Chapter 56
The cold December wind was completely dispelled by the volcanic enthusiasm in the U-17 World Cup final venue.
The huge sound waves hit the eardrums like a substance. The iconic, uniform and oppressive cheering waves of the Hyotei Tennis Club were like the sharpest ice spikes, piercing through the defenses of all opponents and making the entire venue tremble.
I sat in an inconspicuous corner of the audience, my palms slightly sweaty from nervousness, but my eyes were like the most accurate searchlight, firmly locked on the figure in the Japanese team uniform on the center court.
Atobe Keigo.
He stepped onto the world stage.
After only two months of not seeing him, the boy's upright figure seemed to have grown taller, his shoulders broader, and his handsome face had lost the last trace of its youthfulness, leaving only a calmness and sharpness like tempered ice.
The hellish training in the U-17 training camp not only honed his football skills, but also forged his iron will.
Every serve carries a whistling sound that tears through the air, and every return is as precise as a scalpel. Beneath the gorgeous technique lies a foundation that has been honed through countless trials and tribulations.
Singles number three.
The crucial game that decides victory.
Sweat soaked his jersey and his breathing was heavy, but the fire burning in his eyes never went out, but instead burned brighter and brighter.
That is not a flame of innate talent, but a fire of will that belongs only to Keigo Atobe, forged after countless days and nights of sweat and countless times of struggling to break through on the edge of the limit!
finally!
When the tennis ball, which embodied all his faith and strength, hit the sideline like a meteor, the referee's voice echoed through the loudspeaker throughout the stadium:
“Game and match! Japan Atobe Keigo wins!”
Win!
He won!
He won his world-class victory!
The heart in my chest seems to be about to break free and jump out!
I stood up suddenly and clapped my hands vigorously amid the deafening cheers from the audience and the roars from the Hyotei support seats that almost blew the roof off.
Looking at him standing in the middle of the court, sweat dripping, his chest heaving violently, but his chin held high, his eyes filled with the glory of victory and a reborn king's demeanor.
An indescribable excitement and pride washed over me.
From the proud but slightly immature Ice Emperor in the second grade of junior high school to the warrior standing at the top of the world today, I have witnessed the hardships, sweat, unwillingness and transformation he has gone through along the way.
He was not born the son of God. He used efforts beyond the imagination of ordinary people to cut through the thorns and create this glorious world for himself, for Hyotei, and for Japan - Atobe Keigo!
During the short break between games, people gathered at the players' tunnel.
I suppressed my surging emotions, walked quickly through the excited crowd, and walked towards the figure who had just finished a fierce battle and was being surrounded by teammates and walked towards the rest area.
"Atobe." I walked up to him, my voice slightly hoarse.
He was wiping the sweat off his face with the towel handed to him by Huadi when he suddenly looked up when he heard the voice.
Sweat slid down his angular jawline, and my figure was clearly reflected in his eyes. He was stunned at first, and then that stunned feeling was instantly illuminated by huge surprise, like fireworks suddenly blooming in the night sky.
"Wishan?" The corners of his mouth rose uncontrollably, that smile was pure and bright, with the afterglow of victory and genuine joy of seeing me, "Why are you..." He obviously didn't expect me to appear here at all.
"Congratulations," I said sincerely, looking at him. "You won beautifully."
He walked towards me with a smile, opened his arms and wanted to hug me.
However, the next moment, the phone in my pocket started vibrating wildly like a death warrant.
It’s my uncle.
An ominous premonition instantly gripped my heart.
I answered the phone, and my uncle's voice came through the receiver, carrying an unprecedented heaviness and urgency:
"Xiaoyin, your master...is dying! Come back immediately! Come back as fast as you can!"
Buzz——!
It was as if a thunder exploded above my head!
In an instant, all sounds disappeared. The deafening cheers in the venue and the voice of Atobe close at hand all turned into a vague buzzing.
The blood seemed to freeze instantly and the hands and feet became cold.
"Impossible!" I immediately retorted, my lips trembling, "I just a few days ago..." In the video a few days ago, the master was still energetic and told me not to slack off in practicing.
"She's been holding on." My uncle's voice was choked with pain. "I didn't want to worry you... In fact, she's already... at the end of her rope... Come back soon! See her one last time!"
The phone slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a "pa".
I stood there, my face pale as paper, my body shaking uncontrollably. The immense grief and disbelief instantly engulfed me like a tsunami. My throat seemed to be strangled and I couldn't utter a word.
"Kiriyama?" The smile on Atobe's face completely disappeared. He grabbed my cold wrist and said with an unprecedented anxiety and tension in his voice, "What's wrong with you? What happened?"
I looked at his face so close to me, which was full of worry. I moved my lips a few times, but I could only bite my lower lip tightly, tasting the rusty taste of blood.
A huge sadness blocked my chest, and the suffocating feeling made me speechless.
