Chapter Ten: Seeing Ghosts

Salt and sugar water is simply a mixture of salt and sugar dissolved in boiled water, and drinking it can effectively restore Rousseau's stamina. Of course, this method wasn't his own invention; it was a tip given by a fellow delivery worker. The summer in Pengcheng is unbearably hot, so food delivery workers usually keep Huoxiang Zhengqi water and salt-sugar water on hand.

Rousseau was used to gulping down a bottle of Huoxiang Zhengqi water before rushing out into the sweltering sun—this was what he often did when working as a delivery man. Electrolyte drinks taste much better than salt-sugar water. Their effect is also superior, and they are supplied without limit. Not to mention the cafeteria’s constant offerings of beef, lamb, and occasional seafood, cooked into delicious dishes by chefs from various provinces, who rotate every so often to prevent the athletes from growing tired of the fare and risking their nutrition. But how could anyone ever tire of such food?

For half a month, Rousseau felt as though he had entered paradise. He didn't neglect to pack some roast chicken or duck to bring to Rousseau Xiaoyu, though his teammates mocked him for his lack of worldliness—Rousseau didn't mind. Soon Rousseau discovered that Xiaoyu ate well at the landlord’s house, too. It turned out that, in this city, the two siblings seemed to be living at the lowest rung, but not anymore.

The provincial team’s generosity was probably tied to the city’s economic status. After all, Pengcheng was the window of reform, one of the country’s few first-tier cities, with financial resources supporting sports. In contrast, athletes in inland provinces didn’t enjoy such benefits.

Now, watching Rousseau train as though he were on stimulants, Lu Jinrong frowned slightly. Training plans were tailored for each athlete by him and the team doctor. Previously, he had to push the lazy boys to meet standards and finish the plan. Now, with someone adding extra loads on his own, he was a bit worried.

"Rousseau, your current issue is technique, not physical strength," Lu Jinrong said slowly. He didn’t want to dampen the boy’s enthusiasm, but needed him to understand that excess could be harmful. If Rousseau got injured, it would be a problem.

"I'm practicing those too," Rousseau replied. "Starts, hand positions, arm swings, stride forms, plus a thousand shuttle runs, a thousand uphill-downhill runs, a thousand weighted traction runs—all according to the plan… Is that not enough?"

Rousseau pondered aloud, "Should I double the sets?"

"That's not what I meant," Lu Jinrong said quickly. "I'm afraid you'll injure yourself. You're only eighteen. You have at least ten golden years ahead. The future is long."

"Coach, when you accepted me into the team, you said my starting age was too old, so I had to work harder than others…" When Rousseau saw the coach frowning, he added, "Coach, I know my limits. I won't get injured."

He spoke the truth. With the status bar accompanying him, eating a professional athlete's diet for half a month, and thinking of nothing but training, his agility had increased by one point, his strength by two. The efficiency was more than double what he’d achieved through self-training. As long as his endurance in the status bar stayed above fifty, he wouldn’t get injured.

Moreover, if training ever resulted in a ‘reverse’ effect—meaning his agility or strength began to decline—it was time to stop. Excess was harmful, and the body would be sounding an alarm.

With the status bar, it was as if he had a team of expert doctors equipped with the world’s most advanced health monitors, always guiding him on what to do and when.

Rousseau believed his innate talent wasn’t superior to others, but his achievements would not lag behind anyone, because he knew exactly where to direct his efforts, and advanced step by step.

"Coach, I’m more afraid of injury than you are. I won’t get hurt. Besides, I have ancestral protection—Lu Junyi, the Swift-footed Guardian, is my ancestor," Rousseau told Lu Jinrong. "Let me do one more set."

His stamina still stood at fifty-six, enough for another set of weighted squats.

"Go, go! Get some sleep. Don't bring up those superstitions with me. Besides, the Swift-footed Guardian is Dai Zong; Lu Junyi is the Jade Qilin," Lu Jinrong ushered Rousseau out. "And if you skip culture classes again, I’ll ban you from the training room!"

"Huh?" Rousseau protested, "Don’t athletes just need to pass their culture classes?"

"You’re already eighteen, and you can’t even recite the ‘Declaration of Military Departure’. How dare you claim you pass culture classes?" Lu Jinrong stood at the training room door and said, "Skip class again and your training is banned!"

Rousseau opened his mouth, speechless. He hadn’t studied since primary school. His academic level now was likely lower than Xiaoyu’s—no, not likely, certainly lower.

For example, the four basic arithmetic operations that Xiaoyu dismissed as trivial were a real challenge for Rousseau; he had to write out equations, while Xiaoyu relied entirely on mental calculation. Xiaoyu always lost points on math problems for skipping the calculation steps, giving only the answers, and never changing her ways despite repeated admonishments.

Rousseau left the training room, feeling disgruntled. With stamina still at fifty-six, he felt it a waste not to train it down to fifty, so he began frog-hopping toward the cafeteria, planning to grab a late-night snack before heading home to sleep.

From the training room to the cafeteria, the tree-lined path of Pengcheng Sports School was especially tranquil at night. On one side was the school’s perimeter wall; on the other, the rear mountain.

There was a rumor that a student who’d been expelled hanged himself on the crooked tree on the mountain. At night, girls dared not pass, and even the security guards kept their distance. Rousseau, however, wasn’t afraid.

One hundred thirty-eight, one hundred thirty-nine, one hundred forty…

He counted his frog jumps as he went, his figure darting and bounding through the night in a way that seemed a bit uncanny.

Suddenly, footsteps rushed from behind. Apparently, someone hadn’t noticed Rousseau and was startled to find him. A girl’s startled cry rang out, "What the heck!" Then Rousseau felt a shadow whizz over his head.

The figure sped towards the wall, touched it lightly, and vaulted over—considering the wall was more than a meter high, Rousseau couldn’t even see over it standing.

He was stunned.

The cicadas sang through the summer night; in Pengcheng’s sultry July evening, not a breath of wind stirred. Yet Rousseau felt a chill in his heart, a coldness on his back. Just now… what was that? A ghost? A wall-jumping ghost?

Did someone really hang themselves from the crooked tree on the mountain? Rousseau shuddered, abandoned his frog jumps, and ran straight for the cafeteria.

In the cafeteria’s warm, bright light, he escaped the darkness and finally relaxed. His back was drenched in sweat. He sat and composed himself, reciting ‘Blessings of the Sea Goddess’ several times before he calmed down.

But then he realized something was wrong.

Because the status bar was reacting.