The next day.
At Saint Petersburg Federal Hospital, a measured patter of footsteps sounded down the corridor.
Everyone had slipped plastic covers over their dress shoes to muffle their steps.
At the front walked a bald man in a crisp suit, wearing a gentle smile.
Infantino.
The head of FIFA.
Behind him came a burly Russian, Alexei Soroshin, head of the organizing committee for the 2018 FIFA World Cup in Russia.
A dozen or so staff members followed, each carrying something: flowers, fruit baskets, a beautifully wrapped Russian Matryoshka Doll, and several documents that looked important.
The Russian security guards in the corridor kept their faces impassive. Their radios chirped in unison.
Infantino stopped outside the hospital room.
"Shh. Keep it down. We don't want to disturb Li."
Soroshin nodded and said something to the staff in Russian. Everyone immediately became even more careful.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three gentle taps on the door, so light it was as if he feared hurting it.
"Li, it's Gianni. May I come in?"
"Come in."
Inside the room.
Li Luo was propped up in bed, playing a game.
At the knock, he looked up.
The door opened a crack.
Infantino's smiling face appeared in the gap.
The head of FIFA looked, for the moment, exactly like a neighbor dropping by to borrow some soy sauce.
"Long time no see, Li."
"Long time no see."
Soroshin followed him in, moving as cautiously as a ballet dancer.
The staff quietly set the flowers and fruit baskets on the bedside table.
Li Luo glanced at the matryoshka doll.
Infantino smiled. "Mr. Soroshin picked it out himself. He said a Russian Matryoshka Doll has layer after layer, and the one at the very center is the most precious."
"Just like you!"
Soroshin nodded vigorously and added