Chapter Seventy-Four: The Good Man

“Wow, Lei, it’s actually warmer here than in the capital,” Ma Dongmei exclaimed the moment they stepped off the plane.

Though the absolute temperature in Urumqi might be a bit lower than in the capital, this city is the farthest from the ocean anywhere on earth. Thanks to the Tianshan glaciers, Urumqi isn’t excessively dry, but the humidity is certainly lower than that of the capital near Bohai Bay. Here, in winter, as long as the sun is shining, it’s actually quite pleasant.

Wang Lei and Ma Dongmei had returned to Urumqi on the fifth day of the lunar new year, a bit earlier than most. Flights were still relatively empty, since many people were still caught up in the festive spirit, and the post-holiday rush wouldn’t hit until the sixth or seventh day.

The tall and striking young couple were immediately recognized as soon as they boarded the plane. They were seated in business class, and even though there were few passengers, someone still recognized Wang Lei right away. This time, it was Wang Lei, not Ma Dongmei, who was first spotted.

Previously, whenever they went out together, it was usually Ma Dongmei who caught people’s attention. Her delicate features and exceptional skills on the court earned her a reputation as one of the top ten beauties in the nation’s sports world, despite her intimidating height of nearly two meters. She wouldn’t have achieved her current VIP status on Xunbo just as a women’s volleyball player alone.

Many who recognized Wang Lei on the plane were puzzled: why was this young man—who had just become a nationwide sensation after the Spring Festival Gala—heading to the remote western province at this time of year?

“Mm, this is typical Urumqi. See those spots over there where the sun doesn’t reach? If there’s any snow, it basically won’t melt all winter, not until the end of April. It’s dry, yes, but I think the air here is a bit better than in the capital,” Wang Lei explained to Ma Dongmei’s curiosity about the weather.

After leaving the airport, the two headed straight for the training base.

In the gymnasium at the Tianshan District training base, the sound of basketballs bouncing echoed through the empty hall, accompanied only by the hum of two electric heaters set beneath the baskets.

“Turgun, you’re not getting past me—I’m definitely going to block you this time!”

Standing over 1.9 meters tall, Hawur looked like a giant next to Turgun, who barely cleared 1.8 meters. Hawur’s frame, built on a bench press of over 140 kilograms, was nearly twice as broad as Turgun’s, who struggled past seventy.

They were playing one-on-one. Despite Hawur’s overwhelming strength, he was clearly outmatched by Turgun in these duels. Turgun, quick and nimble, never lingered long in confrontation. He relied on the rhythm of his dribble and deceptive feints to shake Hawur off before taking his shot.

Turgun’s uncanny feel for the ball gifted him with an extraordinary shooting touch. Even when Hawur leapt in pursuit, trying to block him, Turgun could calmly adjust the arc of his shot to ensure it sailed cleanly through the hoop.

Hawur gave no quarter on defense—if anything, he didn’t even know what it meant to let up. Unlike players who grew up under the watchful eyes of coaches, Hawur, a self-taught semi-pro, might lack technique and awareness, but he poured every ounce of effort into every play. If he had ten parts strength, he’d use twelve on defense.

Uyghur youths like Hawur tended to be bolder than some of their Han peers. They didn’t overthink things, even when dealing with the unfamiliar—some might call it stubborn, but this kind of single-minded drive is perfect for competitive sports.

If Hawur’s defense was all about persistence, then Turgun embodied pure passion.

Turgun’s love for basketball ran deep. There was a time when he would fall asleep clutching a basketball. This devotion, coupled with the solitude of his daily life, meant he spent nearly all his free time on the court. Few athletes are capable of such dedication. Many only stick with it because of a coach’s supervision or scolding; only those who pour their heart and soul into the sport rise to the top, revealing the true glory of competition.

Both were intensely focused on the contest. Physically, Turgun was no match for Hawur, but he never showed a hint of fear. He’d close in on Hawur without hesitation, only to be shoved aside, and then press in again the next moment.

Gradually, they began to feel the gym growing warmer.

Earlier, even with two high-powered heaters, only the area under the basket stayed warm; the rest of the court was as cold as outside. After warming up, they’d broken a light sweat, but nothing more. Now, though, they could clearly feel themselves sweating.

“Hey, is the heating on already?”

Finally, after muscling his way into the paint and scoring a basket, Hawur turned to Turgun.

“Yeah, I think they’ve turned it on. The coaches will be back in two days, so the staff must be preheating the gym.”

“That’s not for sure. The coach said he’d be back on February 14th, but that was before. You’ve seen the news online—our coach is a celebrity now, a real star, raking in the big bucks. If it were me, I wouldn’t come back. How much can the provincial youth team pay him? To be honest, a whole year’s salary here might not match what he makes in a few minutes on stage. Why would he come back under those circumstances?”

Hawur was convinced Wang Lei wouldn’t return. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption: why stay with a youth team with no future when you could be a star? Anyone would make the same choice.

“Hawur, I still think the coach will come back. He’s different from the others—very different. Most people wouldn’t even let me on the team if they saw what I looked like. He and you are both good people.”

Hawur felt a bit embarrassed at Turgun’s words. Truthfully, his kindness toward Turgun had a lot to do with Aziguli.

“Maybe he’s a good person, but that doesn’t mean he’ll come back. It’s got nothing to do with being good or bad. You’re too young to understand—good people need to live too.”

Hawur stood by his opinion: Wang Lei had an eighty percent chance of not coming back.

“Who says I’m not coming back? Hawur, talking behind my back—are you angling to clean the toilets again?”

At that moment, as Hawur and Turgun were in the middle of their disagreement, the side door of the gym swung open, and Wang Lei walked in with Ma Dongmei at his side.