Lin Wanxing thought that the strength of their opponents wouldn’t have much of an impact on the students. After all, these kids always seemed boisterous and fearless.
But when she stood in the old stadium after work, she was still shocked.
The field was empty.
Previously, the students would always skip class early to come to the stadium, but now, not a single one of them was in sight.
At that moment, Lin Wanxing even felt inexplicably lost, wondering if the stadium had been booked for some competition or if there was some other reason why none of the students were there.
She looked around and saw that only Wang Fa was still sitting in the stands, as usual.
Seeing the coach, Lin Wanxing felt a strange sense of relief. If no one had shown up, it must have been a mutual agreement among them.
Wang Fa, with his baseball cap pulled low, had his legs propped up on the seats in front of him as always, looking perfectly calm.
“Did they not come today?” Lin Wanxing walked over and sat down beside him. As soon as she asked the question, she felt foolish. After all, she should know the students better than Wang Fa.
“Yeah, haven’t seen them,” Wang Fa said.
Lin Wanxing found it strange and began to form some guesses in her mind.
She took out her phone, thought for a moment, and called Qin Ao.
After two or three rings, the call was answered.
Before she could speak, Qin Ao spoke first: “Teacher, where are you?”
“I’m at the stadium. Where are you all?”
“You’re at the stadium? We’re waiting for you in the classroom. Hurry up and come over,” Qin Ao said casually.
He was about to hang up, but Lin Wanxing paused for a moment before realizing that the “classroom” he mentioned must be her grandparents’ tutoring center.
She quickly asked, “Wait, aren’t you coming to practice?”
“No, we’re not playing anymore. What’s the point? Are we supposed to beat Green View or something?” Qin Ao sounded irritated. “I’m telling you, it’s definitely rigged. They deliberately paired us with them to guarantee Green View’s advancement.”
“Then why are you in the classroom…”
“Of course, to study hard and make progress every day,” Qin Ao said. “We’re aiming for college. Soccer isn’t going to put food on the table.”
Lin Wanxing found it unbelievable and wondered if she was hearing things. She couldn’t understand how something the kids had been so determined to pursue just yesterday could be so easily abandoned today.
She felt a surge of frustration but paused to think before asking, “Where’s Fu Xinshu?”
“He’s here,” Qin Ao said. There was some rustling on the other end, and the phone was likely handed over.
“Hello?” Lin Wanxing called out softly.
After a moment, Fu Xinshu’s voice came through the phone: “Teacher Lin.”
The boy’s voice was soft and carried a hint of grievance, which immediately softened Lin Wanxing’s frustration.
She asked gently, “Fu Xinshu, what did you all decide? Are you really not coming to practice anymore?”
“Yes, Teacher Lin, we… won’t be practicing anymore,” Fu Xinshu said slowly. From the background noise, it sounded like there were many people around him, and she could almost picture the football team crowding around Fu Xinshu.
“Why?” Lin Wanxing asked. “Just because you can’t beat Green View International?”
“Teacher, Green View International is really strong. There’s no way we can beat them,” Fu Xinshu said frankly.He spoke slowly, sounding somewhat sad yet very certain—this was likely the result of everyone’s noisy discussions together.
"I know, but winning or losing doesn’t really matter," Lin Wanxing said, but Fu Xinshu interrupted her.
"Teacher Lin, we know you have school responsibilities, and we’ll definitely play in the weekend match. It’s just that training now seems pointless. We might as well use the time to focus on studying."
"Focus on studying"—these were words that would move any parent or teacher. But to Lin Wanxing, Fu Xinshu’s words left a bitter taste.
She truly knew nothing about soccer.
Her understanding of Green View International was limited to what she’d found on Baidu Baike. She had no idea what an insurmountable mountain the students considered it to be.
But in her view, neither choosing nor giving up should be taken so lightly.
Because of this, the anger she had previously suppressed began to resurface: "I don’t understand why you’re thinking this way now. All I know is, just a few days ago, you told me you wanted everyone to play together. And you should know me by now—I’ve never cared about school tasks or things like that."
"Teacher, I know you care about us, and you genuinely want what’s best for us. And that person—the one who sent us to learn from you—cares about us too. But if we can’t win, we just can’t. People need to face reality," Fu Xinshu said resolutely before hanging up.
The abrupt "beep, beep" tone followed the ended call, then there was a long stretch of silence.
Lin Wanxing held her phone as the wind swept across the field, and for a moment, she felt utterly lost.
From a mature perspective, giving up when faced with an insurmountable mountain was a perfectly rational choice. If you can’t climb it, you can’t climb it—better to change course early.
After all, in China, playing soccer could never compare to studying hard for college entrance exams in terms of practicality.
What’s more, her principle had always been "freedom"—she supported whatever the students wanted to do.
So she put down her phone and looked toward the back of the field.
From where she stood, she could just barely make out a corner of No. 17 Wutong Road.
Lin Wanxing felt she should get up and go to the classroom to teach her students.
But under the setting sun, with the city’s light and shadow blurred, she suddenly didn’t want to move at all.
Wang Fa still sat by the edge of the field, the young man half-squinting as if he’d fallen asleep in the evening breeze.
