Zeng Lingxiao (Part 4)

She hasn't had a nightmare in a long time.

So when she found herself in a familiar scene again, surrounded by spotlights and crowds, Zhou Zeyu froze. She looked around helplessly, trying to find evidence that it was all an illusion, but it wasn't; it was a nightmare.

One thing pulled her back to that memory once again, so cruelly forcing her to confront those painful nightmares.

She clutched her bright red team uniform and looked at the still-young Coach Huang beside her. His broad body partially blocked her view, shielding her from the cameras and also preventing her from looking out.

In front of the microphone, Coach Huang spoke fluently in a language she couldn't understand, repeating phrases like "winning glory for the country" and "creating new glories." Coach Huang's tone was always too glib, using lofty words while secretly plotting something. She didn't like listening to him.

She looked around and saw the words "Table Tennis Team Olympic Athletes Conference" written above her head. Then she looked again and the words suddenly became grotesque and twisted, and then suddenly fell down and hit her on the head.

After a series of crackling sounds, the venue suddenly fell silent—an eerie, chilling silence. She opened her eyes, her vision blurred with tears, and saw Coach Huang put down the microphone, turn around, and look at her coldly.

"Zhou Zeyu, why did you sabotage this conference?"

She frantically waved her hands, trying to explain, but found that she couldn't make a sound at all. Her throat felt like it was glued shut, and even her legs felt like they were filled with lead, making it impossible for her to move. She stood frozen in place, her face full of terror.

Coach Huang's accusations rained down on her like a storm. She tried to shrink away, but it was no use. The rain was like sulfuric acid, burning her with intense stinging.

After the thunderstorm ended, she looked up and saw countless cameras, large and small, pointed at her face. The operators hidden behind the cameras seemed to be happy to see her in such a disheveled state. The shutter clicked, accompanied by the clatter of keyboards, and then the reports rushed out, almost overwhelming her.

She grabbed a newspaper and glanced at it. It was a report about her winning the World Youth Championship many years ago, but her face had been blacked out, and even the headlines "Genius Girl Emerges Out of Nowhere" had been cut out and replaced with words like "Fake," "Garbage," and "Waste" that had been forcefully carved in with a marker.

The thin paper of the newspaper suddenly became incredibly hot. She cried out and let go. Finally, some fragmented syllables could be heard in her throat. She struggled to say something, but in the end, she had nothing to say and lowered her head in silence.

She seemed to nod in agreement, but then she thought of everything she had suffered and felt pained, yet unwilling to accept it. At the same time, she felt that the team's generational changes would probably last until the day she returned.

But at that moment, the spotlight shining on her suddenly went out, and at the same time the lights across the venue came on, under which stood the glamorous Feng Yifan. The media and cameras scattered, scrambling to get in front of her, a bizarre and absurd scene.

Just then, the character "会" (meeting) from the "Mobilization Meeting" sign above her head, which hadn't fallen down yet, suddenly started to wobble and loosen before crashing down on her head.

She fainted, and in her daze, she heard someone calling her name. It sounded a bit like Coach Xu, and a bit like her parents. She tried hard to identify them, but found that she could no longer open her eyes.

Zhou Zeyu!

She suddenly opened her eyes, only to be met with a blurry expanse of darkness. As her vision slowly cleared in the darkness, Zhou Zeyu's confused consciousness gradually returned to normal. She touched the area on her left chest with lingering fear and then closed her eyes heavily.

Her heavy breathing echoed in the silent room. The Belgrade night was so quiet, so quiet that it was both frightening and lonely.

Her phone screen suddenly lit up. She picked it up and looked at it; it was just an insignificant advertisement, and no one had sent her any messages.

Zhou Zeyu tossed her phone aside and closed her eyes again, trying to fall asleep. But she tossed and turned without feeling sleepy. Those fragmented memories were pieced together and completely occupied her mind, without her even realizing it.

Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. She covered her eyes and sobbed painfully and strugglingly.

But back then, she was just a naive fool, so foolish that she thought her decision was so right. Little did she know that the gift of fate had a price tag in secret. She was completely fooled until she woke up from the dream and realized her regret.

How could you be so stupid? How could you be so foolish! If only none of this had happened.

But there aren't that many "what ifs" in the world.

What has happened cannot be reversed, and all sorts of changes will follow one after another without stopping. She has long since lost her options. What the media said was not wrong; she has only herself to blame.

