Chapter Forty-Seven: Talent Is Like Pregnancy

“Watch out, Zhou Wei is about to pass, keep your eyes on Aaron!” Hu Gantang shouted as he ran toward the penalty area, loudly directing Li Jie.

By this time, Zhou Wei had already taken the ball down the flank and, as he approached the end line, immediately swung his left foot, sending the ball into the center of the penalty area.

It was a cunning pass, landing precisely between Li Jie and Wu Bufan. Wu Bufan didn’t dare charge out and intercept in advance; he could only stay by the goal. Although no one marked Zhou Wei, he made the pass in full stride, and the accuracy of it was proof enough of his skill—if he could always maintain such precision with his crosses, it would be nearly impossible to defend against him in a proper match. After all, with a player of such speed, it’s almost impossible to deny him even the smallest window to deliver a pass from the wing.

Long Bisheng and Li Jie jostled for position in the center. Long Bisheng could now judge the landing point as soon as he looked up, but even as he realized where the ball would fall, Li Jie was already a step ahead, fastening himself to the spot like a nail.

Long Bisheng tried to muscle his opponent aside, but there simply wasn’t enough time during the pass to make it happen. After a couple of failed attempts, Long Bisheng made a snap decision to jump, confident that his height would make up for the minor gap in position.

But as he leaped, he realized Li Jie had already braced his elbow on Long Bisheng’s shoulder during their scuffle for position. Long Bisheng’s first jump failed, and as he prepared to try again, Li Jie used him as leverage, springing up first and clearing the ball cleanly out of the box.

“Hey, that's a foul!” Long Bisheng complained as Li Jie landed.

“That’s not a foul, that’s an unconventional move within the rules,” Li Jie replied with a grin. “Every center-back has to master these tricks. In a physical contest, the referee won’t call such minor actions. Otherwise, there would be penalty kicks all over the place.”

Long Bisheng muttered, “Then us forwards are at a disadvantage.”

“We defenders are at a disadvantage too,” Li Jie replied earnestly. “A match lasts ninety minutes—if you get a single chance and score, we’ve failed. We deserve some perks, don’t you think?”

“So what’s the counter for this kind of play?” Long Bisheng asked.

“The Buddha said, ‘I cannot say, I cannot say,’” Li Jie winked. “If I told you, how would I survive in the future?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hu Gantang cut in. “He probably doesn’t even know the counter himself. The coach only taught him how to do it, not how to defend against it. Actually, it’s not hard to deal with—just watch his hands, and use your own to brace against his. Use his strength against him. Just keep your movements subtle, otherwise the same action might not count as a foul for a defender, but it will for a forward.”

“Why is that…” Long Bisheng pressed, as persistent as a nagging aunt.

Hu Gantang, unable to escape the questioning, finally said, “First, as Li Jie said, attackers usually have the advantage, so giving defenders a little leeway is normal. Second, in the box, if a defender fouls, it’s a penalty; if a forward fouls, it’s just an indirect free kick for the other team. Which is less controversial?”

Long Bisheng was stunned, then had to admit that Hu Gantang’s reasoning was solid.

Football is a human game; both the players and the referees are, after all, human. That’s why there are always unpredictable events in football matches. In a way, FIFA’s longstanding refusal to use video replays as a basis for refereeing is understandable—if there were no errors at all, maybe the sport would lose much of its charm…

“And Aaron, your movement is too slow,” Li Jie told Long Bisheng. “Even if your judgment of the ball’s landing spot is as good as mine, you still can’t beat me to the best position. But that gap can be closed through experience. Even if you judge the landing at the same time as me, you still can’t get ahead because you’re not quick enough.”

“The coach says most people are born with their own speed…” Long Bisheng said, pulling a long face.

