Zeng Lingxiao (5)

Sorkov, what is the decision you regret the most?

I made a decision that I deeply regret, a decision that has caused me immense remorse and pain for many years, and it even indirectly led to the situation I am in today. But I can't turn back now; it's all destined.

I became famous very early, the youngest among those shining stars. While my peers were still playing amateur games at the Youth Palace, I was selected for the national team because I won the World Youth Championship. I was only fourteen years old that year.

The future is bright. After receiving the call from the national team, Coach Xu repeatedly told me this. He was laughing so hard his eyes were almost closed, patting my shoulder incessantly, and marveling at how talented people are emerging in this country, saying that all his years of hard work have been worthwhile.

My parents booked the best restaurant in our area at the time, invited about a hundred people from our village, and held a grand banquet with more than a dozen tables. They said it was to celebrate the emergence of a world champion in our family and to send me off to Beijing in a grand and prosperous manner.

The uncle who used to play table tennis with me when I was a child gave me his treasured racket. He used to be a table tennis player himself. With tears in his eyes, he told me to strive for excellence, work hard, and become another world number one.

The praise and compliments, whether genuine or not, came at me like beads from a broken string. Can you imagine how I felt at that time? I started playing ball when I was five years old. After so many years of hard training and carrying the hopes of so many people for so many years, I finally succeeded.

At fourteen, they know nothing and understand nothing. They win a few games and a few championships, and then they think they are invincible and unbeatable. How foolish!

With that incredibly naive heart, I went to Beijing, and then I realized I was wrong.

After joining the national team, I thought I would shine and be invincible, but that didn't happen. The coach didn't like my playing style, or to put it more bluntly, I was ignored.

Back then, I didn't understand. I was clearly more capable than everyone else, so why was I the one being ignored? Being relegated to the background in group photos, my name never being called, and the constant, overt and covert exclusion and suppression—why did I have to suffer all of this?

It was during those gloomy days that I met Cen Zheng.

She corrected others when they pronounced my name correctly, introduced me to the coaches about my previous competition experiences, shared her training experience and sports drinks with me, and even pulled me to the most conspicuous place next to her when taking photos.

You can't imagine what that meant to me at the time. She was the best captain I've ever met, telling me to be confident, to be brave, and to always maintain the highest level of competition. During those long, seemingly endless days, she was the one who supported me every step of the way.

Then one day, she suddenly asked me if I would like to transfer my household registration to Beijing and join the Beijing provincial team.

I understand what she means. She always advises me to plan for myself as soon as possible. The Zhejiang team simply doesn't have the ability to support me in the national team. I can't always carry this burden alone. I need resources, better medical equipment, and a better training environment. These are things I don't have right now but urgently need.

Yes, I listened to Cen Zheng's words.

Coach Xu tried to persuade me, but he was unwilling to tell me his reasons in more detail. So, naturally, I rejected his suggestion, and we had a big argument, which ended badly.

I may have hesitated or struggled at the time, but in any case, I eventually went to the Beijing team.

At the beginning, everything seemed incredibly bright. Coach Huang valued me, Cen Zheng trusted me, and almost half of the resources were directed towards me. I finally had the playing opportunities and competition spots I had always dreamed of, and I finally had these opportunities to prove my strength. I had waited too long.

That year at the World Championships, I won the title very easily. I'm not lying or bragging; I really played very easily. No one was my match. That was the best period of my athletic career. I was free from injuries, my physical functions were at their peak, my mental burden wasn't too heavy, and my confidence grew day by day.

From then on, I fought my way through countless matches, big and small, and remained at the top of the leaderboard for a long time. At that time, I was truly the world's number one. The media launched a massive marketing campaign and coverage. After the initial joy faded, I realized that something was starting to go wrong.

Everyone took it for granted that I should be invincible, arrogant, and disdainful of everyone, never showing the slightest fear or hesitation. They all believed that I should always win, or rather, that I had to win.

Strangely, not a single person thought it was wrong.

Coach Huang treated me like a treasure, putting all his effort into working with major media outlets to mold me into a dazzling new star. He didn't care what those articles said or how I was described in those words; as long as it showcased my high level of ability, he approved it.

Netizens naturally started to push all the blame onto me, saying that I should go to every competition from now on, since we can win no matter what. They said that if we lost a competition, it was only because I didn't play, and that I was irresponsible and lacked a sense of duty. They said that since I have the ability, I should take on more responsibility.

