By the time the match reached this point, though the score was only 2–0, the outcome had effectively been decided.
Only Lu Feiyang had yet to realize it. He kept shouting as he fought fiercely, trying to prove himself, but time flew by, and five minutes later, he lost the first game 11–2.
He had displayed overwhelmingly aggressive firepower at T2, beating the hard-hitting Bay Island veteran Zhuang Huishen into complete submission. But today, not only could he not force Wang Chao to take even one step back from the table, he could barely make Wang Chao move his feet at all.
Wang Chao was playing far too casually.
He did not want to move, so his feet simply stayed still. He pulled with his forehand, counter-pulled with his backhand, and only shifted half a step to scoop the ball back when it was too far away.
Because his footwork was not in position, almost none of Wang Chao's movements today were technically standard. They were all slight adjustments from standard form. Yet his touch was simply too good—despite the imperfect movements, he could still hit every ball perfectly.
This was another kind of No moves are better than any move. He played as he pleased, having already transcended rigid, textbook techniques.
He was not afraid of Lu Feiyang attacking first, much less of Lu Feiyang backing away from the table, stepping around, and unleashing explosive kill shots. To Wang Chao as he was now, none of Lu Feiyang's offensive methods could guarantee putting him away.
But once Wang Chao seized the rhythm, he could guarantee putting Lu Feiyang away.
So Lu Feiyang began to sweat and gasp for breath. He was exhausted, while Wang Chao was so composed that he looked as if he were merely playing a practice