The bow lasted for a full ten seconds.
When Lin Yiyang finally looked up, he immediately reached for a piece of chalk. He looked like he was in a hurry to get back to the match, but in reality, he was avoiding the live cameras, wanting the tears to vanish the moment he lowered his head.
***
In the lounge, Yin Guo watched the man on the screen stand tall. She saw that his eyes were still red. Some things couldn't be hidden or suppressed—especially tears. No one could completely control their emotions.
"Lin Yiyang was He Wenfeng’s last disciple, though it’s a pity he left the fold early," the commentator’s voice echoed through the lounge. "It seems he has never forgotten his mentor."
"This player’s personal history is quite interesting. He spent the past year playing nine-ball in the United States, and everyone speculated he might change his nationality. Yet, up until this China Open, he has remained a Chinese citizen."
The two commentators continued their chatter.
It was currently a break period, so the staff, players, and sparring partners at the training base were all watching the match.
From the very beginning until today, Lin Yiyang had always been a controversial player.
Even his bow just now drew negative remarks from some of the male players. "Jiang Yang and Meng Xiaodong’s positions are under threat. This guy has the skill and the calculation. That bow just earned him a lot of favor with the public."
Another male player chimed in, "He’s a money-grubber. He swept up prize money in all those local nine-ball tournaments in the States."
"He does it for the money. There are all sorts of small local tournaments over there with decent prize pools," a thin-faced man said. "If you go out and lose, there’s no prize money, and you’re out the cost of flights and hotels. You’d lose money."
"The heart of nine-ball has always been in Asia; this is where the real masters are. If he wants to play here, he wouldn't even make the rankings."
These two were both newcomers who had emerged this year. The thin-faced one had just won his first title at a tournament in Hangzhou and was currently the man of the hour.
Yin Guo glanced back.
Lin Lin happened to be standing there with her arms crossed, wearing her coach’s uniform. She had heard the conversation as well. She didn't even blink. When it came to arrogance, no one could beat the crowd from Dongxincheng. She was thinking that when she was in a better mood, she’d grab these two boys for a sparring match to show them that there was always someone better.
"Alright everyone, the afternoon sparring session is about to begin. It’ll be mixed-gender pairs again," Lin Lin announced.
The people present began to leave their seats. Yin Guo took one last look at the man on the screen. Seeing him in his dress shirt, she remembered him in that apartment last year, buttoning his shirt and asking her: *Does it look okay?*
...
She could see it. The way Lin Yiyang wore his shirt, the gesture of him fastening his buttons—it was all a display for her, showing the memories of the countless times he had stood in the backstage of an arena, memories etched into his very marrow.
Yin Guo walked side-by-side with Lin Lin toward the training room and suddenly asked, "We can choose our own opponents today, right?"
There was a hint of a smile in Lin Lin’s eyes, as if asking: *Who do you want?*
Yin Guo looked toward the Hangzhou champion.
Lin Lin gave an "OK" gesture. "Perfect. He was looking for someone of equal strength too."
The opponent Yin Guo chose was in his prime, sharp and brimming with confidence, having been selected for the national team right at his debut. Yin Guo, meanwhile, was last year’s World Championship runner-up and a key focus of the national team’s development.
A battle between "Rookie Kings"—it was no less a spectacle than the snooker match currently taking place at the Olympic Center.
Furthermore, snooker required careful layout and strategy; the star players were all a bunch of calculating "old men," and watching them required patience. Nine-ball, however, was fast-paced and aggressive. The players had more individual flair, and every shot carried a murderous intent.
When it came to a real fight, nine-ball was much more exhilarating.
The frames were fast, the combat fierce, and the various trick shots were dazzling.
Yin Guo brought out her true skill. With this surge of adrenaline, the other girls playing against the men also got fired up. From their positioning to their strokes, not a single girl showed any mercy.
Yin Guo, in particular, performed exceptionally.
One by one, the colored balls dropped into the pockets—no suspense, no error.
Lin Lin and a few sparring partners stood to the side drinking green tea, cheering from time to time, thoroughly enjoying the show.
Across the twelve tables of competition, the female players had a remarkably high win rate.
Because Yin Guo’s table was a match of equals, the game was fraught with danger and thick with the scent of gunpowder. Finally, Lin Lin wrote the final score on the whiteboard: 11-8. Having won the match, Yin Guo leaned against the edge of the table with both hands. The stray hairs at her temples were soaked with sweat, and her eyelashes were heavy with it too, blurring her vision every time she blinked.
"Impressive," the man opposite her had to admit.
She caught her breath and said to her opponent, "Last year, I played Lin Yiyang in New York, and I lost. His achievements in this sport aren't just talk. If you don't respect him, use this."
