Foul Mouth

Luo Zhihong stopped talking as Wang Chao served and the match resumed.

Wang Chao also served two short backspin balls, neither too aggressive nor too passive, perfectly conventional. After another round of prodding, they each took a point, tying the score at 2:2.

"What the hell is this kid doing?" Zhao Fuqiang frowned. "Holding back? What's the point?"

He did not know Wang Chao's true background, so he naturally could not understand Wang Chao's state of mind.

There had been no Table Tennis First Division in the table tennis world of Wang Chao's previous life, and even the Table Tennis Super League had struggled to stay afloat. As a result, table tennis players generally had a hard life. First, they had to face countless competitors; then, they might very well have to face unemployment.

Unless they made it into the national team, played internationally, and brought glory to their country, even the core players on provincial teams still often had to worry about making money.

All players received only basic salaries and subsidies, while bonuses and other rewards were pitifully small. They were clearly among the people who trained hardest in the world, yet their income was only a tenth—or even a hundredth—of what football players earned.

So some chose to change nationalities and play overseas. Some switched careers. Some gave up their dreams to become teachers, open table tennis clubs, become streamers, or take on side jobs.

In Wang Chao's view, being born in China and choosing to play table tennis was truly a difficult path.

So, knowing that Gao Ming would inevitably head for the Table Tennis First Division, Wang Chao did not want to crush Gao Ming's confidence. He hoped Gao Ming could leave this training base with his confidence intact.

That was why he had not gone too hard on him. He did not want to damage Gao Ming's foundation.

Gao Ming was indeed full of confidence. He felt that his opponent was nothing special, and that if he just tried a little harder, he could win today's match and remain among the main squad.

Thus, the match was fiercely contested. The score climbed back and forth, neither side launching attacks lightly. It was mostly a tug-of-war, with barely any truly satisfying offensive exchanges from start to finish.

The first game ended 11:7, Wang Chao winning.

The second game ended 8:11, Wang Chao losing.

The third game ended 11:6, and the fourth 11:9. Wang Chao won two in a row.

Gao Ming then pulled one back with an 11:8 win, making the overall score 3:2.

The sixth game went rather quickly, ending in a lopsided 11:3. Wang Chao felt he had held back enough, and acting was genuinely exhausting—more exhausting than playing seriously. He could not be bothered to keep pretending.

So, after fifty minutes, he "struggled" to defeat Gao Ming, the lowest-ranked player on the main squad.

After the match, Wang Chao was somewhat tired. He ate a banana and could not be bothered to watch the matches that followed. He walked past two tables, found an empty spot, lay down, and closed his eyes for a brief rest.

The noise in the distance grew louder as Jiang Shan and Li Fang's match began. He vaguely heard someone complain, "Finally, a good match."

Wang Chao had only been lying there for a few minutes when the light above him suddenly dimmed. Someone had crouched beside him and even reached out to shake his hand. "Congratulations, man."

Wang Chao took a closer look at the face above him. It was unexpectedly Gao Ming, his opponent from just now.

"You don't blame me?" Wang Chao asked.

"I wasn't as good as you. What's there to blame?" The anxiety between Gao Ming's brows had vanished. Though he looked somewhat regretful, he seemed much more at ease. "All right, to be honest, I am a little unhappy. After all, I feel like you're not that much better than me."

He paused, then smiled. "And after the match, you were tired enough to collapse while I'm still full of energy. That makes me feel like you can barely count it as beating me."

Wang Chao sat up from the ground. "Are you leaving the team?"

Gao Ming looked surprised, but he did not hide it. "I'm getting older. I don't have that much time left to keep waiting. If I could stay on the main team, the training quality would be better, and maybe my skills could still improve. That's why I took today's match so seriously... But now that I've lost, there's not much point in staying. I might as well play in the Table Tennis First Division for a few years while I still can and save up some money."

Wang Chao smiled. "Then I hope you make a lot of money."

But Gao Ming said seriously, "Wang Chao, I didn't come over just to hear your good wishes. I came to tell you that there's something wrong with the way you play now."

Wang Chao froze.