"You’ve probably encountered many players who quit halfway, right?" Lin Wanxing asked, looking at his clear, calm profile. "Thinking they can’t win, so they just give up—that’s a pretty reasonable excuse, isn’t it?"
"Extremely reasonable," Wang Fa replied with unusual calm. "Much more reasonable than 'Coach, soccer makes me constipated, so I’m not coming anymore,' don’t you think?"
Wang Fa mimicked the tone of a foreign child speaking Chinese, making it sound like a situation he’d actually encountered.
Lin Wanxing wasn’t amused, and Wang Fa didn’t laugh either.
"Did you try to persuade that constipated player?"Lin Wanxing paused, then tentatively asked, 'Or, in your coaching career, was there a player you thought was the most regrettable case—someone who wanted to quit?" Did you try to persuade them to keep playing?"
As the sunset gradually faded, the stands were painted in broad strokes of gray.Shadows fell across Wang Fa’s eyelids. The young man abruptly opened his eyes, his gaze clear and sharp. Staring at her, he asked, "Have you ever thought about why people play football?"
In Lin Wanxing’s memory, this was the first time Wang Fa had asked her this question. At that moment, she was still immersed in complex and bewildering emotions, unaware of why Wang Fa would ask such a thing.
"I don’t know," she answered honestly.
The next moment, Wang Fa lowered his gaze. He tugged at the brim of his cap, as if preparing to doze off again in the stands. If Lin Wanxing hadn’t caught the fleeting look of disappointment in his eyes, she might have assumed this was just his way of avoiding her question.
Everyone has troubles they can’t resolve for the time being.
Wang Fa’s attitude made it clear he didn’t want to talk. Lin Wanxing shifted her gaze from the brim of his cap, propped her chin in her hands, and stared out at the vast field ahead.
At the forefront was a long, standard 400-meter synthetic track. She remembered the last time she had run a full lap was during a fitness test in college. Beyond that, she had never really understood what it felt like to run for the duration of an entire football match.
Once the thought took root, it became impossible to suppress.
Lin Wanxing stood up from the stands, took off her cardigan, and tossed it onto the empty seat beside Wang Fa. "Keep an eye on my things for me."
Wang Fa glanced at her.
Lin Wanxing hopped down the steps of the stands, then turned back and called out, "Remind me in 90 minutes!"
—
The soles of her shoes met the synthetic track.
Lin Wanxing stretched lazily and then broke into a run.
At first, she felt only the refreshing evening breeze and the soft rebound of the track beneath her feet. She still had the mental space to think.
She pondered many things—what football meant, why the students played it, whether they truly wanted to give up, and what she ought to do.
Before she even finished the first lap, her calves already felt heavy.
She used Wang Fa’s position as a marker and began her second lap.
This time, she slowed her pace.
When you unconsciously adjust and keep running, your focus shifts to your own body.
Lin Wanxing felt her legs growing heavier and heavier, so she tried to distract herself by thinking about her students.
Third lap.
Sore calves, sore ankles—the typical muscle fatigue began to spread from her legs throughout her body. She knew she should slow down further. She tried to control her breathing, but it was no longer within her grasp.
In the face of such intense physical reactions, the little psychological tricks no longer worked.
Fifth lap.
Lin Wanxing knew running was supposed to be exhausting. She had taken part in 800-meter tests before. She had even sat in the stands and watched the students run almost the entire night under Wang Fa’s demands. But experiencing it herself was far more grueling than she had imagined.
Now, her head was spinning, and a metallic taste of blood rose in her throat. Parts of her body felt detached, as if they no longer belonged to her. She wanted to stop but felt she shouldn’t. She wanted to ask Wang Fa something, but her movements had become mechanical.
At one point, as she reached the southwest corner of the field, she suddenly caught a glimpse of No. 17 Wutong Road.
The glow from the floor belonging to Yuan Yuan Cram School became her new beacon.
Seventh lap.After completing six laps, it meant she had run two kilometers. Lin Wanxing tried to use mathematical reasoning to calculate how long she had been running based on her pace and speed, but her mind had turned into complete mush—blank and sluggish, her breathing labored. She knew her earlier thoughts were a sign of mental confusion.
Stars danced before Lin Wanxing’s eyes, and she felt as if she could see her students playing soccer on the field.
Even clear voices reached her ears, but after running a few more steps, she realized those people weren’t her students.
Countless thoughts tangled together like a ball of yarn mauled by a cat, and she even felt as if the tangled yarn were wrapped around her own body. It tightened and grew heavier with every moment.
Lin Wanxing’s only thought was, "I’m tired, so very tired."
Yes, running was already this exhausting—soccer must be even more draining. So why bother playing it at all?
Time stretched on indefinitely, and her sense of space and coordinates seemed to warp endlessly.
The guiding light had lost its purpose, and the yarn wrapped around her seemed to tighten further, filling her entire chest. Slowly, it wound around her eyes, enveloping her completely.
Then, at one moment, Lin Wanxing’s knees buckled, and everything went dark. In a bizarre yet strangely freeing way, she collapsed onto the track.
She knew she couldn’t hold on any longer, and in that, she found immense relief.
Relief wasn’t so bad, was it?
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