Chapter 52: The Tide of Fate (6)
In the rest area, everyone watched Lin Yiyang in this state.
He wanted to grab some fruit to eat but found the fruit platter empty. His hand hovered mid-air for two seconds before he snatched a small bunch of grapes from Chen Anan, who was closest to him. After eating two, he found them unappetizing and turned to look at the others.
“That’s about it,” he said, glancing around. “Anything else?”
The others looked back at him.
Weren’t you the one who called us here?
Of course, Lin Lin was always good at giving people an out. “I have a small thing—the Nine-ball World Championship is about to start.”
Lin Yiyang nodded. Of course he knew—Yin Guo was going.
“Leaving this Thursday, a week early,” Lin Lin added.
At first glance, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about that.
Lin Yiyang nodded again and tossed the grapes back onto the platter. “Alright, dismissed.”
But as soon as he stepped out of the main building, it finally dawned on him what was off. He turned to Lin Lin. “This Thursday?”
“Yeah,” Lin Lin replied, descending the stairs before making her exit.
Lin Yiyang was still processing the news—which meant the planned dinner at Yin Guo’s place this week was now off the table.
Unaware of Lin Yiyang’s complicated inner turmoil, the others retrieved their cars and headed home.
Standing at the building’s entrance, Lin Yiyang watched his brothers’ cars drive off one by one through the iron gate, still mulling over the dinner plans. Then his phone buzzed with another message from Yin Guo.
Fruit in the Woods: My grandma has been staying at my place and never goes out. Just let me know which day works for you.
Lin Yiyang smiled at the words on his screen.
Silly girl, still completely in the dark.
Yin Guo noticed Lin Yiyang hadn’t replied.
Still busy?
Fruit in the Woods: We can talk after you’re done.
This time, he replied instantly—
Lin: You’re leaving for the World Championship this Thursday, and you didn’t even know?
Yin Guo was stunned for a moment before realizing Lin Lin must have gotten the inside scoop, being part of the coaching staff.
Though it was only Monday, squeezing in a dinner over the next couple of days wouldn’t be a problem. But Lin Yiyang was at his lowest point emotionally, and she couldn’t bear to make him socialize with anyone. These days were too significant for him.
Fruit in the Woods: Then let’s do it after I get back—two weeks later.
He didn’t reply right away.
Half a minute later, Lin Yiyang sent a voice call invitation.
Lin Yiyang returned to his office, leaving the lights off. He poured himself a cup of hot water and set it on the coffee table.
His phone was on speaker beside him.
He sank into the leather sofa, crossing his legs and resting his feet on the edge of the table. It occurred to him that back when his mentor was still around, he’d often sat in this exact spot, in this exact posture.
These past few days had been so packed with tasks that he hadn’t had a single moment to himself—not even time to grieve.
One thing after another, one plan after another—none could afford to slip. He couldn’t let anyone doubt his mentor’s or Jiang Yang’s judgment. After all, he, Lin Yiyang, had been out of the game for over a decade. He needed to prove himself.
Only now, with everything settled, did he finally feel the emptiness. His mentor’s passing was something he couldn’t come to terms with so quickly.
Though the call was connected, he barely spoke.
“Do you want me to talk to you?” Yin Guo asked on the other end. “Or do you just want me to stay on the line with you?”
She understood him—knew that what he needed wasn’t words of comfort piled upon words.
Lin Yiyang murmured, “Just say anything. Whatever you want.”
It was too quiet here. The main building had no dormitories, leaving him as the only person in the entire place. He just wanted to hear her voice.The two had developed a deep understanding from their year-long long-distance relationship, often spending evenings on voice calls while doing their own things. So Yin Guo was quite accustomed to this kind of interaction. On the other end of the call, she tidied up her luggage and room while chatting idly with him.
It was all trivial daily matters.
He listened to her speak.
He recalled that year when he had argued with the coaches over An An and hid here to sleep. The next day, he was awakened by the coat his teacher had draped over him. Without opening his eyes, he heard his teacher say: "In the future, learn how to interact with people. Don’t start off by arguing. A straight foot is not afraid of a crooked shoe, but what’s truly fearsome is the wagging tongues of the world."
...
"The day my parents passed," he suddenly said, "I didn’t cry at the memorial. I don’t know why—I just didn’t feel like shedding tears. My brother cried pretty hard, though. Because of that, relatives talked behind my back for years."
On the other end of the line, she fell silent, stopping what she was doing.
"Did you find it strange, watching me today?" he asked softly.
