Chapter Seventy: This Is My Coach

Cai Aihong was woken up early in the morning by the commotion. The night before, he had played cards with several of his uncles until past three in the morning. According to the traditions of Long Province, on the morning of the first day of the Lunar New Year, one should get up early to set off a string of firecrackers—an old custom passed down through generations. After a night of staying up, the loud crackling was meant to welcome the arrival of a new year.

Nowadays, however, few people still adhere to this tradition; it really only persists in the countryside.

Every year, Cai Aihong would return to his rural hometown with his parents for the New Year, though he wasn’t particularly fond of it, as the living arrangements were far from convenient. His family was among the more prominent ones in the village, and each year, more than a dozen relatives would gather for the festivities. The old family house could never accommodate everyone, so the younger generation, like Cai Aihong, would have to stay at the homes of nearby uncles and aunts.

Though the large brick bed in the countryside was wonderfully warm during the winter, Cai Aihong found it uncomfortable. Few country homes had a bed long enough for someone of his height. He could manage by sleeping at an angle, but it would be unreasonable for him to have the entire bed to himself. Every year, he ended up sleeping poorly, feeling rather aggrieved.

Upon arriving at the old house and politely refusing the morning tea his aunt offered, Cai Aihong made do with plain boiled water and a breakfast his relatives considered utterly flavorless.

In the rural northwest, morning meals were always accompanied by "boiled tea." This "boiled tea" was made from the discarded stems and leaves that southern tea producers would consider worthless, placed into a small enamel pot with water and sugar, then simmered slowly over the indoor stove. It was a bitter brew that, according to nutritionists, might as well be poison, yet it was the foundation of each working day for local farmers. Over time, those accustomed to it even became addicted, finding it hard to go a day without.

Cai Aihong remembered well the instructions of Coach Aili and Wang Lei. His self-discipline was formidable; he maintained his exercise regimen daily.

Yet his self-discipline struck his relatives as peculiar, and coupled with his temperament, Cai Aihong was never particularly well-liked during New Year’s gatherings.

"Hongwa, what do you eat all day? Not even a sip of tea, not a bite of meat—you’re as thin as a stick," his grandfather observed. Among his grandchildren, he was rather fond of this tallest one. Seeing Cai Aihong eating such a plain meal, refusing a single bite of pork and only picking at some fish and vegetables, he couldn't help but remark.

"Grandpa, it's what our coach arranged for us. These foods aren't suitable for athletes," Cai Aihong replied.

"So is your coach as skinny as a ghost like you?" his grandfather retorted. In the old man’s mind, education was the best path forward. Compared to his other grandsons enrolled in prestigious universities, Cai Aihong’s enrollment at the Frontier University of Finance and Economics seemed a step behind. And with Cai Aihong always talking about coaches and athletics, even his grandfather’s fondness could not quell his irritation.

Cai Aihong stiffened his neck and said nothing, and an awkward silence fell over the room.

"Grandpa, what my third brother said is true. Athletes today are very careful with their diet. I’ve heard that foreign athletes won’t even drink from a bottle of mineral water that’s been opened, just in case. So my third brother is right to eat this way. But, third brother, why is there no information about your provincial youth team online? I’ve searched for a long time and found nothing. You haven’t been duped, have you?" His cousin, a freshman at the Capital University and the family’s star student, came to his defense. She got along well with Cai Aihong.

"Impossible! Our coach was on the national team," Cai Aihong insisted.

"Hongwa, if you can quit being an athlete, you should. Focus on your studies and find a good job—that’s the proper path. How long can you keep playing? How long will they feed and clothe you? You won’t make it to the national team, so what’s the use? At best, it’s just a pastime," his grandfather said. He was a man of little formal education, holding traditional views. In his eyes, Cai Aihong was wasting his time playing basketball at his age.

"Your grandfather is right, Hongwa. You need to think about your future. You’re not sixteen or seventeen anymore, and in just over a year you’ll graduate. You need to plan for your life. If you can’t even make the university team and end up in some unheard-of provincial youth squad, that sounds impressive, but who knows if it’s real? This really isn’t a good path. You should think carefully," added his second uncle. Though his words sounded concerned, Cai Aihong knew that his uncle was petty. When they were children, Cai Aihong had bullied his cousin, and ever since, his uncle would seize any chance to make things difficult for him.

Cai Aihong again stiffened his neck and kept quiet. From years of experience, he knew that arguing during these holiday gatherings was pointless and only invited trouble. No matter how reasonable his argument, in this setting, he would always be in the wrong. So he just bit his tongue, stubbornly silent, frustrating his relatives all the more.

"Ah, you all missed the Spring Festival Gala last night—what a pity! Li Pingyi didn’t sing in the end; instead, a young man did. That song was truly good. You young people should listen to it—I bet it’ll be a hit, and the internet will be filled with comments about him," his youngest uncle interjected, sensing the rising tension and deftly shifting the topic.

"Yes, that song was wonderful—it praised the country. The nation is doing so well now; everyone should hear it," even his grandfather agreed, which surprised Cai Aihong. The old man usually only listened to old folk operas and dismissed everything else.

"Let’s turn on the TV. There’s a replay right now. Let’s watch. If Li Pingyi stepped aside for this young man, he must be extraordinary," said his cousin, immediately switching on the television—something rarely done during family meals.

Normally, the Spring Festival Gala would be rebroadcast throughout the morning on various channels. She searched around and happened to find one channel nearing the end of its replay.

When Li Pingyi walked out holding Wang Lei’s hand, Cai Aihong’s chopsticks slipped from his grasp. He never expected to see his coach on the Gala stage. There was no mistaking that distinctive limp—no one else could mimic it.

"What’s wrong, Hongwa? Are you ill?"

"That’s him! That’s our coach! I told you it wasn’t fake. Look, our coach is on the Spring Festival Gala—he was the finale!" Cai Aihong was as excited as a child, oblivious to the astonished looks of those around him. Who would have thought that the coach of an obscure provincial youth team from the frontier would close out the country’s biggest television event?