When Cheng Che walked into the equipment room, his legs still felt a little unsteady.
He wasn't nervous.
All right, he was a little nervous.
He had never done a job that paid 200 yuan an hour in his life. If he messed this up, no one would request him next time.
He reached back to pull the door shut, took out his phone, and quickly typed into the search bar.
"How to play tennis for beginners."
The first result read: "Analysis of Federer's one-handed backhand-the most elegant stroke in tennis history."
Cheng Che opened the video and turned down the volume.
On the screen, the man, as elegant as a dancer, turned sideways, took his racket back, and swung his arm. The entire movement flowed like drifting clouds and running water.
Cheng Che watched for five seconds and felt that his eyes had learned it, but his hands hadn't.
He watched it again.
No, watching it this way wouldn't work.
Cheng Che took a deep breath and said inwardly, Activate.
[Total Concentration activated.]
The air around him suddenly fell quiet, and the footage on his phone seemed to slow by half a beat.
How the man positioned his feet, how he turned his wrist, where he made contact, how power traveled from his soles to his waist, from his waist to his shoulders, and from his shoulders to his wrist-the entire chain of power was as clear as if someone had drawn it inside his head with a pen.
Cheng Che stared motionlessly at the screen, as though his whole being had been sucked into it.
"Cheng Che! Ready yet? We're waiting for you!"
Old Chen's voice came from outside, abruptly dragging him back.
Cheng Che fumbled his phone into his pocket, grabbed a racket that caught his eye from the rack, pushed the door open, and ran out.
"Coming, coming."
Old Chen looked him up and down when he emerged. "What took you so long? Looking for a racket?"
"Right, one that felt comfortable." Cheng Che gave a dry laugh.
Old Chen murmured an acknowledgment and believed him.
He patted Cheng Che's shoulder, his tone unusually kindly.
"Relax. You haven't had any training, so losing is perfectly normal. The point of being a hitting partner is to make sure the customer has fun. Just remember that. Nothing else matters."
As he spoke, he looked Cheng Che up and down, his gaze lingering for two seconds on the face enhanced by Stars Surrounding the Moon. His smile grew increasingly perverse.
"Besides, with that face of yours, you already get a passing grade just standing on the court."
Cheng Che shuddered and silently backed away half a step. "Brother Chen, if you're putting it that way, I'll need extra pay."
"In your dreams."
Beside Court Three, several hitting coaches sat in a row like a bunch of unemployed young men waiting for the lottery results.
As Cheng Che walked onto the court with his racket, he distinctly felt the gazes around him gathering on him again. Several female customers who hadn't noticed him earlier now lowered their rackets and stood courtside to watch.
"Him, the ball boy who just started. Damn, he's actually going out there." A tall, thin coach nudged the man beside him. "Didn't you hear Old Chen? His name's Cheng Che, a senior in high school, working part-time. He's only played with Old Chen once."
"Once? He played with Brother Chen once and dares take a hitting-partner job?" The round-faced coach beside him widened his eyes. "If the customer isn't any good, veterans like us know how to control our power and feed the ball right to her hand. What would a beginner know about that? Won't he just thrash away and leave the customer playing fetch?"
A coach with dyed blond hair sat beside them with one leg crossed over the other and scoffed.
"A beginner would be doing well to last five minutes on his first hitting-partner job. If this guy manages a rally longer than ten shots with the customer, I'll walk a lap around the court on my hands."
The others fell silent for a second.
"So why did Brother Chen pick him? We professional hitting partners are sitting right here. Are we decorations?"
Another three seconds of silence.
"Oh."
They all understood.
"Because we're too strong," the tall, thin coach murmured.
"Too strong. One little slip in controlling our power, and we'd make the customer cry."
They exchanged glances, then sighed in unison and slumped in their chairs, their faces filled with the sorrow of discovering that strength was a sin too.
The blond coach raised his crossed leg a little higher and added, "I'll drink water upside down, then do another lap."
The round-faced coach glanced at him. "You serious?"
"Dead serious. If this guy can return three of her shots, I'll call him Brother from now on."
Naturally, Cheng Che knew nothing of what the men behind him were thinking.
His attention was entirely on the other side.
The woman in sunglasses had taken off her jacket and was loosening her wrists at the baseline.