“That’s absolute speed,” Dai Guangming explained. “But even that’s not entirely true. Do you think Olympic sprinters are born running that fast? It’s all achieved through hard training. Sure, an average person can’t break eleven seconds no matter how much they train, but no one’s asking you to run a hundred meters—you’re only moving ten meters or so in the box. With training, you can absolutely improve your lateral movement and short sprints. On the pitch, a thirty-meter sprint is more important than a hundred meters.”

“Oh, I remember now!” Long Bisheng smacked his forehead. “Our training schedule does have lateral movement and sprint drills.”

“So go practice!” Dai Guangming asked, puzzled. “Why haven’t I seen you do them these past few days?”

“Heh, I forgot. I thought shooting and heading were most important,” Long Bisheng scratched his head sheepishly.

“Unbelievable!” All six of them rolled their eyes. It seemed Ding Yu’s failure to explain things properly had really caused a problem.

***

Training, training, and more training. Once Long Bisheng had a goal, his energy seemed inexhaustible. He might be slow, perhaps even clumsy, but once he set his sights, he would persist until the goal was reached. His physique was remarkable—at first, the coaches tried to stop him from pushing himself so hard, but after a medical exam, they let him be. The doctor’s verdict: “This kid already has the body of a grown man!”

Ball drills, unopposed drills, shuttle runs, sprints—every day, Long Bisheng practiced these moves relentlessly in his downtime, determined to make them second nature.

He threw himself into training so much that his roommates—Zhang Yi, Zhou Wei, and Li Jie—started avoiding him, since he was always dragging Zhang Yi or Zhou Wei to pass for him, or Li Jie to practice duels.

Though they worked hard too, as Zhou Wei put it, “You can’t compare a person to a workhorse…”

So, much of the time, Long Bisheng had to train alone. Sprints and shuttle runs, at least, could be done solo. He’d learned to manage his time well, always feeling there wasn’t enough, always worried that others would leave him behind.

Perhaps it was this hunger that allowed him to quickly catch up with the other trainees.

In scrimmages, Li Jie, tasked with marking him, found it more and more challenging. Although Li Jie improved quickly too, Long Bisheng was outpacing him, and their gap in physical strength only grew with time.

Autumn gave way to winter. In southern Yunjia, winter came much later than in Xinjiang, but at last it arrived.

In January, Yunjia saw its first snowfall of the season.

With snow on the ground, outdoor training was impossible. Practice moved indoors to the gymnasium, but space was much more limited than the six outdoor fields. As a result, all training periods were sharply reduced, with extra time allotted for academic classes.

The academic curriculum at Yunjia Tianyu was much like other elementary schools, with one key difference: nearly every student studied English, focusing on spoken language and conversation. This was in preparation for the possibility that some might play football overseas in the future.

Even though few of them would ever get that chance, the school insisted that mastering a language for communication was always beneficial. Besides, English was already widely used in Chinese society. The club owner, Pei Wei, who made the decision, truly had foresight.

To that end, the school set up an “English Corner” dedicated to spoken practice. With a good environment, learning was easy.

Though Long Bisheng seemed slow and awkward, he actually had a knack for languages; before long, he was conversing with others in halting English. Among his roommates, only the bookish Dai Guangming could keep up, while the rest couldn’t match his level.

The more time Dai Guangming and the others spent with Long Bisheng, the more they realized he was truly capable. His grades might be poor, and his reactions in training still slow, but in some areas, he stood out above the rest.

“Could this be the so-called ‘circle principle’?” Dai Guangming once confided to the others. “Some scientists theorize that intelligence is like a circle drawn with a single piece of string—the string is only so long. If you excel in one aspect, you may be lacking in another. Some brilliant scientists are absolutely hopeless in daily life. That’s because all their genius is devoted to research. Take Chen Jingrun, for example—they say he couldn’t even cook noodles at home.”

“No, I think it’s more like being pregnant with talent,” Zhou Wei disagreed. “Give it enough time, and everyone will see it.”

P.S. Stayed up last night watching the Champions League. Only just woke up. Forgive me, forgive me.