This is all she should do.

Zhou Zeyu got out of bed, quietly walked to the dark living room, sat on the sofa with her legs drawn up, buried her head in her arms, and remained motionless.

She was waiting for dawn; once dawn broke, everything would be alright.

However, things didn't get better.

By the time Sorkov rushed to Zhou Zeyu's building, the sun was high in the sky. He quickly made another call, but just like countless others before, all he heard was a mechanical busy tone.

No one answered him. He knocked on the door urgently, but still no one answered.

In desperation, Sorkov gritted his teeth, rummaged through the corner of the flowerpot for the spare key, opened the door, and went inside. He was frantic, searching for everything, but he couldn't find anyone anywhere. Finally, all that remained was the locked storage room.

He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, and knocked on the door. He called Zhou Zeyu's name softly. There was a rustling sound inside, and then Zhou Zeyu opened the door. "Is there something you need?"

Sorkov was stunned. He had imagined many possibilities, thought that she would be sad, that she would break down, or even that she would be heartbroken, but he never expected her to be so calm, so calm as if nothing had happened, just tidying up the clutter by herself.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I was just worried something had happened to you."

Zhou Zeyu shook his head and lowered his eyes. "There's nothing to say. You can go back now."

Compared to loud crying and heart-wrenching screams, this indifferent attitude seemed to hurt more. Sorkov showed a stinging expression, like a child who had made a mistake, standing there helplessly, wanting to speak several times but remaining silent.

However, Zhou Zeyu did not say anything more. She lowered her head, one hand still on the handle, as if she was ready to close the door and see the guest off at any time. Her expression was indifferent and aloof, as if the visitor was just an uninvited stranger.

“I’ll be fine, and you don’t need to worry about me. I’m perfectly fine. Just don’t go into other people’s houses again next time,” she said. “Go back now.”

After saying that, she withdrew her hand and prepared to close the door. Solkov reacted quickly and used his shoulder to block the door. The huge force hit him and he couldn't help but frown. He looked down and saw Zhou Zeyu staring at him with wide eyes, looking incredulously at his shoulder that had been caught.

She sneered, "Sorkov, I have no intention of ruining your athletic career, and please don't try to frame me again."

She paused, seemingly unsettled by his words, looking at him helplessly, unable to utter a word.

“Zhou Zeyu,” Solkov stared intently into her eyes, “I disagree with what you said before. You have never been worthless, nor have you ever been manipulated. You are, in my opinion, the most outstanding table tennis player of the 21st century, and you still are now.”

“No,” Zhou Zeyu suddenly spoke, her voice shrill, “You don’t understand, you don’t get it! I’m not a great athlete, I’m despicable, I’m a coward, I’m fame-seeking and profit-driven, I’m treacherous, I’ve never been a good person, much less a good athlete.”

“Every step I’ve taken has been a mistake. I regret it so much, but it’s too late!”

She closed her eyes, but tears still fell silently. She took a deep breath, as if drawing on great strength, and said weakly, "Those things, I was wrong. Wrong is wrong, there's nothing to say. I could have foreseen today's outcome, I can understand it. I shouldn't blame you, much less hold a grudge against you. This has nothing to do with you, it's my responsibility."

She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away. "Don't feel guilty. This has nothing to do with you. It's something neither of us can change. Go back. I'm fine. I'm not a child. I won't act on my emotions, and I won't try to kill myself. You don't need to worry about me. I'll just have to get through a few days. It'll all be over soon."

Sorkov watched her, waiting for her next move, but the door that should have been closed remained open. The protagonist, who had the right to choose, simply held the handle and stood there silently, looking shockingly haggard.

She seemed to be going through a complex and cruel internal struggle, her face showing a variety of conflicting emotions as she weighed her options and struggled. Finally, Sorkov heard her let out a long sigh.

"I want to tell you... tell you something about me."

She smiled, then said with a hint of self-abandonment, "Keeping it in my heart for too long has been too painful for me, and I really can't help but want to say it now."

"Many things don't actually come out of nowhere. Don't pity me, because I knew there might be this consequence the day I made my choice. I was just too arrogant, thinking I was the special one, but in the end I couldn't escape it."

She laughed self-deprecatingly, opened the door, and gestured for him to come in and sit down. The storage room was actually empty, containing only some scattered cushions and a small table with two cups on it; she had already anticipated his arrival.