Chapter Thirty-Four: The Semifinals

Rousseau summarized the prompts from the status bar.

At first glance, there seemed to be no pattern.

But after careful consideration, a certain logic emerged.

For example, winning an official match or defeating a particularly accomplished opponent would yield an attribute point—though, up to now, Rousseau hadn't earned a single one.

Breaking a record, or defeating an opponent who represented a record, would instead grant a "skill." Take Juno, for instance.

When Juno shattered the provincial games’ high jump record, Rousseau understood why beating Tian Shiwei only earned him an attribute point, but defeating Juno granted him a skill.

Clearly, the value of a "skill" far exceeded that of an attribute point.

The difference was justified: Juno might be remembered in the annals of sports history, while Tian Shiwei was merely a relatively outstanding athlete.

In summary, winning a match worth winning would grant an attribute point; breaking a record worth breaking, a skill.

How intriguing.

Watching Juno, surrounded by a jubilant crowd like a celebrity, Rousseau felt that this provincial games had given him more to hope for, more direction for his efforts.

...

After dinner.

Rousseau went to the equipment room for some restorative training.

Moderate exercise could better restore his "endurance."

This too had been hinted at by the status bar.

Clang... clang... clang...

The sound of weights clashing continued until nine in the evening.

This was earlier than Rousseau usually finished his training. When his endurance dropped below sixty, he stopped the strength exercises.

He left the training room.

Had a late-night snack.

Tonight’s supper was especially lavish. It seemed the chefs had pulled out all the stops to ensure the provincial team athletes would perform their best at the games.

Returning to his dormitory.

There, Rousseau encountered Xu Taiming, who had dropped by for a visit.

"Back already?" Xu Taiming greeted Rousseau.

Xu Taiming, an old member of the Pengcheng provincial team, was already on the sprint squad when Coach Lu Jinrong took over. At that time, there were only three on the team, and they had no competitive edge in any event.

It was Lu Jinrong who, over five years, scoured the city for sprinting talent and built the Pengcheng sprint team into what it was today. Of course, while their numbers had grown, the quality was still lacking; otherwise, they wouldn't have been mocked earlier that day by Coach Li Qiang of the Yangcheng team.

Xu Taiming, being a veteran, had known Tian Shiwei for quite some time and got along well with him.

When he saw Rousseau return, Xu Taiming took his leave.

Within the provincial sprint squad, Rousseau remained something of an outsider. Aside from Tian Shiwei, the other team members kept their interactions with him cordial but distant—a greeting in passing, and then it was as if he weren’t there.

"You know," Tian Shiwei said with a hint of emotion to Rousseau, "Old Xu is retiring."

"Retiring?" The word felt distant to Rousseau. Retirement—from the provincial team roster, from being a state-supported athlete, to becoming an ordinary person.

It seemed that only two professions used the word "retire": soldiers and athletes.

"Xu Taiming is twenty-five this year, right? Retiring already?" Rousseau thought twenty-five was the prime of life.

"If you haven’t achieved anything by twenty-five, you never will," Tian Shiwei replied. "Old Xu has trained for ten years, but lost to someone who’s only trained two months—you. He was going to wait until after the National Games, but now he’s decided to retire early."

Ten years of training, returning to society—what then?

Perhaps this is the ultimate challenge every athlete must face.

Of course, Rousseau only thought about it briefly before pushing the question aside. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to empathize with Xu Taiming, but rather that he didn’t have the time or energy. Retirement was still far off; what lay immediately ahead for him was the provincial games.

...

September 9th.

Afternoon.

At Galaxy Stadium, the semifinals of the 100m, 200m, and 400m were about to take place.

Rousseau only participated in the 100m semis, so that was all he cared about.

The semifinals for the 100m were split into two groups.

Four from each group would advance, plus one with the best remaining time.

So the final would have nine runners.

This time, Rousseau and Tian Shiwei were drawn into the same group—the second semifinal.

The other two Pengcheng athletes were in the first.

While waiting, Rousseau warmed up, half-listening to Tian Shiwei's chatter.

"Old Zhu broke a record—when will I break one, I wonder? Old Lu, do you know what the Yangcheng provincial games record is? 10.5 seconds—totally doable," said Tian Shiwei. "Taking first isn’t the goal, breaking the record is!"

10.5 seconds—not especially fast, but not exactly slow either.

Provincial games records still had weight; after all, athletes who won at the Asian Games or even the Olympics could appear at the provincial level.

Thus, whenever a domestic prodigy appeared in a particular discipline, he would rewrite a string of sports meet records, leaving mere mortals to marvel at the marks.

The 10.5-second record in the South Guangdong Provincial Games was on the slower side among the provinces; Guizhou’s was 10.2, Hubei’s 10.17, and the capital’s a staggering 10.1.

Breaking the record—running below 10.5—wasn’t impossible for Tian Shiwei and Rousseau, but would require the perfect confluence of conditions and a bit of luck.

...

"Breaking the record, huh?" scoffed a nearby athlete as he warmed up.

Tian Shiwei glanced over; Rousseau looked too. The athlete’s bib read “Yangcheng Team.”

In fact, half of the eight runners in their group wore the “Yangcheng Team” bib.

"These two from Pengcheng say they’re going to break the provincial record," the Yangcheng athlete told his teammates. "Impressive, huh?"

"Impressive!" The other Yangcheng runners gave exaggerated thumbs up.

One asked, "Hey, what was your time in the prelims?"

Another said, "I ran 10.9—still 0.4 off the record. How far off are you?"

Clearly, these weren’t friendly questions; their mocking tone gave it away.

There was always rivalry between Pengcheng and Yangcheng in athletics. In sprints, Yangcheng had the advantage, at least in numbers. Hearing Tian Shiwei talk about breaking the record—almost dismissing them—naturally drew some snide remarks.

"I ran 11.3 in the prelims—so what? I didn’t run hard!" Tian Shiwei shot back.

But the argument was futile. The Yangcheng runners just laughed and kept up the sarcastic banter, making Tian Shiwei fume with anger.

"Why waste words on them?" Rousseau pulled Tian Shiwei back and, without hesitation, shot a middle finger at the Yangcheng runners.

Perhaps Rousseau meant to say, "Cut the chatter—let’s settle this on the track." But to the others, the gesture needed no translation.

"Son of a—!" The four Yangcheng runners exploded, surging forward.

"Looking for a fight?" Tian Shiwei grinned, but he was smart enough not to throw the first punch. He clasped his hands behind his back, chest thrust out. "Go on, hit me if you dare!"

In such situations, whoever struck first would be disqualified—everyone knew it. The Yangcheng runners settled for jabbing fingers at Tian Shiwei and Rousseau, unleashing a torrent of curses but not daring to go further.

The scuffle quickly ended with both teams’ coaches rushing over to intervene. Had they not, the referees would have stepped in, and then it would have been over.

"Apologize!" The two coaches, before the officials, ordered the six athletes to apologize to each other.

"Sorry!" The six young men, heads held high, shouted at each other with a defiant air that was more declaration of war than apology.

The coaches, with forced smiles, turned away to murmur instructions to their own athletes: Win! Win, and win beautifully!