Most importantly, their eyes were clear.
A kind of clarity untouched by worldly concerns and certain other things.
The next day, twenty children boarded a plane to Madrid, accompanied by their coaches and an interpreter.
As the plane took off, sunlight streamed through the windows and fell across the children's faces.
Their eyes turned toward the distant horizon.
Meanwhile, online in China, news that Wang Yi had bought Leganés and was sending young players abroad to train quietly began to spread.
At first, some people were skeptical.
Some said he was just putting on a show; others said he was burning money on a whim.
But when they saw photos of the children carrying their bags and setting foot in a foreign land, the voices of doubt gradually faded.
In their place came a flood of well-wishes.
"Wang Yi Niu Bi! This is what it really means to do something for Chinese soccer and basketball!"
"These kids are so lucky. I hope they seize the opportunity."
"Good luck! The future looks bright!"
Wang Yi read the comments online and smiled without saying anything.
He had nothing to prove to anyone.
Time would give them the answer.
He turned and walked into the Training Hall, picked up a basketball, and started dribbling.
The ball bounced off the floor with a crisp sound.
That noise seemed to mingle faintly with the roar of the plane engines high above distant Spain.
It was like the overture to a song about dreams and hope.
The thirty children arrived in Madrid and were first settled in an apartment building near the team.
Two or three children shared each room. There were bunk beds inside, and the walls were covered with posters of star players they had brought from home.
Every morning at six-thirty, the alarm