"That day the player collapsed, but none of us paid attention, all blinded by hatred. It wasn’t until his face turned purple and he lost all signs of life that anyone noticed."
The evening breeze brushed against Wang Fa’s face like a silent long shot, one that would only culminate in a piercing, deafening noise at the very end.
"At that moment, I suddenly thought, what am I doing? Not just in that situation, but what have I been doing all along?" Wang Fa said.
On the screen, the green of the football field sprawled wildly, stripped of any sense of time, like a vast, muddy swamp.
"What you don’t understand is why you’re standing on that football field in the first place," Lin Wanxing said.
"There are times like that, I suppose." Wang Fa gently spun the long-empty beer can in his hand. "Maybe death itself truly shook me, but I don’t think there’s anything shameful about that."
"Then why did you want to become a coach in the first place?" Lin Wanxing cracked open a new can of beer for herself and took a sip. "You were still a player at 14—what changed your ambition?"
"Fourteen?" Wang Fa rested his strong arms on the dining table, sinking into a long, distant memory. "Back then, I was playing for the Milton Keynes U15 youth team. Milton Keynes had just changed to its current name—they used to be called Wimbledon, once famously known in England as the 'Crazy Gang.' The Crazy Gang emphasized strength, running, and physical clashes, so their youth coaches naturally preferred selecting kids who were physically robust."
As Wang Fa recounted this, there was no trace of regret in his tone. "I had decent physical fitness, but compared to those exceptionally gifted Europeans, I still fell short. So, during matches, I often found myself on the bench."
Lin Wanxing looked at the dark-haired young man across from her, imagining a smaller version of him back then.
He must have been a dark-haired boy with a healthy tan, features less defined than they are now, and lighter-colored pupils that gave him a gentle, quiet, almost harmless appearance.
What would such a boy have felt, sitting on the bench while the players on the field ahead fought tooth and nail against each other?
"Did you feel unwilling?" Did you want to get on the field and play yourself?" Lin Wanxing asked.
Wang Fa shook his head. "Not really. Of course, everyone wants to prove themselves on the field, but I found watching others play quite interesting. It was a perspective of being involved yet detached, allowing me to observe my football team closely. I had a friend back then named Miles. He was incredibly strong—no idea what he ate to grow like that. He was fast, bulky, and the coaches were all very optimistic about him, believing he’d become a top striker like Rooney someday. But I thought that wasn’t right," Wang Fa said with certainty.
Lin Wanxing listened on.
"Miles’ technique was too rough, his fundamentals were weak. As a striker, he’d struggle to score under intense pressure. During one match, the coach sent him on as a forward. I don’t know what came over me, but I suddenly said, 'I think Miles should play as a defensive midfielder.' Everyone turned to look at me then..." Wang Fa recalled.
"Did the coach yell at you?" Lin Wanxing asked.
"I was just a substitute. In the heat of a fierce match, saying something like that was clearly taboo. But the coach didn’t scold me—no one even acknowledged me."Lin Wanxing imagined the scene: the black-haired boy mustering his courage to voice his idea, only to be met with indifference and a desolate expression. "And then?"
"Even though no one paid me any attention, I still wanted to give it a try. I wanted to prove my idea was right. So I secretly pulled Miles aside to train him as a defensive midfielder. When the coach found out, he didn’t even listen to my explanation. He sent me home and banned me from training for a week. He thought I was just messing around and needed to be punished," Wang Fa said.
"And then, you left the football team?" Lin Wanxing asked.
"No, I went to find our coach again."
Wang Fa’s persistence exceeded Lin Wanxing’s expectations.
He said, "That week, I wasn’t allowed to set foot in the club, so I climbed over the wall to the old man’s house. I stood in front of him and told him he had to hear me out."
"The old man... I mean, your coach, did he listen?"
"Of course not." Wang Fa finally revealed a hint of the defiance he’d had as a teenager. "The old man asked me, 'Kid, how tall are you now?' I said, 'I’m almost 5.9 feet.' But he told me, 'Kid, the goal is 8 feet off the ground. Do you know why I won’t listen to you? Because you’re too short and your voice is too small.' Then he told me to get out, or he’d call the police."
The so-called "shortness" was, of course, just another way of saying, "You’re not good enough."