Even my parents think so. After countless victories, it seems they have forgotten that I was just a mortal when I was born, and I cannot guarantee that I am perfect in every way.

Day after day, year after year, I slowly began to feel anxious and even terrified. What if I lost one day? What if they found out that I was not an invincible genius?

Sorkov, a person who has been at a high position for too long, even though he can see more than others, is also more afraid of losing such a position one day. His heart is constantly threatened by such a Damocles' sword hanging high. Who can feel good about that?

Just as I had been constantly worried, that moment finally arrived.

In a later training match, I injured my knee, and it was a serious injury. Rather than calling it an accident, I felt it was more of a negative consequence of my long-term, intense training.

At the time, I didn't think this little knee was a big deal. The team doctor also told me that it wasn't as serious as a ligament tear, fracture, or bone crack, and that it would be fine after some spraying. I thought so too.

Later, due to the heavy training schedule, my injury kept recurring and could not be fully recovered. Several times I couldn't help but want to go to the hospital for an X-ray, but I put it off for various reasons. A long time passed with that faint pain.

That night, I was awakened in a cold sweat by the pain in my knee. When I woke up, I found that I was in so much pain that I could hardly move. The moment I was wheeled into the emergency room, I realized that the situation was far more serious than I had expected.

My injury became so severe that I had to give up all my current training and competitions, lying in bed day after day waiting for surgery notification. The necessary materials were in severe shortage, and even after urgently contacting an overseas medical team, the surgery was postponed.

After waiting for who knows how many days, I finally got to have the surgery. The surgery was successful, but when I returned to the training field, I found that I could no longer run.

Just a small bone in my leg, along with some undeniable flesh and blood, has become the handle that tightly grips my fate. No matter how unwilling I am to admit it, no matter how much I try to escape reality, I know that in just these two or three months, I am no longer the person I used to be.

I no longer have the stamina to run around the field, many of my leg movements are lacking, and to some extent, my explosiveness and coordination have been greatly reduced. I am full of flaws and can't find any trace of my former self.

But why? Why? I can't understand. Just a few months ago, he was a person who was thriving and invincible. How could he suddenly lose all his vitality and become such a numb and rigid person after this unexpected accident?

Who could have imagined it? Who could have predicted it?

Talent, intuition, or what some call inspiration, is like a handful of sand that you can't hold in your hand—too ethereal, too elusive. You can't predict when it will stay with you, nor when it will quietly slip away. By the time I realized this, it was too late; everything was already set in stone.

On many sleepless nights, I suddenly realized that I had completely become an ordinary person. Besides, even if someone is a one-in-a-million genius, there are 140,000 out of 1.4 billion. I may indeed be exceptionally talented, but aren't there others like me? Aren't there any geniuses in this world more talented than me? Of course not.

When I first debuted, the media hyped me up as some kind of prodigy, but what exactly is a prodigy? Who can define a prodigy? Even a prodigy has to get out of bed before dawn every day to run five kilometers, right? I don't know. It seems I just have a better feel for the ball than others, I understand techniques faster, I often hit a few good shots, and I'm a little bit clever.

But all of that disappeared overnight.

But I'm not reconciled, Sorkov, I'm so unwilling. After so many years of hypnosis, after experiencing such a huge psychological gap, I'm unwilling to admit that I'm inferior to others.

So what else can I do? What other options do I have? If I don't desperately try to prove my worth, to prove that I haven't become just another face in the crowd, I will fade away forever.

The solution is actually quite simple: since you don't have more talent than the average person, make up for it by working harder than the average person.

Beijing winters are bitterly cold. Hands and face crack from the wind, and running in the freezing wind quickly leaves exposed skin numb and tingling. The gym lights go out at 11 PM, but you can still secretly practice in that abandoned room at the far end of the corner, unnoticed. Falling asleep with sore muscles is difficult, but extreme exhaustion makes it all worthwhile; you fall asleep almost instantly.

Bottleneck period, what an unfamiliar word. Those days were really too bitter, so bitter that even the long passage of time could not beautify it much. Those clothes soaked with sweat, lips that turned white from exhaustion, right hand that trembled so much that it could not hold chopsticks, even the night light that was still on at three in the morning... All of it is sealed in the deepest part of my memory, and only I remember it.

