After the match ended, Bai Feng was thrilled. He ran wild circles around half the court, arms raised as he roared again and again, venting the complex emotions that had built up inside him during this period. At the other end, Luo Jiu smiled so awkwardly it was unbearable, then slunk off the court, found a bench, and buried his head in a sweat towel like an ostrich.
Luo Jiu had not actually played badly in this match. His forehand loops and backhand flicks had both been on point, his attacks were aggressive, his movement was active, and he had produced several exquisite shots.
But Bai Feng had gone crazy.
Domestic clashes among China's table tennis main-force players often went like this. Normally, even if the gap between two players was small, the slightly stronger one could still suppress the slightly weaker one completely. At this level, everyone was simply too consistent. If I was a little stronger than you, I could make sure to beat you by a little on every ball. Then I scored on every ball, and by the end, the score gap was enormous.
But that balance was easily broken. Once your performance dipped even slightly and your form slipped a little while your opponent suddenly exploded, then your opponent might beat you by a little on every ball and score every ball. By the end, it was your opponent crushing you.
Luo Jiu had merely let his guard down a little in this match. It could never be called underestimating his opponent, at most insufficient preparation. Luo Jiu knew perfectly well what this devilish schedule meant. It meant that over the next four days, he would suffer brutal dual trials, both mentally and physically. There was no way he could carefully study every opponent before