Underneath, she wore a light gray athletic tank top that accentuated her slim, strong waist. She swung her racket twice, her movements beautiful and crisp.
The impact of seeing her from the front was far greater than when he had watched from a distance earlier.
Cheng Che gave her a polite glance and quickly looked away, silently repeating, I'm here to make money. I'm here to make money.
"Let's begin." The woman's voice was soft, with a hint of laughter.
Old Chen stood beside the net and blew his whistle.
The woman served first.
She tossed the ball, arched back slightly, and swung cleanly.
Smack!
The ball wasn't particularly fast, but its placement was tricky, landing right on the inside corner of the service line.
Cheng Che failed to adjust his footwork in time. He extended his racket and barely reached the ball, which bounced off it into the net.
1-0.
"Nice shot!" The coaches on the sidelines applauded obligingly.
The blond coach's smile widened. He turned toward the round-faced coach. "See that? He can't even touch the ball. I've got this in the bag."
Cheng Che exhaled and took his position.
For the second point, the woman served again.
This time, she changed the angle and went wide. Cheng Che moved sideways and swung. His racket grazed the ball, but it floated up and went out.
2-0.
"It's fine, it's fine. Perfectly normal," Old Chen called reassuringly from the sidelines. It was unclear whether he was comforting Cheng Che or helping him out under everyone's scrutiny.
Cheng Che said nothing.
He was watching the woman's service motion.
Two serves now.
Her movements were steady, and her rhythm was good. She certainly didn't look like a beginner who could only take a few casual swings.
I'm already bad enough. I should at least give the customer some kind of experience, right?
[Total Concentration activated.]
The world fell quiet.
The third serve came.
She tossed, drew back her racket, and struck.
Almost simultaneously, Cheng Che's feet were already taking quick adjustment steps.
He had anticipated the direction. Not down the inside, not wide-a body serve!
The ball flew straight at him.
He didn't retreat. He turned slightly sideways to make room and whipped the racket up with his right hand.
This was a movement that had appeared repeatedly in that video.
A one-handed backhand.
His racket traced a low, swift arc beside him. The ball struck the sweet spot with a crisp smack, flew diagonally over the net along a beautiful line, and landed just inside the sideline on the woman's backhand side.
She clearly hadn't expected the return. Her feet were a beat slow, and by the time she reached out, the ball had already bounced. Her racket swept through empty air.
2-1.
The sidelines suddenly fell silent.
The coaches who had just been lamenting that "strength was the original sin" all sat bolt upright.
"Wait... was that a backhand? A one-hander?"
"A fluke, right? Why did that form look so much like..."
"Federer?"
Someone gave a dry laugh. "Are you kidding? A beginner plays like Federer his first time? Then I'll sign him up for Wimbledon tomorrow."
The blond coach's smile froze briefly, but he soon relaxed again. "A fluke. Definitely a fluke. Just watch. His next shot will give him away."
The woman on the court grew serious too.
She put away her relaxed smile, took her position again, and prepared to receive.
The play that followed completely captured everyone's attention.
Cheng Che was like a sponge thrown into a pool, frantically soaking up water.
The sharper his opponent's play became, the faster he learned.
He was still scrambling through the first few shots, but a few shots later, he could sustain a steady rally.
Some of his technique wasn't standard and even carried the stiffness of an unorthodox amateur, but he always reached the right position and returned the ball in the most suitable way.
[Ever-Full Power Reserves] steadied his power with every swing, while [Enduring Progress Without Fail] shortened his bouts of panting and helped him recover faster and faster.
Meanwhile, [Total Concentration] acted like a silent coach, breaking every movement he had watched into individual frames and feeding them into his body.
On the fifth point, the woman clearly got serious, driving a sharply angled crosscourt forehand as though she had measured its placement with a ruler.
The ball landed extremely deep and kept drifting outward after the bounce.
Cheng Che launched himself from the right side of the baseline, charging out with his body almost parallel to the ground and stretching his racket to its limit-
Smack.
The ball spun back into the court, skimming and rolling over the net cord.
The entire court fell utterly silent.
The blond coach slowly lowered his leg.
"He fucking got that back too?" the round-faced coach murmured.
