Chapter Forty-Six: The Holiday

“Brother, stop going out and wasting money. Buy me a present instead,” Lu Xiaoyu clung to Lu Suo’s arm, acting cute.

“Name it—whether it flies in the sky, runs on land, or swims in the water, whatever you want, I'll get it for you!” Lu Suo declared generously. He never minded spending all his money on Lu Xiaoyu.

“I want a computer,” Lu Xiaoyu said softly, “But it’s quite expensive.”

“I’ve got the money, what’s there to be afraid of?” Lu Suo laughed heartily.

But when they arrived at the famous Huaqiang Electronics Market, Lu Suo’s knees nearly buckled at the sight of all those computers with five-figure price tags. All the money he had—including two months’ salary and bonuses—only amounted to just over fourteen thousand yuan.

Taking Xiaoyu to Yangcheng had cost less than a thousand. He still needed to pay the landlord for rent, and cover Xiaoyu’s lodging and meals, which would take another four or five thousand. Even if he didn’t spend another cent, he’d be left with only eight thousand yuan—and here, eight thousand could disappear in the blink of an eye.

Are computers really this expensive?

Lu Suo had seen a laptop on Tian Shiwei’s dorm desk before. He didn’t know the model, but when Tian Shiwei occasionally turned it on, the glowing blue alien logo on the case was quite striking.

At the landlord’s house, Lu Suo had also seen a desktop computer. But since the kids always used it for games, it was kept out of reach, covered with a heavy blanket, only brought out as a reward if the landlord’s grandchildren scored high enough on their tests.

Xiaoyu must have encountered computers at the landlord’s place.

That’s probably why she wanted her own.

For these siblings, it was a luxury, but since Xiaoyu had asked, Lu Suo was determined to grant her wish.

“It’s fine, brother. These are all branded, pre-built computers—they’re expensive. Let’s buy separate parts and assemble one ourselves,” Xiaoyu said, her face alight with excitement, her eyes sparkling with the same joy girls show when they see a Barbie doll.

Branded computers?

Assembling one?

Lu Suo was completely lost.

Under Xiaoyu's guidance, Lu Suo ended up buying a pile of things: a motherboard, CPU, graphics card, sound card, monitor, case, power supply—some of them even used. Each piece was cheap, and altogether only cost three or four thousand yuan.

One vendor offered to assemble everything for Xiaoyu and install a system for just 150 yuan, but Xiaoyu haggled, “A Windows disc only costs five yuan. How about I install it myself for a hundred?”

A cute kid like Xiaoyu, speaking so knowledgeably, piqued the curiosity of all the vendors. If she were a fellow professional, they might have been annoyed, but it was hard to imagine a sweet, marshmallow-like girl like her could really build a computer.

But she truly could. Terms like “powering on,” “bad sectors,” “FDISK partitioning,” and “CHOST” flowed effortlessly in her conversations with the vendors, while Lu Suo understood nothing. He was only responsible for carrying things. By evening, he’d lugged a fully assembled computer home.

“Brother, you play some games first. I installed CS—Counter Strike. They say it’s really fun,” Xiaoyu said. “I’ll go cook.”

Lu Suo, sitting at the computer, suddenly felt uneasy.

He got up, went to the kitchen, and pulled Xiaoyu back. Shouldn’t he be the one cooking, and Xiaoyu playing games?

Besides, Xiaoyu’s skill at cooking made him wonder if she’d been home alone a lot lately—skipping meals at the landlord’s house?

Confronted with his questions, Xiaoyu just grinned and played dumb.

“Brother, let’s get a landline installed too. Then we can go online,” Xiaoyu said.

“Yes, we should get a phone,” Lu Suo agreed. That way it’d be easier to reach Xiaoyu. Of course, a mobile would be more convenient, but the budget didn’t allow for it right now.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I want a computer and a phone line?” Xiaoyu asked.

“To play games, right?” Lu Suo replied. “I heard online games are really popular now. There’s even those dancing games.”