"You're too focused on playing safe. That's no good. Back then, I was also desperate to win and afraid to lose, so I kept playing it safe. But the safer I played, the less I dared to take risks. After all these years, I haven't improved at all... Brother, you're still young. Don't be afraid. You need to fight for it!"

Wang Chao was somewhat surprised.

In his eyes, a player like Gao Ming was truly ordinary beyond measure.

He had deliberately held back only out of a trace of sympathy for a fellow player. It was not as though he had any great goodwill toward him.

Yet Gao Ming had specifically come over to offer him this advice, making Wang Chao feel that his efforts had not been in vain.

"When you get to the Table Tennis First Division, play well." Wang Chao felt that Gao Ming was worth befriending, and his tone turned sincere. "Let's exchange contact information. When you play your first Table Tennis First Division match, remember to let me know. I'll come cheer for you in person."

Gao Ming left quickly. He planned to complete the withdrawal process today and leave directly tomorrow, so he could not be bothered to watch the remaining matches.

Wang Chao lazily lay back down.

It was not that he did not care about his teammates. It was simply that matches at this level were not worth watching. After learning about the promotion and relegation matches, he had specifically paid attention to the lowest-ranked players on the main squad. He was certain that Li Fang was no match for Jiang Shan.

He might as well listen to the cheers and praise in the distance while quietly thinking about a few things.

But that peace was soon broken again.

The light above him dimmed once more.

A rather arrogant voice suddenly chuckled from above and to one side of him. "You're Wang Chao?"

Wang Chao abruptly opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar face.

"Want to play a game?" The owner of that face sat down beside Wang Chao without waiting for an answer. "You're one of the main squad now, but your game is seriously bad. You're dragging down our average level. I need to give you a lesson."

Wang Chao could not be bothered with him and closed his eyes again.

"Heh, you don't like hearing that? Do you know what rank Gao Ming got in last week's internal round robin?" The man continued. "I'll tell you. Not only did he come last, he didn't win a single match. There were sixteen people in total, and he lost fifteen matches. You had such a hard time against trash like that."

Wang Chao frowned slightly.

Sure enough, there were all kinds of people everywhere in life. There were warmhearted people like Jiang Shan and Gao Ming, but there were also pests like this guy. The moment he opened his mouth, a foul stench seemed to hit him in the face.

"Beating Gao Ming is easy. That guy's a coward—he sees an opening and still doesn't dare to attack. Do you know how I played with him in our match the day before yesterday?"

"I kept changing up my serves. No matter what I served, he only dared to return short."

"Then I started making all kinds of feints. The moment I scared him, he backed up, thinking I was about to attack, but I just gently flicked the ball away..."

"I had that guy running all over the court, and he even fell over once. It was hilarious."

"Oh, right. I heard that guy is trying to arrange tryouts with Table Tennis First Division teams. But who would want someone at his level? Hahahaha."

"He went for tryouts last year too. He went around to all sorts of teams, and not a single one wanted him. In the end, he obediently came back to the training base."

"This time, I think he's going to be unemployed."

"Wang Chao, your style is pretty similar to Gao Ming's. Tell me, if I serve you an easy little kid's ball, would you even dare to smash it?"

"Give it a try."

"Come on, come on. Playing one game won't get you pregnant."

"You're that useless? You played one match and you're too tired to stand?"

Wang Chao could not listen any longer.

Ever since he had transmigrated, he often found himself in a daze, unable to tell whether he was eighteen or forty. Many times, he would inexplicably slip into the perspective of an elder, looking at the players in the training base as though they were a group of children. But sometimes, he would suddenly realize that he was only eighteen, even younger than many of the players there.

When this guy had first started running his mouth, Wang Chao had not taken it to heart. Being young and reckless was perfectly normal, and his middle-aged soul had long learned tolerance.

But the man kept talking about Gao Ming, and Wang Chao could no longer stand it.

This was not youthful recklessness. This was an unruly brat who needed discipline...

He sat up from the ground and said, "If we're playing, we play properly. Best of seven, first to four wins. We play until it's over—no breaks, no surrendering. Whoever breaks the rules is a pig. You in?"