Cheng Che had no time to listen. He was getting up from the ground and shuffling back to the center of the court, his chest rising and falling a little more steadily than before. He knew he was beginning to adapt.
The sixth point, the seventh, the eighth...
The score climbed back and forth in a deadlock. The smile had vanished from the woman's face, replaced by an intensely focused coolness. Her shots grew fiercer and her angles wider, but Cheng Che was like a running wall, willing to chase and return any ball.
At the end of the seventh shot, the woman suddenly straightened and pulled her sunglasses down slightly, revealing part of her eyes.
Her gaze slid from Cheng Che's face to his racket, then slowly back again.
"Have you trained before?" she asked.
"No." Cheng Che panted.
She said nothing more, pushed her sunglasses back into place, and resumed her receiving stance.
But the curve of her lips never faded.
On the ninth point, Cheng Che hit another backhand.
He moved to meet it, lowered his center of gravity, and whipped his racket out from beside his body. The ball sliced over the net like a blade, driving straight into the opening on her forehand side.
The woman lunged too late, her racket swinging through empty air.
"Great shot!" Old Chen roared until his voice cracked.
The coaches on the sidelines were no longer sitting. The blond coach's mouth hung open like a fish dying of thirst.
"That one-handed backhand... he really only learned it today?"
"You ever seen someone who just learned hit a line like that? I've practiced my one-hander for five years and still can't get that angle!"
"Didn't he say he'd only played with Brother Chen once? If he isn't a monster, what is he?"
The blond coach fell silent.
The round-faced coach leaned over and reminded him with an obnoxious grin, "Buddy, about drinking water upside down..."
The blond coach flushed and squeezed out, "I meant I'd do it if he won. He hasn't won yet, has he?"
"He's a hitting partner. He isn't supposed to win. Just being able to return those shots is impressive enough."
The blond coach said nothing, lowering his head and squeezing his water bottle until it crackled.
Twenty minutes later.
Smack!
Cheng Che drove a backhand passing shot deep toward the baseline.
The woman lunged over and barely touched the ball with her racket, but still couldn't save it.
"Nice shot!" This time, it was Old Chen who called out, unmistakable excitement in his voice.
He had known Cheng Che was talented, but he hadn't expected this much talent!
He thought Cheng Che must have practiced every day since playing tennis that day.
Reaching this level after a week of practice still made him a genius among geniuses.
As for Cheng Che actually having just learned it from a video... the thought had never crossed Old Chen's mind.
That wouldn't be a genius. That would be a monster!
The coaches on the sidelines had all stood up.
"This kid... does he really not know how to play?"
"Have you ever seen someone who can't play rally with her for over twenty minutes?"
"I'm starting to believe he just learned that one-hander, because his fucking forehand isn't even as technically sound as his backhand..."
"Is he human?"
No one noticed that the smile on the woman in sunglasses was growing wider and wider.
Her breathing had become uneven too, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead, but her eyes were astonishingly bright, as though she had picked up something interesting on the court.
Over the final few points, Cheng Che distinctly felt his stamina declining. Total Concentration was nearly out of time, and his movements were starting to fall behind his thoughts.
He finally lost a point on a forehand.
The ball clipped the net on its way over. He hesitated for half a beat, and by the time he swung again, it had already hit the ground.
The blond guy let out a great sigh of relief at the sight, released the water bottle he had squeezed flat, then forced a smile and said, "Well? Didn't I say he couldn't win?"
Hearing this, the other coaches shot the blond guy contemptuous looks and all moved far away from him.
The match was over.
Cheng Che switched off Total Concentration immediately.
Fatigue seemed to burrow out of the ground and climb up along his leg bones.
Leaning on his racket, he walked to the side of the court and plopped onto a bench, eyes closed, panting even harder than he had the day he ran five kilometers.
But [Enduring Progress Without Fail] had already begun helping him recover.
Cheng Che's mind was clear.
He was also excited inside. He had felt the joy tennis brought him, and it seemed he had... some talent for it?
"Here."
A voice sounded above his head.
Cheng Che opened his eyes.
The woman in sunglasses stood before him, holding out a bottle of water.
Her hat and sunglasses concealed her face completely, but the corners of her mouth curved upward just enough.
"Are you still interested in a part-time job?" she said.