Only I kept hypnotizing myself, telling myself that I had to train desperately to recover, and that if I wanted to stand at my original starting point, I had to pay a higher price than others.

Many times I felt like I couldn't hold on anymore. After each failure, I would hide in a corner and cry my heart out, then wipe away my tears and call Coach Xu. We were in different places at the time, and he didn't really know my situation. I never mentioned it to him, but he eventually found out anyway. Then, to my surprise, he suddenly switched teams and came to the Beijing team.

Life suddenly got much better. I was no longer alone, no longer a child no coach wanted. Everything was in ruins after the disaster, but it seemed to be slowly being rebuilt in secret.

Coach Xu ran with me, opened a sports drink for me when I was drenched in sweat, filled my plate with chicken legs and vegetables when I got food, and patiently analyzed his playing style with me again and again using videotapes.

Almost every day, he would pat me on the shoulder, read a short inspirational essay from a WeChat public account with earnest words, and then tell me not to be discouraged or disheartened, that I would have my own bread and my own abilities.

So naturally, I recovered rapidly day by day. The pain in that bone decreased, and the feeling of a foreign object gradually lessened when I ran. I could even feel that the artificial medical device slowly merging with my flesh.

Just when I thought everything was slowly getting better, another unexpected event occurred. Cen Zheng was diagnosed with a chronic illness, which meant she would miss the entire Olympic cycle. Naturally, after recovering from her injury, I became the core player that the team was focusing on developing.

Is this a good thing? Maybe, I don't know, it's probably more of a mixed blessing. Of course, it's better to be cultivated as a core member, with everyone's plans and focus on you, being the center of attention and the center of everyone's admiration. But really, that's just how it is.

But correspondingly, the pressure that Cen Zheng had put up, the overwhelming expectations, and the gossip and criticism from the outside world all suddenly fell on my shoulders.

And the responsibilities I had to shoulder also multiplied several times over. I had to represent the team in various interviews, programs, seminars, and even variety shows. I had to maintain a proper demeanor at all times to deal with reporters who would suddenly appear out of nowhere. I had to go to galas to help secure sponsorships, and even print my own advertisements on the huge bodies of buses.

For a very long time, I was like a spinning top, whipped by everyone and running around like crazy. One second I was in closed training at the training base, and the next second I was on a red-eye flight to Shanghai to shoot some random magazine. Today I ran ten kilometers, and tomorrow I was going to participate in some outdoor combat program.

But the physical exhaustion wasn't the worst part; the most serious issue was the rapidly increasing mental stress.

This was inevitable. Cen Zheng told me before that one should fulfill one's duties and responsibilities in one's position. Since I was in this position, I had to bear such great pressure. I understand, I understand everything, but as I said above, I am just too tired.

As a young athlete who rose to fame at such a young age, I have received more attention and scrutiny than anyone else. "Who in the world doesn't know you?" Is this a good thing? Everyone in the world might think so, but I definitely don't.

Once, I went to a remote town to buy water. As I was leaving, the lady at the shop suddenly said, "Oh, I remember you! You're really good at playing ball."

"I'm really good at playing ball"—six simple and easy words, but it was precisely to maintain those six words that I gave everything I could.

After the halo of genius fades away, all that's left is a mess. I train like crazy every day just to maintain that illusion of eternal peace and pretend that I was once invincible.

But only I know that beneath the surface of my composure, my heart is always trembling slightly. I am afraid that one day that layer of protection will be broken, that the world will discover my ordinariness, and that I will fall into silence forever.

Actually, everything seemed to have been foreshadowed long ago. For example, the bloodshot eyes that never faded, the restless heart that I couldn't calm down before each competition, the occasional emotional breakdown and wailing in the middle of the night, and that kneecap that I have never forgotten.

Just then, I was selected for the Olympic roster. Friends, family, colleagues, coaches—everyone congratulated me, everyone believed in me. They cheered and cried tears of joy with me, as if victory was already in the bag. But they didn't know that my tears weren't from excitement, but from fear.

Yes, fear.

From that day on, I lived entirely in fear, and it got worse and worse as night fell. I had different nightmares every day, dreaming of being eliminated in the first round, dreaming of being utterly defeated by a player ranked at the bottom of the world, dreaming of Coach Huang harshly criticizing me, dreaming of the media reprimanding me with biting words, and dreaming of being despised by the world overnight and becoming a sinner in the whole country.

