succeeded today," the commentator said with a laugh.
"I hope so," Lin Yiyang also laughed as he looked up at the live broadcast screen—half showing himself, the other half showing Yin Guo with tears in her eyes. "I think... I will succeed."
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