Qin Lie used half his strength on the stroke that blocked the ball back.
He had thought it was a probing shot, but the vibration coming through his racket felt as though someone had hammered his wrist.
He glanced down at his racket face, then looked up at the boy across from him.
Cheng Che was already standing two steps inside the baseline, his center of gravity extremely low, like a cheetah coiling its body.
"Again." Qin Lie's tone had grown somewhat grave.
The second ball.
Cheng Che tossed the ball and drew back his racket, his whole body like a fully drawn bow. Power traveled from his feet through his waist and abdomen to his shoulder and arm, finally exploding against the ball with a crack.
The ball vanished.
When it appeared again, it had already slammed into the inside corner on Qin Lie's backhand side. After bouncing, it drifted outward as though brushed by the wind.
Qin Lie shuffled sideways and swung.
Bang!
Only a sliver of the racket frame caught the ball, sending it flying diagonally beyond the sideline.
Fifteen-love!
Qin Lie straightened without a word.
He tightened his grip on the handle. His palm was a little damp.
"Again," he uttered, his tone serious.
The third ball.
Cheng Che served with exactly the same motion as before. This time, Qin Lie moved early, meeting it with his forehand and driving the ball back hard.
The ball landed deep to Cheng Che's right.
Cheng Che turned sideways, stepped forward with his left foot, and unleashed a one-handed backhand.
"Crack!"
The instant racket met ball, his wrist flicked. The ball flew out with fierce sidespin, landing short along Qin Lie's forehand sideline.
Qin Lie was already lunging toward it, but after bouncing, the ball swerved sharply outward. He stretched his racket out and caught nothing but air.
Thirty-love!
"Holy shit." By the court, a guy changing his shoes froze. "That backhand... an outward spinner right on the line?"
"Old Chen, who's this?" Another customer who had just entered came over.
Old Chen stood courtside, staring at Cheng Che without blinking. "Don't talk. Watch."
Cheng Che continued serving.
On the fourth ball, Qin Lie managed the return, driving a deep shot into Cheng Che's backhand side.
Cheng Che retreated two steps and unleashed another one-handed backhand.
This time, the ball did not spin outward. Instead, it streaked down the line like a yellow-green bullet, skimming the sideline.
Qin Lie stood rooted in place.
The ball landed, bounced, and rolled away.
Forty-love.
"That shot... did that last shot hit the line again?"
"A backhand down the line from that angle, and he barely moved his wrist to drive it out."
"Did you film it?"
"Film it, my ass. It was over before I even got my phone out!"
The courtside crowd gradually grew.
Several young people playing on the neighboring court stopped too, coming over with their rackets.
At first, there were only two or three, then five or six. Eventually, even the rest area near Court Four was packed with people.
"What's going on? Why so many people?"
"I heard a high schooler's playing a former pro. He's already taken a game."
"Huh? A former pro? Qin Lie? A high schooler took a game off him?"
"See for yourself."
On court, Qin Lie took a breath, switched his racket to his left hand, and vigorously shook out his numb right hand.
Just one game, he told himself.
But the heart in his chest had already begun pounding uncontrollably.
That serve, that backhand, that sense of rhythm-this was a genius.
A genius!
He had played tennis for twenty years and seen more young players than he could count.
Plenty had talent, but he had never seen anything like this. With only two months of playing experience, the boy could push him this far. That learning ability, that muscle memory-they were simply monster-class.
The second game was Qin Lie's serve.
He no longer dared hold back.
On the very first ball, he used eighty percent of his strength. Fast and flat, it slammed straight toward Cheng Che's forehand side.
Cheng Che moved to meet it and swung his forehand.
"Bang!"
Like a cannonball, the ball slammed back at Qin Lie's feet. Unable to react in time, Qin Lie blocked with his racket, sending the ball soaring high.
Cheng Che was already at the net.
He leaped, stretching his arm like a bird spreading its wings.
"Crack!" An overhead smash!
"Holy shit!!!"
Someone courtside finally could not help shouting.
"What is this? What the hell is this! They're playing like it's a pro match!"
"Forget a pro match... that ball speed has to be 150, right?"
"150? Have you ever touched a speed gun? That serve just now was at least 160!"