She had noticed it back then. Among all the family members and disciples, he stood at the very back. While everyone else was in tears during the handshakes, he, the most favored junior disciple, remained composed.
If she had noticed, others would have too.
Hearing Lin Yiyang ask this, she grew somewhat worried, fearing that gossip might have spread behind his back. At best, it could be called overwhelming grief; at worst, anything could be said.
"No," Yin Guo said gently. "I didn’t think so. My mom is very particular about these things, and she didn’t say anything about you either."
There was no response from the other end.
After a while, he said, "Going to sleep. I’ll see you off on Thursday."
Yin Guo waited for him to hang up.
The call remained connected—he didn’t end it.
Earlier, while chatting with him, she had already finished washing up. Now, she was tucked under a thin summer blanket, resting her head on her arm, the phone on speaker beside her pillow. She turned off the light, nestled into the pillow, and fell asleep like that.
She didn’t sleep soundly that night, waking up several times—the call was still connected. Around four, the sound of what seemed like a police car or fire truck passing by woke her. She thought of calling out to him but didn’t. When she opened her eyes again, daylight streamed through the curtains—it was morning.
Call duration: 6:27:34. Still ongoing.
"...Lin Yiyang?" she murmured, eyes closed, calling his name.
"Awake?" His voice sounded as if it were right beside her ear, even carrying his breath.
With heavy drowsiness, she let out a soft "Mm."
"Hanging up now. Go back to sleep."
"Mm. Wish you’d kiss me," she whispered.
This was something she occasionally said—a little habit developed during their long-distance relationship.
He replied, "Done."
Yin Guo smiled, as if she had truly been kissed, hugging the summer blanket to her chest in contentment.
The call ended silently at 6:28:19.
After washing up, Lin Yiyang went to the cafeteria for breakfast. He had just gotten his food and sat down at an empty four-seater table when the remaining three seats were taken by three senior coaches.
Lin Yiyang calmly split open a steamed bun, eating it while waiting for the coaches to speak.
"Xiao Liu," Fan Wencong’s teacher took the lead, "your plans are still too simplistic. Sending thirty—isn’t that too many?" East New City only had three players who could make the Snooker World Ranking. Sending thirty was practically burning money.
Lin Yiyang nodded. As if in agreement.
"You're right," he said.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief."If we had to nitpick over everything, East New City wouldn't exist today," he humbly countered. "Don't you agree?"
Back when the first batch of students emerged from East New City, none became famous. Even He Lao didn't receive two highly talented disciples until he was in his sixties. By bringing up East New City's origins, he effectively shut down further discussion.
"Let's talk about organizing the competition," Coach Xin shifted the topic. "I know you're ambitious like your mentor, but I think we should focus on strengthening our own foundation first."
Lin Yiyang took a sip of plain congee and nodded—almost as if in agreement.
"You're right. East New City will always come first," he affirmed.
The others saw a glimmer of hope.
"But this initiative benefits us directly. If the industry thrives, your standing will be completely different from what it is now."
Coach Xin shook his head. "I'm old—I don't care about that."
Lin Yiyang smiled. "You might not, but think about our kids."
Without waiting for a response, he continued, "Forget Snooker—just look at the Women's Nine-ball Ranking. Chinese players dominate the list. Isn’t that something to be proud of? Yet no one knows, no one wants to know, and no one cares."
"I don’t want our kids to grow up introducing themselves as billiards players only to be ignored," he concluded. "I want to see the day when they step onto the court to a packed audience, when they win championships to roaring cheers. But right now? Aside from coaches, barely anyone sits in the stands."
Coach Xin sighed. "But everyone knows the bottleneck is that it's a niche sport—not an Olympic event, and even dropped from the Asian Games. National support will inevitably be lacking."
Lin Yiyang finished the last of his steamed bun, thought for a moment, and repeated, "You're right."
The veteran coaches didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Coach Xin said, "Little Six, you don’t have to agree with everything right off the bat. Let’s just speak plainly."
Lin Yiyang lowered his head, downing the rest of his congee in a few gulps. "The Olympics started in 1896, but table tennis wasn’t added until 1988. Every sport grows gradually. Billiards associations worldwide are pushing for inclusion. The bread will come," he said, placing his unopened bottle of milk among the older coaches, "and so will the milk."
Lin Yiyang left, returning his tray to the collection area, weaving through the crowd of players as he walked toward the morning sunlight.
Everyone was stunned—was this really the same unruly kid from before, the one who used to sport a buzz cut, pick fights, ignore everyone, and act like he owned the place?