Lin Wanxing pictured the scene: that 14-year-old black-haired boy, full of ambition and armed with countless arguments, mustering the courage to go to his coach’s house, only to be denied even the chance to speak his mind.
"And then?" she asked.
"After that, it was simple. Since he thought I wasn’t tall enough, I had to climb step by step to a height where he would hear my voice and know I was right."
"Obviously, I couldn’t get an opportunity at Millcains, so I moved around to a few clubs and eventually ended up at Southampton. I knew their youth academy was the best in England, and I had to become better than the old man. The rest of the story is just the struggle to get that one chance."
When he first started talking about Miles and the old man, Wang Fa’s tone was still filled with vivid emotion. But as the conversation went on, it suddenly became light and dismissive. He didn’t dwell on the hardships, as if all that struggle was meaningless.
Lin Wanxing asked, "So, did you prove yourself? Or do you think the old man finally heard your voice?"
Wang Fa replied calmly, "About ten years later, during a youth training camp opening, I ran into the old man again. He was holding a little boy’s hand and said it was his grandson. He patted the boy’s head and asked me to find him a decent, respectable host family for his grandson—a fan’s family, of course. It was a polite way of putting it..."
After over a decade of hard work, the roles had reversed. Wang Fa was now the one being asked for favors.
Lin Wanxing said, "He wanted you to look after his grandson."
Wang Fa nodded. "It was raining that day. The old man told me some news about Miles. He said that after I left, Miles’s performance declined steadily. Eventually, he could only play in lower leagues, and now he’s a defensive midfielder for an amateur team while working as a pastry chef. The old man told me, 'You were right back then.'"
"In the end, the old man gave this to me."Wang Fa leaned forward slightly, reaching into the loose pocket of his sweatpants to pull out a stopwatch. He placed it on the table and pushed it toward her.
She lowered her gaze slightly. The stopwatch was truly old, especially under the dim starlight tonight, making its scars even more pronounced.
"My initial desire to become a coach was simply to prove I was right. On that rainy day, when the old man entrusted his grandson to me, I had already proven it, hadn't I?" Wang Fa asked her.
Lin Wanxing thought it seemed so—this was a perfect story.
It began with a youthful thought, persisted through half a lifetime of a young man's efforts, and culminated in a conversation on a rainy night.
The old man had personally handed over his most treasured possession to the unruly black-haired youth he once deemed defiant.
But real life is never quite like a beautiful story—it continues relentlessly until one day...
Perhaps by the football field, or maybe in a hospital, or even while Wang Fa was being investigated at the police station, he received the news of that player's death during the match.
Whatever the circumstances, it must have been a moment he wished to bury and destroy, yet it lingered in his mind time and again.
In that chaotic footage, players lunged at each other, while fans in the stands roared with deafening intensity.
Everyone reverted to their most primal selves, yet they were no longer themselves.
"Fanaticism," Lin Wanxing said slowly. "There is a line between life and death, but fanaticism makes people cross it."
"Football is an industry that profits from fanaticism," Wang Fa recounted calmly. "A fatal accident on the field is a one-in-a-million probability—I'm well aware of that. Portsmouth and we are archrivals. 'Archrivals' is a manufactured term, and all fans focus on this match. Because we have a feud with them, everyone must fight to the death—physical clashes are entirely normal. When the player collapsed that day, none of us paid attention. We were all blinded by hatred."
Lin Wanxing stated matter-of-factly, "People in a state of passion aren't governed by reason. If this were a street brawl, you'd probably pick up your phone and call the police. But when you're caught up in it, it's a different situation."
"You, like my therapist, believe the issue is that I suffered a severe blow after the opposing player's death, became overly self-blaming, and redirected my emotions toward football," Wang Fa said. "I admit, that's definitely part of the reason."
"What's the other part?" she asked.
"The other part concerns Wade Stewart—that was the name of the deceased player. Portsmouth held a funeral for him, and we got the news. I told the club I wanted to attend. At the time, I was undergoing psychological treatment, and both my therapist and I thought attending the funeral would help resolve my issues."
"So, did you go?"
Wang Fa finally showed a disappointed expression. "My club refused my request. Because we're archrivals, and they had a death on their side, we absolutely couldn't bow our heads and take the blame. The officials would send unrelated personnel to express condolences, but me—they asked me not to leave the training base that day."