"Who the hell is this guy? Why haven't I seen him before?"
"Old Chen! Old Chen! Where did you find him!"
Old Chen had no time for them.
He was crouching behind a tripod, adjusting the focus on the small video camera. His hands were trembling with excitement.
"If this goes online, people are going to trample my tennis club's doorstep to pieces..."
The score on court began pulling apart at a speed that left people bewildered.
On Cheng Che's service games, Qin Lie never took another point.
Every serve was like a precisely aimed cannonball.
It either landed on the line or jammed him, its spin either breaking outward or cutting inward. Qin Lie could only block it back down the middle, and Cheng Che put it away on the very next shot.
"Isn't this serve way too ridiculous? He's up against a former pro!"
"So what if he's a former pro? Try returning one yourself. I bet you wouldn't even touch the ball."
Qin Lie gritted his teeth.
His calves began to ache, and waves of vibration kept jolting up through his wrist.
Yet the boy across from him raced all over the court as though nothing were wrong, his feet so light he seemed to be stepping on springs.
Too easy.
It was far too easy for him.
No, I can't keep playing like this. Qin Lie rapidly worked through his options.
He changed his strategy.
He wanted to sign Cheng Che, but he also needed to demonstrate his strength and bring out everything he had.
He stopped trading groundstrokes with Cheng Che and instead went all out on every shot.
His angles grew wider, his drives more powerful. He wanted to force Cheng Che to run, drain his stamina, and drag him into his own rhythm.
Then Cheng Che really did start running.
He raced all over the court like a gust of wind.
Forehand, backhand, net, baseline-his figure was in every corner.
When a ball was driven to the left, he was already waiting there.
When a ball dropped short near the net, he was already charging up. A flick of his racket sent it floating lightly and deftly over Qin Lie's head to land near the baseline.
"What kind of footwork is that? Don't his feet get tired?"
"I couldn't run that much in a whole week..."
"Isn't he a high schooler? With that stamina, he could do a triathlon."
"Did you guys notice those steps just now? Didn't they look like a pro's slide? No, even smoother than that."
"That movement would hold up even on the international stage."
Several girls had already raised their phones.
"Don't block me, don't block me! I want to film his serve!"
"Stop shaking your hand! The picture's all blurry!"
"How am I supposed to stop? Did you see those legs? So long and straight, kicking up wind when he runs. Just watching him has me all hot."
"You little fangirl..."
"You're not fangirling? Then why are you blushing?"
Qin Lie hit a deep forehand, thinking it would pin Cheng Che behind the baseline.
But Cheng Che retreated two steps, waited for the bounce, and ripped a one-handed backhand.
The ball sliced through the air like a knife, plunging precisely into the wide-open space on Qin Lie's forehand side!
Qin Lie lunged for it.
His racket reached the ball, but it carried too much spin. His wrist jolted, and the ball flew toward the spectators.
"Out again!" someone shouted.
"No, it clipped the net cord, so that counts as in, right?" another said.
Qin Lie stood at the baseline, bent over and gulping air.
He looked up at Cheng Che across from him.
The boy stood there with sweat on his face, his breathing only half a beat heavier than usual.
Racket in hand, he quietly waited for the next ball.
Not tired?
After an hour of playing, how could he not be tired?
Qin Lie slowly straightened, a trace of absurdity rising in his heart for the first time.
He had played tennis for twenty years and seen countless geniuses.
Some had fierce serves, some had heavy forehands, and some ran fast, but never had anyone possessed all three against him.
No, four.
There was also that bizarre backhand.
"Th-this isn't a genius... this is a fucking monster..." Unable to hold it in any longer, he exclaimed aloud.
"Did you hear that? What did Coach Qin just say?"
"He said monster."
"He's definitely a monster!"
"If I were twenty, I'd want to be called a monster too."
"You, at twenty? You wouldn't last three shots against him."
The fourth game ended with Cheng Che three games ahead.
There were already nearly thirty spectators courtside.
People holding phones, people raising video cameras, young people in tennis clothes-someone had shouted "There's an expert at the tennis club" in a tennis group chat, and more and more people were coming.
Several girls who had come together to play abandoned their game and squeezed to the very front.
