Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Competition Schedule

Guan Zhaoyue was possessed of the kind of passionate spirit characteristic of cultured individuals.

He paid close attention to the state of sports in the country, firmly believing that there would surely emerge a number of leading figures in the field—champions of the times who would shine not only in the country's traditionally strong events such as table tennis, diving, badminton, and volleyball, but also in other categories where China had long lagged behind.

Thus, after interviewing Lu Suo, Guan Zhaoyue, inspired, composed a sweeping article that very night. The title was grand: “China’s Young Athletes on the Road to World Athletics Glory—An Interview with Southern Guangdong’s Track Star Lu Suo.”

Late on the night of the 30th, having finished the thousands-of-words-long article, Guan Zhaoyue paced back and forth in his room, feeling rather like Su Dongpo, kept awake under the moonlight by his own emotions. But where, he wondered, was his own Zhang Huaimin?

Unable to contain himself, he threw on a coat, grabbed his manuscript, and rang the bell at Lu Jinrong’s hotel room. It was already one in the morning. Lu Jinrong, bleary-eyed and still half asleep, opened the door only to have the sheaf of papers thrust into his hands.

Scanning the title, then the content, Lu Jinrong regarded Guan Zhaoyue. After decades of friendship, he very much wanted to ask if Guan needed some fever medicine to cool his head.

“How’s the article? It’s too late for today, but it’ll be printed tomorrow and published the day after, in the Southern Guangdong Provincial Daily,” Guan Zhaoyue declared.

“Editor-in-chief Guan, calm down. What you’ve written is all based on Lu Suo’s own words, with no verification, and you haven't interviewed the national team coaches. How can you write that he’s certain to win the 200-meter gold at this East Asian Youth Games, then dominate the National Games, and then go on to the Golden League, the World Athletics Championships, the Asian Games, the Olympics…”

The more Lu Jinrong spoke, the more exasperated he became. Even a five-year plan wouldn’t dare make such claims.

“Editor-in-chief Guan, what about your journalistic rigor? How can news be written this way?” Lu Jinrong said.

“This isn’t news, it’s an interview piece. An interview is meant to reflect the bold ambition of our new generation of athletes who dare to challenge the heights. Without such figures, how could our country ever hope to catch up in athletic events where we have lagged behind?” Guan Zhaoyue argued, slapping the doorframe.

“You can’t catch up with just words!” Lu Jinrong retorted. With an athlete who would say anything and a sports editor willing to write anything, if this article were published, wouldn’t Lu Suo become a national laughingstock?

“It can’t be published!” Lu Jinrong insisted.

“Decadent,” Guan Zhaoyue shot back, snatching his manuscript and storming out, flinging the word over his shoulder.

Lu Jinrong was baffled by the accusation. In what way was he decadent?

...

November 1st.

The day had come for the official start of the athletics events at the East Asian Youth Games.

Athletes from nine countries had prepared extensively for this day.

But the competition schedule was extremely tight.

It was truly a matter of “one shot to decide victory or defeat.”

All the sprint-related events were concentrated from November 1st to 3rd.

On November 1st, the 100-meter heats would be held in the morning, followed by the final in the afternoon.

On November 2nd, the 200-meter heats in the morning, with the final in the afternoon.

On November 3rd, the 400-meter final would take place in the morning, and the 4x100 relay final in the afternoon.

Other events, such as women’s high jump, women’s shot put, men’s decathlon, men’s discus, women’s hammer throw, and women’s 100, 200, 400 meters, women’s 20km race walk, women’s javelin, and so on, were interspersed throughout these three days.

There were two venues: the Ao City Sports Ground—the old stadium—and the Macau East Asian Youth Games Stadium, newly built for the event, spanning 140,000 square meters and accommodating 10,000 spectators, commonly referred to as the East Asian Youth Stadium.

The Macau East Asian Youth Games Stadium had an oval shape, and from a distance, looked like an egg nestled in dense forest, earning it the local nickname “Ao City Egg.”

Returning to the schedule: with only nine countries participating, each country would typically send one or two athletes per event, so most events had only heats and finals, or, if there were fewer competitors, went straight to the final.

Take the women’s high jump, for example.

The final was scheduled for November 1st at the Ao City Sports Ground.

The men’s 100-meter heats and finals were both slated for the East Asian Youth Stadium.

Now, Lu Suo faced a choice: to follow the team to the East Asian Youth Stadium, or to go to the Ao City Sports Ground to watch the women’s high jump.

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t even be a choice. Athletes followed the coach’s arrangements without question.

But Lu Suo needed rest.

He informed Dong Zijian that he required time to recuperate.

So, on the 1st, he decided not to attend the 100 meters.

Lu Suo spoke to Dong Zijian about this on the evening of the 30th. As the team’s lifestyle coach, Dong Zijian was responsible for the daily lives of the athletes, and had a good idea of Lu Suo’s recent activities.

On the 29th, for instance, Lu Suo had gone out with Tian Shiwei and a female high jumper from the Guangdong team, not returning until ten at night.

On the 30th—today—he had met with a coach from the Guangdong sprint team in the morning.

Now, as evening approached, he was asking for leave again, stating he needed to “rest” on the 1st as well.

If this “resting” continued, how many more relatives and friends would he have to entertain at the games? Would he end up touring every corner of Ao City?

“Lu Suo, you need to watch your daily routine and maintain your athletic condition. The 200-meter race is on the 2nd, and you fought hard for this opportunity. You must cherish it and not let your emotions affect your performance,” Dong Zijian advised earnestly.

“Don’t worry, Coach,” Lu Suo replied. In the national team, he owed Dong Zijian at least some respect; the lifestyle coach had taken good care of him. “Tonight I’ll do some adaptive training, and on the 2nd I’ll be in my best condition for the competition.”

“Coach Li says you have great self-motivation and discipline. I believe in you, and trust that you can manage yourself,” Dong Zijian said, patting Lu Suo on the shoulder, and chose to trust him.

Watching Dong Zijian’s departing figure, Lu Suo pondered. Between the lines, Dong Zijian was saying that Lu Suo harbored antagonism toward the coaching team, which explained the “emotional” behavior.

As the lifestyle coach, Dong Zijian’s assessment was spot on—Lu Suo was indeed full of defiance.

Truthfully, Lu Suo genuinely wanted to watch Juno’s competition, not Zhang Zhen’s moment of glory—although, to be fair, Zhang Zhen’s chances of winning gold were slim, while a medal was more likely.

...

“It’s not just Zhang Zhen, you know. What about me? You’re going to watch old Zhu’s event and not mine? Old Lu, that’s just too hurtful!”

This was Tian Shiwei’s impassioned reaction upon hearing the news, nearly jumping up to berate Lu Suo for valuing romance over friendship.

“Sorry, I really don’t want to see Li Yan’s face. I can only wish you both a smooth race and a victorious start,” Lu Suo replied.

“Childish! Boring! Heartless!” Tian Shiwei exclaimed.