Woj then asked Wang Yi one final question:
"Here's one last question. Other reporters may have asked you this at the press conference, but when you sat alone at the scorer's table last night, facing thousands of spectators in the dark and listening to their vicious insults, what was going through your mind?"
Wang Yi smiled calmly. "This little world—how many flies are there, banging against the walls? They buzz and buzz, with a few shrill cries and a few sobs."
Woj nodded. "Oh, I've heard those lines before. Wang, I truly admire the grandeur of your heart and the force of your spirit. All right, I'm sorry to disturb your rest, and thank you for taking the time to speak with me. Sorry."
An ordinary reporter would have followed up on Wang Yi's words: So you're saying that, in your eyes, Celtics fans are just a bunch of flies?
And given Wang Yi's personality, he would have admitted it outright, making for an even bigger story.
Just imagine the attention it would draw: after calling Celtics fans dogs, he would now be calling them flies.
But Woj wasn't an ordinary reporter. He spent over a million dollars a year just maintaining his network of sources, so he wasn't short on money.
And since he and Wang Yi got along well, he didn't press him on his remarks. Instead, he quickly wrapped up the interview.
But after turning off his phone's camera, he switched on his voice recorder.
"Wang, I know you may really have felt that way at the time, but sometimes you don't have to say exactly what you're thinking. I won't use that last answer, even though it would draw a huge audience and make me quite a bit of money."
Wang Yi smiled. "Publish the interview