Chapter Forty-One: Sophomores versus Seniors (Part Two)

Early morning, 6:10.

As “Screw” rubbed his bleary eyes, sluggishly got out of bed, brushed his teeth, washed his face, laced up his basketball shoes, and stepped out of the dormitory, he realized dawn had already broken. As a senior who had both loved and played basketball for three years, Screw found himself doubting his passion for the sport just yesterday. All because he’d witnessed that “failed dunk” by a freshman, which left him with a strange sense of inadequacy.

He was taller than others, older than others, yet his jump was lower.

Screw knew about “Los Angeles at four in the morning.”

So, to prove to himself that his love for basketball was genuine, and to pursue, like every basketball lover, his dream of dunking, he resolved to start training early each morning from today, focusing on basketball skills and his vertical leap.

As a student admitted for his athletic talents, Screw, even in his senior year, was exempt from morning self-study and the first evening study session. That was why, even in twelfth grade, he could still afford to get up early to play basketball.

There was already a hint of chill in the September morning. Screw glanced at the brightening sky and the empty campus, feeling a pang of regret. Was he being too impulsive? Why not just sleep in on such a fine morning?

Yawning as he walked, sleepiness crept over him. He remembered he’d stayed up past one o’clock playing with his phone. Maybe he should just go back to bed and start the “dunk plan” tomorrow?

He was just about to turn around and head back to the dorm when a familiar sound reached his ears.

“Thump, thump, thump…”

Instantly, his drowsiness vanished. He knew that sound—the basketball striking the ground—far too well. Who else could be playing basketball at this hour? Perhaps an old man from the school out for morning exercise?

Full of curiosity, Screw jogged ahead. As he passed the teaching building to his left, which had blocked his view, the scene before him stirred a tumult of emotions.

On the basketball court ahead, a somewhat familiar figure soared into the air. With a resounding bang, the ball was slammed forcefully into the hoop—and at the same time, into Screw’s heart.

The one dunking at this very moment was, of course, Lin Nan. Lin Nan, who had persisted with morning and evening training for a full year, had no reason to stop just because he’d entered high school.

But Screw didn’t know that. All he felt now was deep shame, embarrassment, ridicule at himself, even a desire to disappear. The “dunk dream” he’d so solemnly declared just yesterday? The plan to go back to bed moments ago? Was this really his attitude toward basketball? Was this how he prepared to join the National High School Basketball League?

There are no true prodigies in this world; and if there are, their talent is forged by sweat.

Screw instantly understood—there was a reason that freshman could dunk. He had only just entered high school, had military training starting today, yet he was already up early for basketball practice.

And what about himself, back then?

He had only seen the spotlight others stood in, not the hard work behind it.

Fortunately, he understood now.

He wiped his face hard, shook his head fiercely, and walked over to Lin Nan.

Lin Nan, busy dribbling, quickly noticed someone approaching out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, he saw the basketball shoes on Screw’s feet.

As Screw reached the court’s edge, Lin Nan tossed him the basketball and greeted him, “Good morning, senior. You’re up early to play too?”

Screw caught the ball, answered with a simple “Mm,” dribbled twice with practiced ease, then stepped to the three-point line and launched a shot.

Unfortunately, it clanged off the rim and bounced toward Lin Nan.

Screw looked over and saw Lin Nan already dripping with sweat.

“He must have been training for quite a while,” Screw thought, feeling another wave of embarrassment—and a growing sense of respect.

“I can’t waste any more time!” he resolved silently. He greeted Lin Nan, then headed straight for the track. As an athletic student, he knew exactly how to train his vertical leap; he’d just never worked as diligently as this new student.

A low wall separated the track from the basketball courts, topped with slender iron bars and bordered by flowerbeds. Lin Nan watched as Screw walked into the flowers and emerged on the track. Only then did Lin Nan realize there was a hole in the fence.

He thought to himself, “This will make it easier to move between the courts and the track for training. Seniors really do know all the tricks—even if this one’s a little odd.”

From that day on, the two could be seen every morning, training with intensity. And soon, their number would grow…

After practicing alone for a while longer, Lin Nan returned to the dorm, enjoyed a hot shower, and changed into his uniform for military training.

Glancing at the balance on his hot water card—94, already six units used—Lin Nan worried that at this rate, it would run out quickly.

By now, his roommates were just starting to crawl out of bed and wash up. Seeing Lin Nan freshly showered again, they were incredulous.

