Chapter Thirty-Six: Did I Beat My Opponent Until He Threw Up? (Please Keep Reading)

Zhang Long turned his head and spotted his coach standing on the bleachers.

He sighed, then said helplessly, "Alright, my coach is over there, so I have to go. Losing to you today, I expect I’m in for a lecture. Good luck—you’d better perform well. The better you do, the less I’ll get scolded!"

Jiang Hong just chuckled at these words, offering no reply. After all, if you take the money, you have to show some results; otherwise, it’s just a taxpayer-funded vacation. It was a fair trade, but Jiang Hong had no desire to enjoy such perks. No one could guarantee the outcome of a match, and if every poor performance required writing a formal letter of apology, playing tennis would cease to be a joy and become a painful burden.

Zhang Long walked over to the bleachers with his head hanging low. "I'm sorry, Coach, I lost." He was prepared for a thunderous reprimand.

"That's enough. I watched the match; you were indeed no match for him. Go back, practice hard, and prepare for the next tournament," the coach said with a sigh, patting Zhang Long’s shoulder in consolation.

Zhang Long was surprised, as his coach was usually very strict. He hadn’t expected this outcome. Relieved to avoid punishment, he nodded eagerly and promised, "Don't worry, Coach. I’ll definitely train hard when I get back, and I’ll make it into the main draw next time!"

Another provincial team coach looked over at Jiang Hong in the distance. "That young man has a very well-rounded technique. I wonder which team scouted such a gem. He should have no trouble making the main draw; the only question is whether he can earn any ranking points."

"Jiang Hong isn't on a team; he trains on his own," Zhang Long suddenly interjected as he overheard them.

The coaches looked surprised. It was rare for domestic players to go solo. "What a pity," one coach sighed with disappointment. "Most players who go solo are wealthy second-generation kids. I was hoping to poach him for one of the western provincial teams."

Jiang Hong had no idea he had already been labeled a "wealthy second-generation" player. Even if he weren't already part of the system, he wouldn't have been interested in being poached. Even if one's original team lacked resources, if other teams valued your talent enough to poach you, you could only hope for excellent results. Otherwise, even if you became a mid-tier athlete—and "mid-tier" is by no means a derogatory term, as they are already highly skilled—the complications involved upon retirement would be endless.

...

After his match, Jiang Hong rested for a while, as he had another game in the afternoon. He grabbed a quick bite to eat. Since his group finished early, he spent his spare time watching other matches. To be honest, while some players were better than Wang Cheng or Lin Yu, their ceiling was limited.

The second round of the qualifiers began on time in the afternoon. This was the most critical stage, as it determined who would advance to the main draw. While every player hoped to earn points, those with limited ability saw making the main draw as a success in itself, which would help them secure more resources from their teams.

The audience for this round was much larger, consisting mostly of players eliminated in the morning and their coaches. Since Zhang Long had been a favorite to reach the main draw, the other players were curious about the man who had defeated him.

The referee explained the match procedures as usual. Jiang Hong observed his second-round opponent: he looked to be about twenty years old, with a burly build—likely a power player.

"Don't think that just because you beat Zhang Long, you're guaranteed a spot in the main draw," his opponent, Du Yan, suddenly declared. "You’re strong, and everyone is rooting for you, but I’m not afraid."

Jiang Hong was stunned. What was this? This morning, he had been a soft target, and now he was suddenly a favorite? If someone talked big before a match, they usually had the skills to back it up, or they were just asking to be humiliated. Jiang Hong silently heightened his vigilance; he would need to give his full focus.

The referee flipped a coin for serve. "Du Yan to serve."

After a quick warm-up, the match officially began. Jiang Hong crouched slightly, feet shoulder-width apart, racket gripped in both hands, eyes locked on his opponent's movements.

Toss, push off, swing! *Thwack!* The tennis ball flew in an arc.

"OUT!"

The form was good, but the angle was off, and the ball sailed out of bounds. On his second serve, Du Yan played it safe, with the ball speed hovering around 160 km/h. Jiang Hong anticipated the landing spot, sidestepped, and hit a forehand topspin. Du Yan lunged to return it, but the spin Jiang Hong had applied was too heavy, resulting in a clean passing shot.

0–15!

For the next two serves, Jiang Hong ended the points with a single shot each. On the fourth point, Du Yan hit his first serve into the alley and his second into the net—a double fault.

"1–0!" the referee announced.

As they took a break between games, Jiang Hong hadn't even broken a sweat. He was puzzled; the guy looked so sturdy, he’d expected a power server, but... his serves were nothing special.

Du Yan, meanwhile, was frantically searching for a way to counter Jiang Hong.

"First set, Jiang Hong wins, 6–0!"

As the referee’s voice rang out, the first set ended. Du Yan hadn't found a strategy at all. He hung his head, his face pale, muttering to himself, "I’m such an idiot. Why did I provoke him? Du Yan, oh Du Yan, why did you have to mess with him?" He wanted to slap himself. Before the match, he knew he probably couldn't beat Jiang Hong, so he’d tried to provoke him, hoping that if the score stayed close, the younger player might get impatient and make a mistake. Instead, he hadn't even had a chance to stay close; he’d been completely swept.

The second set began. Jiang Hong wondered if the guy was just all talk. The score quickly reached 4–0 in the second set.

It was Du Yan’s turn to serve. He bent his knees, tossed the ball, pushed off, and served. The quality of this shot was actually quite good. Jiang Hong rushed to the ball, swung his racket, and hit a forehand backspin. Du Yan hurried to the spot and hit a cross-court return.

Jiang Hong stepped back. As the ball dropped to waist height, he gave his wrist a subtle flick. A backhand slice, barely grazing the racket, sent the ball floating over the net as a drop shot. Seeing the ball, Du Yan’s expression changed, and he scrambled to the net to return it.

Despite his best effort, he couldn't reach it. *Thwack!* He collapsed to the ground.

Jiang Hong watched him, but Du Yan didn't get up for a long time. Soon, Du Yan’s face turned deathly pale, and he began to retch. Jiang Hong was stunned—surely it wasn't his fault?

After a medical check, it was determined that Du Yan could not continue and had to retire from the match. Jiang Hong won with a score of 6–0, 4–0, and advanced to the main draw.