“And you just agreed to all this?” Xiaoyu asked, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll go off the rails and become addicted to the internet?”

“How could I be?” Lu Suo mussed her hair.

Xiaoyu wore a contented, catlike look.

“Brother, I think computers are amazing. The internet is amazing. I encountered all this at Grandpa Landlord’s house. Just by turning on a computer and logging onto the internet, you can talk to people on the other side of the world—it’s magical!” Xiaoyu said excitedly. “I want to learn this. I’m sure it can make a lot of money.”

“Why do you think that?” Lu Suo asked.

“Because something this convenient is something everyone needs. If it’s needed, that means there’s opportunity—and money to be made,” Xiaoyu said.

The logic was sound, even if Lu Suo didn’t understand it. All he knew was, he’d always support her.

…

After three days off.

There would be more holidays in the future—or rather, more chances to leave the athletic institute.

Because Lu Suo had delivered an unexpected performance: first place at the provincial games, new holder of the 100-meter dash record. So Lu Jinrong had kept his word, granting Lu Suo more freedom: he could choose to stay at the sports school or at home each night.

But the condition was that his performance couldn’t drop. If it did, Lu Jinrong would revoke this “privilege.”

As a coach, Lu Jinrong’s management style was both strict and humane—a traditional patriarchal approach with no fixed rules, but his words carried great authority. Every “favor” or “special treatment” had a proper justification.

This method was anything but scientific, but it won hearts, relying on personal prestige.

Lu Jinrong was fiercely protective of his athletes. Even though Lu Suo had missed the provincial games’ closing ceremony performance, Lu Jinrong didn’t make a fuss. A simple written reflection sufficed—and of course, Xiaoyu wrote it for him.

Asking Lu Suo to write five thousand characters was harder than making him run five thousand meters.

…

National Sports Administration, Physical Training Center.

Assistant Coach Dong Zijian stood outside Head Coach Li Yan’s office, report in hand, hesitating before finally knocking.

“Come in.”

Dong Zijian entered to find Li Yan, head coach of the national track team, as always impeccably dressed, seated behind his desk.

Li Yan always had a cup of coffee next to him—a habit from his years abroad.

As an Asian, Li Yan had coached in the US track and field team, producing several international champions. That was why the Administration had spared no expense to bring him back. Not long ago, Pan Kai’s win at the Universiade was Li Yan’s first achievement for the Administration, and they were pleased.

The East Asian Youth Games would be Li Yan’s second test. So far, things weren’t looking good.

“What is it?” Li Yan asked, glancing up from his papers.

“These are some withdrawal applications—from a few of the kids,” Dong Zijian said, placing the reports on Li Yan’s desk.

“Approved,” Li Yan said without looking up.

“But these kids are the best sprinters in the country, ages fourteen to eighteen. Without them, our training squad will be down to just four athletes—barely enough for a relay team, with no alternates,” Dong Zijian protested, frowning.

“What else can we do?” Li Yan set down his pen and sighed. “As you say here, ‘you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.’ If they don’t want to run, there’s nothing I can do.”

“They do want to run!” Dong Zijian couldn’t help raising his voice.

“Then why submit withdrawal applications?” Li Yan smiled back.

“Isn’t it because…” Dong Zijian trailed off. Li Yan was asking a question he already knew the answer to. If it weren’t for Li Yan’s harsh training and the constant pressure on body and mind, would those kids be desperate enough to cry and quit?

What athlete doesn’t want to compete on the international stage, to win glory for their country? Only when pushed beyond their limits would they ever ask to leave.

“No matter how talented, if they want to run away, then they’re deserters—not to be trusted. I don’t need such weak athletes on my team,” Li Yan said.

“But what about the numbers? There’s only a month and a half left until the East Asian Youth Games,” Dong Zijian said.

“Find replacements. Your country is vast—surely you can find a few fast runners among all those children,” Li Yan said.

…

After leaving Li Yan’s office, Dong Zijian shook his fist at the closed door.