How much did this guy love basketball?

Ten minutes later, the eight dormmates marched off to breakfast in the canteen, then together to the classroom to assemble.

Soon, the entire class headed for the field to begin their military training.

Most of the girls had already applied sunscreen, while the boys used nothing at all.

The week-long training flew by—standing at attention, marching in step, quick time, parade step, all under the merciless sun—teaching many of the boys the meaning of perseverance.

Although the girls trained less intensely, none of them dropped out, which was admirable.

Each evening, Li Mengmeng played a classic, meaningful film for the class, which they watched together in harmony.

Every day after training, the instructor would call on Lin Nan to demonstrate, because his movements were always the most precise. This drew the attention of the girls to the quiet boy.

During one evening’s free time, Lin Nan’s roommate, the guitarist, played and sang “Simple Love” on his small guitar, drawing even students from other squads to listen. As he’d hoped, he became a bit of a sensation.

…

Happy times always pass too quickly. In just a week, students, instructor, and trainee homeroom teacher had all grown close.

But all good things must end. The sunburned first-years had to embark on their serious high school studies.

New textbooks, stacked like fortresses on every desk, signaled a new beginning. Morning and evening study sessions were now part of the daily routine; Saturdays were gone, replaced by only a half-day off on Sunday afternoons and a monthly holiday.

All these changes showed how different high school was from primary and middle school.

Many freedom-loving youths wore mournful expressions.

Lin Nan, however, felt indifferent. He never missed his morning and evening training, because he knew his chance to compete was coming.

Monday, four-thirty in the afternoon.

The bell rang, ending the third period.

The fourth period was the weekly campus cleanup. Only the rotating cleaning crew stayed to tidy up the classroom; everyone else was free.

In the first-year building, things were quiet, but from the upperclassmen’s buildings came the sound of pounding footsteps.

A group of boys, basketballs in hand, dashed out of their classrooms and sprinted straight for the courts.

Clearwater No. 1 High School had seven basketball courts—fourteen half-courts in all. It sounded like a lot, but was nowhere near enough for the sixty classes of three grades filled with basketball enthusiasts.

That was why the juniors and seniors sprinted to “claim” courts as fast as possible.

Only the clueless freshmen strolled over, basketballs in hand, only to find themselves on the sidelines, watching the packed courts with blank expressions.

It was clear that the fervor for basketball in Chinese schools was alive and well. This was also why Lin Lang believed the national high school league would be a great success.

Lin Nan walked at his own pace to the court nearest the teaching building—the designated competition court, which no one dared to claim for casual games.

A crowd had already gathered around, some to watch, some to play.

As Lin Nan approached, he noticed the stark contrast between the teams.

The senior team wore matching black jerseys, more than a dozen strong.

On the freshman side, some wore jeans, some wore skate shoes—uniforms were out of the question. The whole group looked like a ragtag band.

Fortunately, Lin Nan spotted a teammate—one who stood an impressive 1.95 meters tall.

Though skinny as a bamboo pole, that height was an undeniable advantage.

He learned the boy’s name was Li Fan, nicknamed “Nine-Five,” from Class 19.

From the very start, his classmates were fascinated by his height, and soon enough, the nickname “Nine-Five” caught on.

As Lin Nan and the other hastily assembled freshmen discussed tactics, a student named Liu Zihan approached. He seemed familiar with the place and the people, having just returned from the restroom.

He greeted Nine-Five with a casual familiarity, as if they were old friends. But Lin Nan noticed that Nine-Five’s reply was half-hearted—something seemed off.

Sure enough, in the next moment, Liu Zihan announced like a coach, “Let’s have me, Nine-Five, Wang Jinsong, Li Teng, and Wang Xiang start. Anyone tired can be subbed in.”

No one objected. Liu Zihan was 1.83 meters tall and dressed like a real pro—number 24 jersey, knee pads, basketball tights, purple-and-gold shoes—making him stand out among the group.

Nine-Five’s inclusion was a given, Wang Jinsong too, at 1.80 meters and built like a tank. The other two, Li Teng and Wang Xiang, were neither tall nor athletic—one with a belly, one wearing jeans, hardly the image of basketball players.

Apparently, they were Liu Zihan’s classmates, which explained their “nominations.” But seeing Liu Zihan’s confidence, no one said a word.

Just then, the senior team called out—the game was about to begin.