Just then, there was a sudden commotion at the entrance to the player tunnel.
Several tall and imposing men in black suits ignored the staff's obstruction, quickly separated the crowd like a black tide, and rushed to me with a clear goal.
The leader had a stern face and eyes as sharp as a hawk. He bowed slightly to me and spoke in a low voice, yet it carried undeniable pressure and urgency:
"Miss Nine!"
"The car is ready, and we've applied to the Air Traffic Control Bureau for a private jet line!"
"This is an emergency. Return home immediately! Please!"
Miss Nine.
This name was like a drop of water thrown into boiling oil, instantly causing an uproar among the Japanese team surrounding Atobe!
Genichirō Sanada, Seiichi Yukimura, Yuji Oshitari, Kuranosuke Shiraishi... everyone's eyes were focused on me in shock. The noisy cheers for victory just now froze in an instant, replaced by whispers of disbelief and inquiring glances.
"What is Miss Nine?"
"Private jet line?"
"What on earth is this..."
At this moment, his identity was suddenly exposed to everyone.
But at this moment, I have no time to care about anyone's reaction.
"Master...something happened..." I finally squeezed out a few broken words from my throat with difficulty, and my eyes painfully swept across Atobe's shocked and worried face, "I...I'm leaving first!"
Having said that, I didn't stop for a moment.
Under the silent but firm protection of those black-clad bodyguards, I turned around as if being carried away by an invisible force, and almost staggered into the shadow of the player's tunnel without looking back.
The hand extended by Atobe, the astonished gazes of his teammates, the glory of victory just won, the hug that had not yet been shared... all were left behind in the noisy and frozen light and shadow behind him.
Outside the passage, there were thunderous cheers; inside, there was only the sound of my hurried, heavy footsteps and the silent, swift escort of my bodyguards. A flood of grief, like an icy tide, surged from all directions, instantly drowning the entire world.
The plane broke through the clouds, and the roar of the engine could not cover up the heartbeat like a drum in my chest.
The journey was like a long and painful torture.
The car my uncle had sent was already waiting on the tarmac. It sped along at lightning speed, the streetscape outside the window rapidly receding, blurring into a gray, shimmering light. Finally, the car stopped at the quiet underground entrance of a top private hospital.
Didn't go home.
This realization pierced my heart like an icicle.
Under the silent escort of the bodyguards, we passed through the cold corridor filled with the smell of disinfectant. The elevator rose silently and finally stopped in front of the heavy door of the ward that separated life and death.
My uncle stood at the door, his face as solemn as iron. When he saw me, he just nodded heavily and made way.
I pushed open the door.
The cold, rhythmic ticking of the instruments filled the air. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant, mingling with a stagnant, decaying silence, like a life about to burn out.
On the hospital bed, the figure that was once as majestic as a mountain was now submerged in snow-white bedding and countless cold tubes.
The oxygen mask covered most of her face, revealing only her tightly closed eyes and sunken eye sockets. Various instruments whose names I couldn't pronounce flickered faintly, and the curves and numbers dancing on the screens were the cold chains that held her last breath.
I moved forward step by step, my steps were light, as if I was walking on cotton.
Each step felt so heavy that it seemed to drain all my strength.
Finally he walked to the bed, reached out his hand tremblingly, and gently stroked her hand that was exposed outside the quilt.
That hand...
In memory, these hands were as strong as steel, able to easily swing a whip, tear the air, and shatter countless darknesses in the legendary years of blood and rain.
It also gently brushed across my head, bringing with it the coolness of morning dew in the mountains.
But at this moment, it was as skinny as a piece of rotten wood that had lost all its moisture, with its skin loosely wrapped around its bony joints, and its bluish-purple blood vessels bulging hideously, winding under its pale, almost transparent skin.
Cold, stiff, lifeless.
How come...you're so thin?
Have you lost so much weight since I left last year?
I bit my lower lip tightly, my teeth sinking deep into the flesh, tasting the strong smell of blood. My eyes were sore and painful, and scalding liquid was surging wildly in the depths of my eyes, but I used all my strength to suppress it.
My uncle and the doctor in a white coat walked in quietly.
The doctor's voice was low, professionally calm, but every word was as sharp as a knife:
"Miss Nine... the old lady's bodily functions are nearing... exhaustion. These instruments are merely... maintaining her last remaining vital signs. She is now in a deep sleep... If she awakens next time, I'm afraid... it will be a final resurgence."
He paused, his tone filled with relief, "He was over eighty years old, and had practiced martial arts in his early years, which had damaged his physical foundation. At this age... it can be considered a happy death."
Happy funeral?
Those two words burned into my heart like a red-hot iron. I stared at my master's peaceful yet lifeless face as he slept, a vast emptiness and sadness instantly swallowing up all my senses.
My uncle patted my shoulder, sighed silently, and gestured for the doctor to leave. The heavy door closed gently, leaving my master and me in the dead silence dominated by the sound of instruments.
I pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.
His eyes greedily traced the sleeping face of his master. Those turbulent memories that had been deliberately sealed away, like a flood bursting through a dam, rushed out uncontrollably...
When I was very young, the world was colorful, and then it was suddenly splashed with thick ink.
Mom and Dad went out and never came back.
As a little kid, I didn’t understand what death was. I just felt that the place they went to was very far away.
My uncle came, took my hand, and led me into a world shrouded in black and white. Cold photos hung on the wall, so solemn that it was breathtaking.
In the middle of the room, there were two long boxes. Later I learned that they were called coffins.
The face of the person lying inside looked so familiar, yet so strange, and so cold without a trace of warmth.
I wasn't even as tall as the box, so I stood on tiptoe and peered through the gaps in the flowers covering it. The light fell palely on their faces. I reached out, wanting to touch Mom's face, but my fingertips only touched the cold glass.
"Uncle," I looked up, my voice filled with the confusion and innocence of a child, "When will Mom and Dad wake up? They even promised to take me to learn martial arts! Just like the female warriors on TV!"
In his little heart, there was only the longing for "learning martial arts", which, like a glittering candy, covered up the fear of "not waking up".
My uncle squatted down and picked me up. My vision suddenly rose, and I could clearly see my parents in the box again.
Pale lights, cold glass, lifeless faces...
A huge, inexplicable sadness suddenly gripped my heart like an icy hand, and tears rolled down without warning, hitting my uncle's shoulder.
Why are you crying? I don't know.
Why they never woke up again? I don't know.
I just felt like there was a big hole in my heart, and cold wind was blowing in.
Later, my uncle asked me, "Xiaoyin, what do you want to learn?"
I wiped my tears and said with a nasal voice, but with great determination: "Learn martial arts! I want to be as powerful as the female warriors on TV! Then... then I will never again... never be so useless!"
The little fist was clenched tightly, as if that would give him the strength to no longer feel powerless and at a loss in facing the future.
My uncle agreed and took me to Yunnan.
Moist air, rolling hills, and...
The first time I met my master, she was wearing a washed-out coarse cloth, her hair was gray, and her face was full of wrinkles from time. She looked just like the old lady basking in the sun at the corner of the alley.
Only those eyes, sharp as a hawk that can penetrate people's hearts, carry the unfathomable wisdom and vicissitudes soaked in the long years.
She looked at me with a calm gaze, without pity, only scrutiny.
Then she nodded and accepted me.
We lived in Yunnan for a while. The humid, hot climate was a bit of a nuisance, and I felt listless all day. Without saying anything, the master quietly packed his simple bag and took me with him, like two rootless duckweed, to many more places.
I've seen the skies of Gannan, the mountains and rivers of Yunnan and Guizhou, the prosperous Land of Abundance, and the traditional heartland of the Central Plains. My master said that warriors walk on the road, grow on the road, and practice on the road.
I slowly sprouted branches and leaves beside my master.
I grow up day by day, but my master gets older day by day.
The straight back gradually became hunched, and the sharp eyes were slowly covered with the dust of time.
We were like a pair of real grandparents and grandchildren, living in the most ordinary of urban life. She taught me martial arts, step by step, with unfeeling sternness; she also taught me how to read and write, and taught me the principles of life, but her tone was as gentle as a spring breeze.
ten years.
From an ignorant child to a young girl, in the fifteen years, my master held my hand and walked with me step by step for ten years.
She watched me grow up and become a tall little tree.
But she is like a towering old tree in the deep forests of the southwest, which has been weathered and is about to reach the end of its life. Its branches and leaves have withered, leaving only the strong but cracked trunk, silently telling the vicissitudes of the past in the wind.
At this moment, this old tree lies before me, its breathing so weak that it is almost imperceptible, relying entirely on the cold machinery to maintain the last bit of light.
Finally, I could no longer control my tears and they silently fell.
The hot tears fell on the back of my skinny hand that was holding hers, leaving a small dark wet mark.
I bit my lower lip tightly, not daring to let out a sob, afraid to disturb the cruel silence bestowed by fate. The immense sadness weighed on my chest like a heavy rock, nearly suffocating me, with only my shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
The phone in my pocket had been in a faint call state for some time. The screen was dimly lit, indicating the length of the call.
Far away in Tokyo, Keigo Atobe gripped his cell phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.
The phone was pressed against his ear, and what came from it was not any words, only extremely suppressed, tiny and broken sobs, and the monotonous and regular ticking background sound of the cold instrument.
That sound, like the finest needle, pierced his heart again and again.
He leaned against the cold wall, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and felt a surge of heartache, anxiety, and helplessness.
He didn't dare to hang up or speak, but just listened silently, listening to the silent and heartbreaking grief of the girl on the other side of the ocean who had never shown such a vulnerable side to him before, facing the heaviest farewell in her life.
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