She gripped her cue tightly in her right hand and finished, "On the table, we only speak with this."
***
Inside the Olympic Center Gymnasium, it was so quiet there wasn't a single stray sound.
Meng Xiaodong sat by the table, watching his old rival.
In the first half of the match, Meng Xiaodong had held a dominant 3-1 lead. But afterward, Lin Yiyang had surged forward, winning four consecutive frames with century breaks in each, turning the score to 3-5.
Perhaps it was because his teacher was present, or perhaps because he was filled with a different kind of emotion for this place. Lin Yiyang’s positioning had been very cautious at first, but from the sixth frame onward, he had become increasingly free-spirited.
There weren't many red balls left on the table.
Lin Yiyang wasn't in a hurry to strike. It seemed he really wanted to break a record in this frame. He walked to a side table and picked up a glass of iced green tea. He sipped the tea while quietly observing the layout of the table.
Soon, he returned.
After leaning down into a stance, he felt it wasn't quite right and stood straight again. His lips were pressed thin as he thought within his own world, calculating how to achieve a 147 maximum break.
"We see Lin Yiyang picking up the rest, but it doesn't seem comfortable for him," the commentator noted. "From this angle, is he trying to commit 'suicide'?" The commentator chuckled, a hint of anticipation and tension in his voice.
The angle Lin Yiyang was attempting was one where the slightest mistake would send the cue ball into the pocket. This was a risk someone like Meng Xiaodong would never take. This was the difference between the two men.
"He’s putting down the rest."
Suddenly, without any apparent preparation, Lin Yiyang delivered a stroke. The black ball dropped into the pocket, and the cue ball, after hitting the edge of the pocket, bounced back out.
A collective gasp of surprise rippled through the hall, followed by a burst of rhythmic, brief applause.
This time he didn't pause. He swiped his cue tip with chalk, walked to the other side of the table, and struck again. The black ball, just reset by the referee, dropped again, followed immediately by a red.
He was continuously clearing the reds and continuously sinking the highest-value black ball.
"What a shot!" Time and again, he managed to create opportunities for himself to sink the black.
The applause in the arena suddenly grew enthusiastic, yet it remained brief, quickly returning to silence to give the player space.
Lin Yiyang leaned down, his left hand forming a bridge. He stared at the cue ball and the black ball, observed for a second, and then stood straight again.
He was thinking about his positioning.
After a few seconds of thought, he suddenly leaned down and fired a shot. The black ball dropped, and the cue ball traveled halfway around the table, colliding with the cushions before coming to a steady rest in a beautiful position—still a perfect angle for the next shot.
The final red ball dropped into the pocket with a thud.
Only the colored balls remained on the table. He only needed to clear them in order, one by one, and this frame—and this group match—would be his.
Amidst the applause, Lin Yiyang became increasingly relaxed.
One by one, the colored balls dropped.
When only the cue ball and the black ball remained on the table, the applause came unexpectedly early.
This applause wasn't just to congratulate him on winning the frame; it was to congratulate him on the fact that, in this final frame, he was about to achieve the second 147 maximum break of his professional career.
Meng Xiaodong was the first to stand up, extending his right hand toward him. "Congratulations."
The referee also smiled, shaking Lin Yiyang’s hand and whispering, "Congratulations."
Everyone knew that with Lin Yiyang’s skill level, the final black ball was a guaranteed sink, and the final points were as good as his. Thus, before the final black ball even touched the pocket, everyone from the audience to his opponent and the referee chose to celebrate in advance.
To hit a second maximum break just over a year after returning to the circuit—his future would be one of boundless glory, without a doubt.
Furthermore, on the first day of the main draw of the Open, on his home soil, a domestic player had set a maximum break record. This glory didn't just belong to Lin Yiyang; it was a glory for the entire Chinese contingent!
From the first maximum break in 1982 until today, there had only been a little over a hundred 147-point breaks in the entire history of snooker.
Every single maximum break was recorded by the International Billiards and Snooker Federation.
Every single one.
Lin Yiyang finally gave Meng Xiaodong a light pat on the back, as if telling him: *Old friend, sorry, I win this one.*
Meng Xiaodong gave him a slight smile and stepped back two paces like a gentleman, giving the table back to him.
He picked up the chalk and rubbed the cue tip. He leaned down and, without even needing to aim specifically, delivered the stroke. In the hours of practice every day since he was a child, he had probably played a shot with this angle and this power hundreds of thousands of times.
There could be no error.
The black ball slammed into the corner pocket at high speed—no suspense, no deviation.
Cheers erupted, and the entire hall burst into applause.
The audience gave Lin Yiyang a standing ovation, thanking him and Meng Xiaodong for the brilliant match they had provided. As fans, how lucky they were to witness such a spectacular game and the birth of a maximum break.
