Chapter 110: Guan Yu

Built in 2002, Fengtian Sports Arena is not only larger in size than other venues, capable of hosting various indoor sporting events, but it also thoughtfully accommodates a considerable number of spectators on its second floor, designed with the audience’s perspective in mind.

Unlike other arenas where the second floor is merely encircled by railings, Fengtian’s second floor boasts an elevated, cantilevered VIP box and guest seats—prime locations affording an unobstructed view of the entire competition.

The only drawback is that this platform tends to create an oppressive atmosphere for the athletes competing on the ground below. Some athletes even liken it to a gladiatorial arena and express strong dislike for the venue. Yet for the spectators on the second floor, the vantage point is indisputably exquisite.

Guan Zhaoyue sat there, surrounded by perhaps a hundred or so people. Among them, ordinary spectators were almost nonexistent. Aside from officials from the General Administration of Sports, the majority were journalists from various media outlets, alongside coaches, commentators, and other professionals.

The largest sports media organizations in the country were all present. Indoor invitational meets seldom attract such a grand turnout, and most of these reporters had come for the sprint events—or more precisely, for Pan Kai.

Yet Pan Kai had not shown up.

In any case, the group seated in the second-floor stands at this moment was arguably the most knowledgeable and expert audience in the nation’s athletics community regarding sprints.

Though Pan Kai’s absence was notable, the upcoming 60-meter indoor final still held great anticipation.

At least the preliminary heats just concluded had been electrifying, with two records shattered.

Guan Zhaoyue scribbled notes fervently in his notebook, while Shen Yingying captured photographs with her camera.

At that moment, Guan overheard two people beside him whispering.

“Pan Kai’s not here; what’s the point of us being here?”

“Watching the 60 meters is fine too.”

“Watching amateurs peck at each other—what’s so entertaining about that?”

“There’s the Hexagonal Warrior, though.”

“Heh, true. Let’s take a few more pictures and have a good laugh at him.”

“Maybe he can win.”

“Win or lose, does it stop us from mocking him? As long as he can’t win the 100 meters, can’t beat Pan Kai, we’ll bury him in criticism. Who does he think he is, calling himself the Hexagonal Warrior?”

Guan frowned at this.

He glanced at their press badges and saw their media affiliation: One Six Three?

“What’s One Six Three?” Guan asked Shen Yingying. Though a journalist himself, Guan wasn’t particularly engaged with the internet world. Like many traditional media professionals, he regarded online media as informal and unprofessional.

Their earlier conversation only confirmed his suspicions.

“One Six Three is currently the country’s largest online news portal,” Shen explained.

“Hmph. They call that ‘news’? Monkeys in crowns!” Guan scoffed disdainfully.

Hearing their website disparaged, the two editors from One Six Three’s sports division—yes, they were mere editors, not reporters, as portal sites lack formal news-gathering rights—had just been trying to cozy up to the two behind them. Instead, they were met with scorn.

“Monkeys in crowns?”

That was hardly a compliment.

“Who exactly is this ‘Hexagonal Warrior’ you’re talking about?” Guan asked, his tone radiating righteous indignation.

If he had stroked a beard, he might have resembled the legendary Guan Yu himself.

“The athlete from South Guangdong, Lu Suo,” the plump editor answered.

“Why call him the ‘Hexagonal Warrior’?”

“He claims it himself online. Says he’s a six-event sprint all-rounder, the king of sprints. Ridiculous.”

“Six events?” Guan counted: indoor 60, 200, 400; outdoor 100, 200, 400. But wait—

“What about the 4x100 relay? Shouldn’t that make it seven events?” Guan queried.

“No idea. But one thing’s clear, he’s full of hot air. As journalists, we should harshly criticize these clowns who distort public perception of sports. By the way, which newspaper are you with? Let’s exchange cards,” the lean editor said, pulling out a business card.

Guan took the card, ripped it into pieces with crisp snaps, tossed them into a nearby trash bin, and sneered, “I’m Guan Zhaoyue, sports editor-in-chief for the South Guangdong Provincial Newspaper. The Lu Suo you’re trash-talking is my top prospect.”

The two One Six Three editors, plump and lean, were startled. Being caught badmouthing someone to their face was a very different—and far more awkward—experience. Seeing the man who called himself Guan Zhaoyue glaring fiercely as if ready to fight, they hurriedly shifted their seats.

“You two little bastards, good thing you’re fast runners. Otherwise, I’d—hmpf, hmpf, hmpf!” Guan gestured theatrically as if about to behead them, but the vigorous motion strained his old back, so he settled back down.

“Right now, the online public opinion towards Lu Suo is quite unfavorable,” Shen whispered. “Everyone seems to be mocking him.”

“Why? Lu Suo’s performance is excellent. He’s only been training seriously in athletics for a few months. He’s definitely the future hope of our country’s track and field. Maybe even the next Liu Yu,” Guan found it hard to believe.

“I don’t know why either,” Shen admitted. “It’s like overnight, the Hexagonal Warrior has become a laughingstock.”

“I have to clear Lu Suo’s name. That’s also defending the integrity of our national sports!” Guan declared. “Once this meet ends and Lu Suo claims the 60, 200, and 400-meter titles—that’s a Grand Slam! I’ll use a mighty pen to wipe out these petty troublemakers!”

“All event titles? That’s incredibly difficult,” Shen whispered.

“Lu Suo can do it,” Guan said resolutely.

...

On the VIP platform, the General Administration leaders sat in the central seats, accompanied by the director of the Liaoning Provincial Sports Committee, watching the imminent start of the 60-meter race.

Though the General Administration officials were well-informed, the provincial director still introduced the competitors one by one: Xiao Qiang from Liaoning, Zhang Zhen from Hubei, Lu Suo from South Guangdong...

“Is Zhang Zhen currently training with the national team? Is he representing Hubei Province or the national team here?” the General Administration leader suddenly asked.

“Well, with the General Administration’s new head coach responsibility system, things are a bit chaotic down here,” the provincial director replied with a wry smile.

“It’s an experiment, and the higher-ups have approved it. The goal is to concentrate all resources to achieve outstanding results in preparation for the 2008 Olympics,” the General Administration leader said. “Of course, competition remains the ultimate test. Let’s see if the national team athlete can win.”

The provincial director caught the implied meaning in the leader’s words.

Clearly, there was a struggle over direction.

Both sides wanted to improve sports, but how to do it and who should lead remained contentious.

Now, the results would decide.

Would it be Zhang Zhen, developed by the national team, or Lu Suo, rising from the provincial ranks?

The General Administration leader fixed his gaze on Lu Suo.

In truth, much of his reason for attending today was to see this athlete.