"But you still went," Lin Wanxing said."Yes, I went." Wang Fa said. "It was raining that day, it always rains in England. I stood outside the cemetery, but ultimately, I didn't go in."
Lin Wanxing didn't ask "why"—why he had gone there but not entered.
Because for Wang Fa, he wasn't alone.
He was the hope of the fans, bearing the reputation of the club. More importantly, he was the coach of those children; he couldn't let his players down. He had too many constraints.
In that moment, the feeling was the same as in countless recollections afterward—disappointment in himself that brought him pain.
"There must still be many interesting things in it," Lin Wanxing asked earnestly. "I mean, being a coach. If it were just to prove yourself to others, you should have resigned and left as soon as the old man acknowledged you."
"Actually, it's not quite as you think. Southampton is different from other clubs. We've always been in the business of buying and selling young players, making billions of euros from it." Wang Fa's expression was serious. "In our industry, time and effort are the least valuable things. I've seen too many outstanding and talented players. Out of a hundred players who enter Southampton, perhaps only one makes it to the end. In this process, I have to quickly abandon any child who can't keep up. Pity is useless; on the real professional stage, there's no room for any flaws. Including myself. But when you finally stand in the position you wanted, after over a decade of hard work and the efforts and sweat of countless people, what does it really amount to?"
Wang Fa's account made Lin Wanxing truly feel his sense of loss.
"Under the call of the club's banner, we are merely warriors gathered under a primitive totem, fighting our opponents in another form. Once we step onto the field, what essential difference is there between us and the slaves in ancient Roman arenas who entertained the nobles?" Wang Fa asked her this.
Lin Wanxing looked up sharply, never expecting Wang Fa to think this way: "You're questioning football itself."
"So what if I am?" Wang Fa retorted. "Faster, higher, stronger? Breaking through oneself, surpassing human limits? Those are other people's affairs. I'm just a part of this smokeless industry of football, serving to satisfy fervent desires. I condone players fighting on the field, ignore the fallen players on the opposing side, and I didn't even have the courage to step into that cemetery. Standing in front of the sink, looking at myself in the mirror, I felt even I was repulsive. Tell me, what exactly am I doing?"
Lin Wanxing couldn't answer.
After seeing that video, she had wanted to talk to Wang Fa. For this, she had planned many talking points.
But after hearing Wang Fa's story, she realized that in the face of true interrogation, all attempts at consolation were futile.
Because as she looked at Wang Fa, she could genuinely feel the bewilderment of having struggled for half a lifetime only to suddenly stop and look around in confusion.
He stood between life and death, shrouded by a huge black umbrella.
Abruptly looking back at the greater part of the life he had lived, the rain blurred everything, making it impossible to see the path he had taken.
"Perhaps football shines brilliantly, but its light does not fall upon me."
Wang Fa said finally.
Lin Wanxing finally understood the absurdity of her inviting Wang Fa to coach the high school team.
He had stood too high and seen too much; he viewed professional football as an industry born to please fans and generate profit.He believed he had lost himself in the industry and failed to properly guide his former players. Now, he didn’t want her students to continue down that same path.
He could use these ten days to give them a good start, but he couldn’t do anything more.
Things like "dreams" held no appeal for him anymore.
Because the moment the old man handed him the stopwatch, he had already achieved his initial dream.
And standing outside the cemetery, he had abandoned the dream he had pursued for half his life.
He wouldn’t stay at Hongjing No. 8 Middle School, much less go to Yongchuan Evergrande, because he realized he had been wrong.
"I understand," Lin Wanxing finally said.
Wang Fa, seated at the table, heard her reply.
Across the dining table, the girl’s voice was soft. Her cheeks and the corners of her eyes were flushed from drinking too much, yet her gaze remained bright and gentle, just like her name.
Many times afterward, Wang Fa would recall how he felt at that moment.
He remembered walking with Lin Wanxing by the park pond, where someone had thrown a stone into the water, sending droplets splashing onto the pink petals of the lotus flowers.
She might not have known it, but just by sitting there, she made him feel the urge to confide in her.
The night breeze was gentle, so he stayed a little longer. In the distance, the city lights gradually dimmed, and Wang Fa knew it was truly time to go.
He rose from his chair and gripped the handle of his rolling suitcase again.
"You left something behind," Lin Wanxing said.