Unable to persuade Lin Yiyang, the old coaches remained uneasy. Under the pretense of "visiting the sick," they went to Jiang Yang’s hospital.
Jiang Yang had just undergone arm surgery, his right arm in a cast and slung around his neck with a white cloth. He looked utterly drained.
Leaning weakly against the corner of the sofa, he said with labored breath, "You know exactly what my junior brother is like. He’s got the rankings, earns more prize money than I do, and lives like a free spirit. If not for emotional ties, he wouldn’t have come back." Jiang Yang coughed twice and reached to pour tea for the coaches. "Here, let me pour you some tea to cool your temper."
His recovery appeared "far from ideal"—even lifting the teapot seemed strenuous. The coaches quickly took it from him.
Jiang Yang sighed leisurely. "With all my injuries, I really can’t keep up anymore."The words were spoken with genuine emotion, filled with endless sorrow.
The old coaches went back and discussed it among themselves.
What else could they do? They had no choice but to let Lin Yiyang have his way. After all, he was He Lao's direct disciple, the most legitimate successor of East New City.
Within a week, the backbone of the younger generation had made their stance clear through actions—they supported Lin Yiyang.
Even the most profitable players from East New City, including Lin Yiyang himself, raised their billiard club commission from the original 20% to 50%. This move effectively silenced the murmurs of dissent.
Two weeks later.
Jiang Yang was discharged from the hospital and picked up by Lin Yiyang to stay at his billiard hall.
Jiang Yang's surgery had been successful, and his recovery was swift.
Apart from his arm hanging in a sling—which made him look a bit pitiful—he still carried himself with the same charm as the seasoned player who could outmaneuver opponents on the table. He could easily go out and charm a girl or two if he wanted.
That day, he had simply been putting on an act, feigning weakness.
Lin Yiyang had Sun Yao brew a pot of coffee and bring it up. The two of them sat on the sofa in the lounge area, chatting.
"Old folks always prefer to play it safe. You really gave the old coaches a scare at first," Jiang Yang said with a laugh.
Lin Yiyang didn’t respond.
He had spent the past week talking more than he had in the first half of his life.
Jiang Yang took a sip of coffee, savoring it slowly, enjoying this hard-won moment of leisure. "She’s flying back today, isn’t she?"
Lin Yiyang didn’t deny it.
"Then why aren’t you going to pick her up?" Jiang Yang was just making conversation.
Lin Yiyang shot him a look that said, "Do you think I don’t know how to read a clock?"
He walked to the far right of the cue rack, picked one up, and weighed it in his hand, wanting to practice. Not in the mood to rack the balls properly, he used the cue to nudge the red balls on the table, letting them scatter freely.
Finally, he placed a black ball and the cue ball.
"Seriously, though, I’ve got good news," Jiang Yang said, pulling a cigarette from the pack but not lighting it, just twirling it between his fingers. He smiled at Lin Yiyang, speaking deliberately slowly as if savoring the suspense. "Billiards is back in the Asian Games this year."
Lin Yiyang, who had been about to take a shot, froze. His hand hovered for three or four seconds.
Ever since the 2010 Guangzhou Asian Games, billiards had been excluded from major multi-sport events. How many years had it been? He had almost lost count.
"I thought you’d forgotten what we talked about when we were kids," Jiang Yang said with a chuckle.
Lin Yiyang didn’t answer. He stared at the lone black ball among the sea of reds, then executed a perfect curve shot, striking the black ball at an extreme angle and sinking it cleanly.
He had retired for years. Even after returning, he cared little about world rankings—but he would never forget this.
This was what had been ingrained in him from the very beginning.
Every child who enters the world of sports at a young age has had this experience: parents or coaches would take them as toddlers, point at the Asian Games or Olympics on TV, make them watch the national flag rise again and again, stoking their competitive spirit and fueling dreams of one day standing on that same stage as the next sporting hero.
He and Jiang Yang had been no different. They’d watched it in their teacher’s office. It was their earliest dream.
Unrelated to prize money, unrelated to rankings.
From the age of just a few years old, thousands of children endure day after day, year after year, in relentless training, injuries, and competitions. A few years old—that’s the starting age of an athlete. From then on, their entire early life revolves around this one thing.But there are only three spots on that podium, and only one of them can make the national anthem play.
As an athlete, even in a niche sport that was canceled at the Asian Games years ago, who wouldn’t want to wear their national flag over their heart and win a championship for their country?
Even if it’s just one chance.
Give this generation of billiards players an opportunity to fight for their country’s honor.
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