Chapter 28: There Will Always Be Such a Day

Once the team’s confidence began to crumble, the game was effectively over; for the Lihua High players, the remaining time was nothing more than a slow suicide.

In high school or college games, young players’ emotions and mental states are prone to volatility, far less mature or stable than those of adults. This is why upsets occur so frequently: a lesser-known, underdog team with high morale can steamroll a stronger team that has lost its mental composure.

After the timeout, Lihua High could find no solution to their predicament. They had no one who could match up against Gan Guoyang, no one capable of a heroic outburst. The collective chemistry they relied upon had been shattered, and they spent the second half simply killing time, dragging out the final 20 minutes to end this cat-and-mouse game.

Gan Guoyang, for his part, stopped playing around. He erupted in the second half, punishing his opponents in the low post time and again, dunking the ball even through double teams. The crowd at the sidelines had their fill of dunks, with waves of cheers rising one after another until Bellman pulled Gan Guoyang from the game early.

At that moment, his stat line read 25 points, 31 rebounds, 9 blocks, and 5 assists—just one block shy of a triple-double. Gan Guoyang didn’t mind; he didn't care about numbers, only about victory and the process of achieving it.

However, some in the crowd were bothered; they wanted to keep watching Gan’s performance. An old man shouted, "Hey! Put that number 11 back in! We want to watch him play! What’s wrong with you, you *gweilo* coach? I paid for a ticket!"

The Chinatown elder spoke in Chinese, which Bellman didn’t understand. He asked Gan, "What is that old man yelling at me?"

Gan replied, "He said that the coach’s leadership tonight was excellent, the tactics were spot on, and your command was brilliant. He’s paying his respects."

"Bullshit. I hardly did anything tonight; you did it all. You damn kid, you broke that number 5, didn't you? You let him score in the first half just to lock him down in the second, and you crushed his fragile little heart! God, you’re a devil."

"I was just dismantling their collective offense. They were more cohesive and better trained than us, but that guy lost his head. He forgot there’s more to the game than just scoring, so he had to pay the price."

Bellman squinted at Gan and leaned in. "What kind of monster are you?"

Gan rolled his eyes at Bellman. "I'm just playing ball."

Bellman grumbled, but he was secretly thrilled. Coaching a player like Gan Guoyang was proving to be increasingly fascinating.

***

By just before five in the evening, with the sun still high over San Francisco, the match concluded. 51–39: Bei Qiao High had defeated Lihua High with relative ease at the Kezar Pavilion.

In the 1980s, high school games consisted of two 20-minute halves. Following NCAA rules, they played with a 35-second shot clock and no three-point line. Consequently, the pace was slow and scores were low; for a team formed only a week ago, reaching 51 points was a miracle.

Lihua High usually had no trouble scoring in the 50s, but tonight, their confidence had been pulverized by Gan Guoyang, leading to a disastrous performance in the second half. Their captain, Wang Tianduo, sat on the bench after the game, burying his face in his hands and sobbing; this match would undoubtedly become a lifelong shadow.

Huang Shaohua, vice-chairman of the Chinese Progressive Association, was dancing with joy in the stands, while not far away, members of the Straits Self-Strengthening Association were shaking their heads. They must have regretted not reaching out to Gan Guoyang sooner to bring him to Lihua High. If Gan had been on their team, they might have been able to apply for the CIF or achieved great results in the state championship organized by the First International Bank Athletic Foundation.

As Gan left the court, a crowd swarmed him for handshakes, clogging the exit so tightly the players could barely make it out. It was the first time Gan had felt the overwhelming passion of fans at such close range. The joy of victory was exhilarating, and for a long time afterward, this game remained a popular topic of conversation in Chinatown.

That night, Huang Shaohua hosted a banquet for the entire Bei Qiao team at the Gan Family Restaurant to celebrate their first win. Old Huang was beaming, saying he finally felt a sense of pride and vindication in front of Lihua High.

Although Gan Guoyang was happy, he knew that Lihua High was a bottom-tier team, both in San Francisco and across California. A match between two Chinese-heritage teams was, in the end, just an "in-house fight." The real challenge for Bei Qiao High would be facing off against Black and White high schools.

So, after dinner, instead of joining his teammates to play arcade games, Gan went to the rooftop court at the Cameron House to practice. Only Xu Xun followed, helping Gan collect balls and acting as a defensive dummy.

The two shared similarities in character. Like Gan, Xu came from a single-parent home and lived with his father. However, Xu’s father was far harsher than Gan Youwei; he received little affection, only coldness and beatings whenever he made a mistake.

In the 70s and 80s, South Korea was controlled by a military government, and coupled with the lingering effects of a feudal hierarchy, the entire society existed under high pressure. Schools were filled with military-style discipline, corporal punishment, violence, and bullying. Growing up in such an environment, even after coming to America, Xu remained inevitably taciturn and filled with rage.

"America isn't heaven either," Xu said. "Here, as long as you have an Asian face, you’re treated differently everywhere. In Korea, the bullying is explicit—blatant insults, beatings, and corporal punishment. The scars stay on your body, black and blue, visible at a glance. But it’s different in America. There’s no corporal punishment here, and they talk about equality and freedom. It’s safe enough as long as you stay out of dangerous areas. But an Asian face is still considered inferior—worse than a 'nigger'."

The two often talked like this after practice. Xu was clearly more insightful than his peers; despite his silence, he had deep thoughts about the environment around him.

"You can't call people that out here," Gan warned him. "You'll get into trouble."

"They call us 'Gooks' and 'Chinks,' and nobody cares."

"You don't need anyone to care. You have to rely on yourself. If someone calls me that, I’ll punch them."

"I’d make them taste the power of nunchucks, too! 'Wataaa!' That’s why I love Bruce Lee so much. It’s not just his martial arts; I admire that he was able to carve out a life for himself in America. It’s truly amazing."

Whenever Bruce Lee was mentioned, a unique light would shine in Xu’s eyes—the spirit totem for him and many Asian teenagers of that generation.

"Ah Xun, I’ll be even more successful than Bruce Lee one day. Do you believe me?"

"I don't."

"Hmph, just you wait. That day will come."