Wang Fa glanced at the stopwatch on the table and replied, "It’s for you."
For a brief moment, Lin Wanxing sensed disappointment in his gaze.
She wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment in soccer or in her.
This was a question he had asked himself countless times. He had spent too many hours sitting in the stadium stands, pondering—whether about others or himself—and he was disappointed that no one had ever been able to convince him.
"I understand how you feel," Lin Wanxing finally said, standing up from the table. "You’ve probably heard this countless times in all your previous treatments, but I truly do understand how you feel."
Yet they still passed each other by.
"Some problems just can’t be solved—that’s what I thought back then."
She walked toward the edge of the rooftop. The night breeze brushed against her face. The nearby soccer field lay like a slumbering giant, while the distant world had fallen into the deep sleep of night.
"To be honest, I tried just now, but the things in books, those conversation techniques, feel so inadequate when faced with real problems." The wind tousled the hair at her temples. "Don’t laugh, but a few months ago, I came back here once. My mental state was terrible at the time, and I thought, ‘What would it feel like to jump from here?’"
The sound of rolling wheels and footsteps finally stopped, but Lin Wanxing’s voice continued.
"At that moment, I thought, the life I’ve lived has been so short. Who knows what lies ahead? But it also felt so hard—I just couldn’t go on anymore. I didn’t want to see anything else, good or bad. It all felt so meaningless." Lin Wanxing glanced back at Wang Fa. "You think soccer is meaningless too, don’t you?"
The young man not far away was looking at her.
He had put his baseball cap back on, revealing a sharp jawline and a straight neck, but his expression remained unreadable.
"And then?" Wang Fa lifted his head and looked at Lin Wanxing.Across from him, the girl walked slowly toward him on the night breeze.
She still wore a gentle smile as the wind brushed over the lotus leaves and petals in the pond.
She pulled something from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. "I told you, you left something behind."
Wang Fa looked down. It was a silver one-yuan coin, still warm from her body heat and carrying a faint hint of alcohol.
Lin Wanxing turned and pointed to the large pile of snacks on the table, telling him: "One-yuan coins are hard to come by these days. I had to buy all those things just to get a coin for you."
"You want me to flip the coin?" Wang Fa was surprised.
"Exactly. Don't you use coin tosses in football to choose sides? It's quite symbolic," Lin Wanxing said. "I happened to have a coin in my pocket at the time too. Here's what I thought: heads you go, tails you stay. I can't persuade you, and I even think you're right, but I also know that there are still things here you can't bear to leave behind."
The girl gently tapped his chest with her finger. "Don't ignore that last bit of reluctance and attachment in your heart. All your emotions are precious."
"I can't make you stay because I don't know what lies ahead if you continue on your path. But I hope you'll do something foolish - try letting heaven make the choice for you."
The girl maintained her faint smile throughout, her short hair tied back with just a small ponytail, while more strands at her temples were tousled by the wind.
This method really didn't seem like something someone like her would come up with, but Wang Fa understood clearly - she truly had no other options left.
In the night sky, pink balloons flapped loudly in the wind, while Miss Minnie remained as approachable and cute as ever.
Wang Fa lowered his head. He couldn't refuse.
It was a simple action, but when the coin was tossed into the night sky, it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
It fell quickly, making a light "clink" as it hit the ground, rolled twice, and finally came to a steady stop.
Under the night sky, the silver number "1" was particularly clear - heaven's will was decisive: go.
Wang Fa and Lin Wanxing simultaneously withdrew their gazes.
He saw no disappointment in the girl's eyes. Her gaze was as peaceful as a starry night, fixed steadily on him.
Wang Fa gripped the handle of his suitcase, turned, and began to walk away.
The person behind him remained motionless.
"Which side did you get when you tossed the coin?" Wang Fa suddenly asked, his hand touching the green iron gate.
"Heads," Lin Wanxing answered.
Heads meant taking the leap, freeing oneself from life's bitter sea.
As if an electrocardiogram had suddenly surged to its peak, Wang Fa turned back to look at the girl not far away. "But you're still here."
"Yes, because I cheated."
She stood under the starry sky, answering him with that same faint smile.
The wind that night always carried a bitter taste.
As if someone had scattered salt grains into the wind, stirring gently with chopsticks, all emotions were swept up, dissolved in the wind, gently spreading until they finally enveloped them completely.
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