In the center of the spotlights, amidst the tidal waves of applause, Lin Yiyang glanced at his teacher’s seat. It was already empty. He figured the old man was getting on in years and couldn't handle sitting for too long, so he had already left. He waved to the audience, nodded in acknowledgment, and then carried his cue into the tunnel leading to the backstage lounge. Waiting for him on either side of the tunnel were Wu Wei, Jiang Yang, and Fan Wencong.
Jiang Yang gave his younger fellow disciple a direct hug, patting his back heavily. "Teacher said you played well."
"He’s waiting for you in the back," Jiang Yang added as he let go.
The two men looked at each other. The man who was fearless in battle on the table now looked toward the exit of the tunnel...
"What? You don't dare go out?" Jiang Yang asked. "Are you scared?"
He was scared.
There were very few people in this world who could make him feel fear.
It was a fear born of reverence, a reverence that hadn't faded with age. Instead, after the trials of time, it had become even clearer, like a massive, real stone weighing on his heart, making him afraid to move.
He took off his bow tie and slowly tucked it into his trouser pocket. With his brothers nudging him from behind, he gripped his cue and began to walk.
They had to meet eventually. He had asked himself countless times in foreign lands: *If I return to China and the old man has already passed away, what will I do? Lin Yiyang, what are you still waiting for? Why must you wait until you have the strength to return to the national stage, the strength to win a championship, before coming back?*
*Aren't you afraid?*
*A man in his eighties could go at any time. Are you really not afraid?*
His field of vision gradually widened.
The backstage staff and the resting players were all in their own worlds, either busy or trying to calm their minds to find the best mental state for the arena...
And the old man was sitting in a black leather folding chair that had been temporarily brought out, just outside the Chinese lounge. Two family members were by his side. They had all seen Lin Yiyang before and recognized him; as soon as they saw him appear, they happily leaned down to whisper in the old man’s ear.
Under his teacher’s gaze, Lin Yiyang moved his legs toward the chair.
His teacher, whose back had once been ramrod straight, could no longer straighten up at all. He was truly tired; watching a snooker match had exhausted his strength. Behind his reading glasses, those eyes held the joy and relief of "finally meeting."
Lin Yiyang tried to call out "Teacher," but it was as if he had lost his voice. A rough palm brushed over the back of his hand and gripped it tight. It was his teacher who took his hand first—his left hand, the one not holding the cue.
This grip felt just like the day he had first joined Dongxincheng as He Wenfeng’s disciple.
The indoor lighting was dim; only the lights over the individual tables were bright. From behind the slightly ajar office door came the sound of match commentary. To this day, even the smell of the billiard hall and the water marks left by mops on the concrete floor were etched into his mind.
In truth, he had known long ago that he was wrong.
He was wrong to be so stubborn, wrong to leave Dongxincheng, and wrong to refuse to admit even a single mistake back then. His greatest mistake was that he would rather abandon his mentor and brothers, rather abandon the "home" and the achievements he had worked so hard for, than bow his head.
The arrogant and stubborn youth had thought that leaving was the most graceful choice, the most principled departure. He had even thought everyone was intentionally making things difficult for him, intentionally suppressing him, intentionally trying to humiliate him... yet he had forgotten that it was clearly his own fault from the start. No matter where the fault lay, no matter how big or small, a mistake should be acknowledged, and one should bow their head.
"Xiao Liu..." He Wenfeng gripped his hand, his voice choked. After a long pause, he repeated, "Xiao Liu..."
Everyone thought Master He would comment on the maximum break frame just now.
Instead, Master He wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand and said with emotion, "You’ve grown taller. Your hands weren't this big before..."
*Teacher can't hold on anymore. I can't hold your hand anymore.*
Lin Yiyang knelt down, resting his cue on the floor. He took the old man’s hand in both of his—that hand which was now just skin over bone and joints, covered in wrinkles and protruding veins.
His eyes were full of tears as he looked at his teacher. "It’s cloudy outside. If it rains, it won't be convenient for someone of your age." The words were ordinary, but they were stuck in his throat, making them very difficult to finish. "In the future... if there’s a live match, I’ll call you in advance. Watch it at home."
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
---|---|---
贺文丰 | He Wenfeng | Lin Yiyang's former mentor/teacher.
147 / 满杆 | 147 / Maximum Break | The highest possible score in a single frame of snooker.
巧粉 | Chalk | Used to increase friction on the cue tip.
手架 | Rest / Bridge | A piece of equipment used to support the cue when the cue ball is out of reach.
小六 | Xiao Liu | "Little Six," Lin Yiyang's nickname based on his seniority among the disciples.
东新城 | Dongxincheng | The name of the snooker club/sect Lin Yiyang belonged to.
