Chapter Forty-Three: Basic Training

In truth, for these college players, encounters with a head coach like Wang Lei were rare. As marginal figures within their own teams, they seldom attracted the favor of their school’s main coach. The clarity with which Wang Lei articulated his strategic vision and tactical reasoning genuinely captured their attention. Previously, the head coaches mostly focused on the team’s core players—typically the big men and the point guard responsible for feeding the post—while the fringe players were relegated to the assistant coaches, with no one tailoring training to suit their individual strengths. Though Wang Lei had not yet provided them with specialized training, at the very least, he had explained the team’s philosophy and his goals, making the purpose behind their training clear.

With order restored, the group prepared to resume their drills, but Wang Lei halted them once more.

“Cai Aihong, you have something else to do—apologize to Turghun. You started this trouble. Hawur, you owe everyone an apology—you nearly split the team.”

“Come on, let’s be proactive. There’s no need to be embarrassed. If I make a mistake in the future, I’ll apologize to you all as well.”

Wang Lei had his reasons for insisting the two troublemakers apologize publicly. Young people are often proud, especially those born in the late nineties or around the turn of the millennium; they can be fiercely individualistic, equating apologies with a loss of face. Yet, conversely, they’re quick to accept apologies, as it gives them a sense of dignity in return.

Cai Aihong could be as stubborn as a mule, but he realized he had misunderstood Turghun and Wang Lei, so he stepped forward and apologized. The gesture left Turghun at a loss, for he had never been on the receiving end of an apology before.

As for the young Uyghur, Hawur Pulat, he stiffened his neck in silence. His temperament matched his name perfectly: “Hawur” meaning strong and fierce in Uyghur, “Pulat” meaning steel.

“If you refuse to apologize, I won’t force you. Pack your things and leave. I won’t keep you here,” Wang Lei said, his tone uncompromising. There could be no divisive elements within the team. Unity was the foundation of this squad’s success.

“Fine, I’ll go. I don’t care to stay here anyway,” Hawur replied, true to form. He turned and left without hesitation, driving home to the others just how much authority Wang Lei wielded. No matter how easygoing his manner, he was ultimately in charge, with the right to dismiss anyone.

Turghun, meanwhile, seemed even more bewildered, feeling all the problems somehow stemmed from him.

With the matter resolved, Wang Lei ordered everyone back to training, but he also assigned extra tasks to both players and coaches.

The players’ drill for the day was dribbling: full-court sprints from baseline to baseline, focusing on both speed and ball control. The coaches, meanwhile, were to grade each player’s performance. The two lowest scorers would face an hour of extra practice after the session as punishment.

This exercise seemed simple, but it was carefully designed. The team’s future offense would rely on fast breaks and counterattacks, so every player—including the center—needed both stamina and speed with the ball. In the chaos of transition, anyone might have to handle the ball.

Wang Lei had selected his roster with this tactical vision in mind. Even the tallest player, Cai Aihong, stood just over two meters, and he wasn’t particularly slow—he’d specialized in long-distance running before hitting his growth spurt.

However, this kind of full-court shuttle dribbling couldn’t go on for too long. Players were only human, not machines—even machines break down under constant strain. Wang Lei was determined to avoid burning out his team.

The key was a balanced training regimen.

After dribbling, they moved on to another fundamentals drill: catch-and-shoot from set spots. Players had to move continuously while the coaches passed from fixed locations, taking immediate shots upon reception. It was a simple drill, yet it tested all the essentials, from hand positioning to resetting and releasing the shot quickly—a fusion of basic skills.

Wang Lei even had two assistants hold pads to simulate defenders, forcing the players to shoot under pressure.

Although basketball in the Republic had developed impressively and remained among the world’s top five, the recent retirement of several veteran stars had led to a gap between generations. The traditional inside-heavy style required a dominant big man at its core, but such players could not always be found, even with the country’s population of over a billion.

Traditionally, player roles were fixed; each trained for the specifics of their position, and as long as they could keep the ball moving, that was enough. No coach ever demanded that a center practice dribbling intensively; using height and strength to overpower opponents was the prevailing logic.

Wang Lei aimed to change this through his efforts. Though these college players were all fringe members on their own teams, he saw them as his foundation.

Such training could be monotonous, and Wang Lei wondered if he should find ways to make it more engaging. Perhaps he could introduce healthy competition. If only Hawur had stayed, Wang Lei thought, he could have pitted Hawur and Cai Aihong against each other, giving the squad a basis for rivalry.

But less than an hour into training, the departed Hawur returned. To everyone’s surprise, he apologized to Wang Lei and the team on his own initiative. Wang Lei was mystified—what had changed this Uyghur young man’s mind?

It turned out that after Hawur left, Turghun’s sister, Aziguli, had gone after him. Though she felt for her brother after Cai Aihong’s brusque confrontation, she hadn’t intervened at the time, believing some things her brother needed to face himself. But she was grateful to Hawur for standing up for him, so she decided to thank him personally.

As the saying goes, even the hardest “steel” can be melted by the gentlest touch. When Hawur saw Aziguli, as beautiful and pure as a snow lotus, he felt his breath catch. He’d dated before, but never met a girl as stunning as Aziguli.

Hawur Pulat decided he ought to stay. Even if it meant swallowing his pride, he needed to look after Turghun—yes, that was it, Turghun needed his protection.