"That's him? Oh my god, he's so handsome."
"It's not about being handsome... did you see that backhand just now? I went weak all over."
"That profile is unreal... no, no, I have to film this. It'll absolutely blow up on my Moments."
One girl had already raised her phone and started recording.
The boy in the frame happened to be serving.
Toss, jump, swing.
"Crack!"
"Ah-!" The girl could not hold back a cry.
The ball had not startled her. In that instant, sunlight streamed through the windows, falling on the boy's raised chin and taut forearm, turning the sex appeal all the way up.
"People will go crazy if I post this video..." she murmured.
The fifth game was Qin Lie's serve.
His breathing was already ragged. Sweat dripped from his chin, and a large patch on the back of his T-shirt was soaked.
His racket hand trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from exhaustion.
Cheng Che stood opposite him, knees slightly bent, breathing steadily.
He was actually tired too.
But [Enduring Progress Without Fail] was rapidly helping him recover, while [Ever-Full Power Reserves] kept every stroke as powerful as his first.
He felt tired, but it would not affect his movements.
That was the system's power.
He even felt a little sorry for Qin Lie.
It wasn't arrogance. He truly saw the gap.
Qin Lie was strong, so strong that he had forced him to bring out everything he had. But "everything he had" wasn't limited to tennis skills.
The final point.
Qin Lie served.
He put almost the last of his strength into that serve.
The ball came flying over, fast and flat, carrying a trace of backspin. It was the most desperate serve of Qin Lie's professional career.
Cheng Che didn't retreat.
He took a step forward, straight toward the ball.
The instant it bounced, he turned sideways and drew his racket back for a one-handed backhand, snapping his wrist sharply at the moment of contact.
"Crack!"
Like a bullet skimming the ground, the ball barely cleared the net tape and nailed the unreachable corner along the sideline to Qin Lie's left.
Qin Lie dove.
He flung his entire body into that dive. His racket stretched to its limit, his fingertips almost close enough to touch the ball.
He made contact.
With a light flick, the ball drifted slowly toward Cheng Che's half, its landing point extremely shallow.
Qin Lie crashed to the ground.
And Cheng Che was already at the net.
He leaped.
His whole body shot up as though launched by a spring, suspended in midair.
Sunlight poured in from behind him, casting his shadow over Qin Lie like a huge outstretched wing.
"Crack!"
An overhead smash!
The ball slammed into the rubber court surface behind Qin Lie, bounced over three meters high, then fell again and rolled away.
Qin Lie lay facedown on the ground, gasping for breath.
He raised his head and looked at the boy standing backlit at the net.
"Monster..."
He struggled to his feet and repeated it.
"Monster! Monster! Monster!"
His voice went from low to hoarse, until he was practically roaring.
It was hard to tell whether he was cursing or venting, or perhaps simply expressing admiration, because a smile had already spread across his face.
Then... the sidelines erupted.
"Holy shit!! He won! He won!"
"He's so good! So fucking good!"
"I didn't blink the entire time! Can you believe it? I didn't blink the entire time!"
"What's this guy's name? I want to follow him! I want to follow him!"
"Old Chen! Where did you dig him up? Spill it!"
Old Chen was still crouched behind the camera.
The image in the viewfinder froze on the instant Cheng Che landed.
The boy stood against the light, his racket hanging at his side, the wisps of hair over his forehead lifted by the breeze.
Meanwhile, Qin Lie had already walked up to the net.
He held out his hand to Cheng Che.
Cheng Che held out his hand too.
Across the net, the two hands clasped firmly together.
"You're very strong."
Qin Lie's voice had gone hoarse, but the light of hope shone in his eyes.
Cheng Che smiled. "Coach Qin, you let me win."
The spectators on the sidelines had already surged up to the edge of the court, and several young people climbed straight over the fence and rushed onto it.
Someone pushed closer with a phone held up in front of Cheng Che, someone patted his shoulder from behind, and a girl holding a racket blushed as she called out, "Cheng Che, could you sign an autograph for me?"
Surrounded by the crowd, Cheng Che looked toward Old Chen, a little at a loss.
Old Chen was still crouched behind the camera, grinning like an idiot as he gave him a thumbs-up.