But I don't want that, I would rather die than do that.

Looking back now, I think I might have already developed psychological problems back then, but no one noticed, not even myself. I was still fine, getting up at the same time every day, going for a run, then training, eating, and then sleeping. I only had occasional insomnia, but that was only occasional.

Occasionally, I can't sleep, and sometimes I can't help it, so I take Fang Xiaocan's melatonin. After taking it a lot, I got used to it, and even my bad habit of mild insomnia disappeared. I went to bed early and got up early, and I became perfectly normal again. So I once again convinced myself that I was perfectly healthy.

I never argued with anyone, nor did I cry in front of others. I wasn't particularly happy, but I wasn't extremely sad either. Everyone praised me for being calm in the face of both honor and disgrace, but that wasn't really the case. I guess I was just gradually becoming numb from countless nightmares back then.

Coach Huang said that it was normal to feel pressure, and I believed him at the time, or rather, I was convinced of it. Now it seems that I was just subjectively deceiving myself about those abnormal factors, deceiving myself in order to trick myself into participating in the competition and to prevent myself from indulging in the thought of running away.

But Coach Xu still noticed. That perceptive old man knew me too well. He could always find things that even I couldn't find myself. So that day, he suddenly asked me with great concern if something was wrong.

I shook my head, not because there were no bad things, but simply because there were too many bad things, and I didn't know where to begin.

Coach Xu told me to think it over carefully. He felt that my current condition was completely unsuitable for participating in such a large-scale competition. On the bright side, it might be a desperate fight to win, but on the dark side, it might be a relapse of my old illness that would cause me to faint on the field.

I told him I had no decision-making power, and Coach Xu said very seriously that he would listen to my answer and that if I said I didn't want to participate, he would fight for me even if it meant giving up his own job.

But I finally agreed. I said that for such an important competition, my own well-being is the least important thing. The team needs me, and the country needs me, so I have to go. It's a very simple principle: I am an athlete, and my deepest and greatest wish is to win glory for my country.

My injury flared up as early as the quarterfinals. I was already at my limit, but I had no choice. After losing the other half of the bracket, I knew I had no way out.

I played with a painkiller injection and fought tooth and nail to get to the semifinals. After the semifinals, my throat was sore and I spat out a little blood. Coach Xu was almost scared to death, but I didn't let him tell anyone. Anyway, it wouldn't have made any difference if he did. What I needed was victory, not health.

However, there was no miracle in the end. Coach Xu was right; I only made it to the finals through sheer willpower. In the past, playing against Angelica would have been no problem at all, but unfortunately, the "Zhou Zeyu of the past" is no longer there.

Sorkov, it's not that I can't accept failure, nor is it that I can't accept starting over. I've persevered through so much hardship and difficulty, so what are these?

But I can't accept that one day they suddenly tell me that nobody cares about how you are in Belgrade, or about your injuries or recovery. They say you are completely insignificant and that they are keeping you around because they don't have a better option, but once they have a choice, I will be deleted without hesitation.

Then what am I? What does everything I've done matter? So easily erased from all traces, squeezed dry of every last bit of profit, and then decisively discarded. In their eyes, what am I? A commodity? A slave?

Last night, it suddenly dawned on me how Coach Huang could have approved my recuperation in Belgrade. Was he really that kind? Would he really use public funds to allow a loser who was still recovering from a serious illness to live a carefree life in a foreign country? Of course not. He just wanted to get rid of me and then find a better target to use. Before I even realized what was happening, he decisively kicked me out, leaving me no time to resist.

He knows my temper. If I were in China right now, I wouldn't let this go. Even if it ruined my future, I would make a huge scene with him. But now everything is much easier. I don't have time for it, and I don't want to argue with him anymore.

Sorkov, I'm really tired.

Do you remember what I said at the beginning, what was the most regrettable decision I ever made?

It wasn't a single decision; it was made up of many decisions. For example, leaving the Zhejiang team for the Beijing team, not immediately going to the hospital to check my knee, taking over the baton left by Cen Zheng, and pushing myself to the limit to compete in the finals.

Having made so many wrong decisions, it seems that God has been merciful to see things come to this point. At least my right leg wasn't amputated, I didn't die on the field, and I didn't commit suicide to end it all.

But, but...

But why should I suffer all of this?