Late that same night, Lin Yiyang’s old injury flared up. He sought out the team doctor for emergency treatment.
The third day marked the final day of competition at the billiards hall.
The morning session opened with the Men’s Snooker Singles.
Lin Yiyang and Meng Xiaodong dominated their respective group stages, knocking out top-tier Asian competitors to successfully meet in the grand final. As the two stood by the table, preparing to duel for the gold, Jiang Yang stood below the dais, remarking with no small amount of sentiment, "If I hadn't had surgery, those two wouldn't be having such an easy time." Coming from anyone else, it would have been a boast; coming from Jiang Yang, it was simply the truth.
After speaking, Jiang Yang still felt a pang of regret at being unable to play singles snooker in this rare Asian Games appearance. He turned to Li Qingyan, who also hadn't had the chance to compete in this event, and asked, "Hey, tell me, if the three of us hadn't retired back then, would you have ever had a chance to step onto this stage in your life?"
Not satisfied with just that, he added, "Our profession has such a long lifespan; people usually retire in their forties. I reckon you’d really be in trouble."
...
Fan Wencong didn't quite understand the dynamic and whispered to Wu Wei, "Does he have a grudge against that guy?"
Wu Wei gave a dry laugh and whispered back, "That guy is Yin Guo’s childhood friend. Apparently, they had a thing for a while, or he pursued her. Don't you remember? Last year in that New York hotel? Meng Xiaodong mentioned it."
*Oh... it’s him.*
No wonder. Jiang Yang was actually being merciful with his words.
At ten in the morning, the first gold medal of the day—the Men’s Snooker Singles—unexpectedly fell into Meng Xiaodong’s hands.
Lin Yiyang suffered a narrow defeat, taking home the silver.
Although Meng Xiaodong’s world ranking in snooker was higher than Lin Yiyang’s, his form over the past year had been poor—a fact known to all the commentators and fans present.
In truth, from the very first frame of the final, Meng Xiaodong could already sense that Lin Yiyang was struggling to win.
In a major international tournament like this, with so many eyes watching the live broadcast, Lin Yiyang couldn't afford to slack off even if he was struggling; otherwise, he would be accused of "match-fixing."
Fortunately, when the team doctor treated him the previous night, they had reported it to the Asian Games Organizing Committee, serving as a prior warning.
Lin Yiyang gave his all, completing the snooker final despite the flare-up of his old injury. Consequently, this triggered a total physical collapse by the afternoon.
After lunch, Lin Yiyang’s shoulder was completely swollen. He spent the entire time icing it while waiting to compete.
The 10-ball competition began at two o'clock.
His opponents in the group stage weren't too formidable, and he managed to endure until the semi-finals, where he faced a famous Indian player who was a favorite to win the Men’s 10-ball title.
Lin Yiyang was a professional in 9-ball and snooker; generally, those who played 9-ball would also appear on the 8-ball rankings. Thus, those three were considered his primary disciplines.
10-ball was merely a filler.
Both Lin Yiyang and Meng Xiaodong had been added to the roster at the last minute because there were no other suitable players to compete.
Under normal, healthy conditions, he could have put up a fight against his opponent. Now, however, his arm was completely powerless, and the gap became glaringly obvious. Starting from the third rack, he had to occasionally switch the cue to his other hand to alleviate the pain.
Although Lin Yiyang’s face showed no sign of the intense pain he was enduring, everyone on the Chinese team knew that their captain hadn't had a moment of relief since the previous night.
Lin Yiyang’s opponent noticed this as well and asked softly in English, "Are you okay?"
Lin Yiyang shook his head and replied in English, "Continue."
The referee took a break to ask if there was a problem and if he needed to pause the match.
Lin Yiyang shook his head, refusing again.
He knew his old injury well; a pause wouldn't help unless he withdrew entirely.
But having made it to the semi-finals, it would be a pity to quit now.
Meng Xiaodong had already finished his match. He left the arena and returned to the Chinese team’s lounge. Before he could even take a sip of water, he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jiang Yang, intently watching Lin Yiyang’s match.
"It’s a good thing you made it to the final," Jiang Yang said. "The gold medal shouldn't be a problem, right?"
"I don't know," Meng Xiaodong said honestly. "It’s not my main discipline either."
Jiang Yang nodded.
"It’s a good thing 10-ball isn't our forte," Wu Wei added from the side. "Otherwise, he’d definitely be getting flamed online."
One could easily imagine the comments about "wasting a roster spot."
Fortunately, the Chinese team didn't have a high chance of winning this event anyway, and they lacked top-tier specialists for it.
Yin Guo stared unblinkingly at the broadcast screen.
Lin Yiyang picked up his cup, took a sip of water, and set it back on the table.
As his hand touched his cue, he felt his arm give way. He apologetically explained to the referee that his shoulder was uncomfortable and asked if he could remove his vest.
After a request was filed, permission was granted.
Lin Yiyang quickly shed the black vest, handed it to the head coach, and returned to the table in his white shirt.
Holding his breath, he picked up a piece of chalk with his left hand and rubbed the tip of his cue...
In reality, he was trying his best to recover even a fraction of his form.
With that single breath, he cleared two balls in a row.
Only the 10-ball remained on the table. If he sank this, he won.
He drew the cue back slowly. His shoulder was severely affecting his arm movement, but he still managed to strike the cue ball cleanly. There was a soft *clack*—a sound only he could truly hear—as the cue ball flew out and struck the 10-ball.
the moment of impact, he already guessed—this shot was uncertain.
In the end, the 10-ball hit the corner pocket and rattled out.
A collective gasp filled the hall.
What a pity. He had missed the final ball.
Lin Yiyang had essentially handed his ticket to the final over to his opponent.
Knowing he had given his all, he straightened up, walked over to the Indian player, and proactively extended his right hand to congratulate him on the victory in advance.
The Indian player smiled and firmly shook his hand, saying, "It was an honor."
"The honor was mine," he replied with a smile.
The entire audience burst into applause at the handshake.
He then stepped back two paces, watching as his opponent pocketed the 10-ball.
After the match ended, Lin Yiyang returned to the lounge.
...
He unbuttoned a few buttons with one hand and underwent emergency icing with the help of the team doctor. Surrounded by two doctors and the head coach, his shirt was fully open, exposing his upper body within the circle of the Chinese team. He sat there silently, letting the doctors work.
Yin Guo stood behind the doctors, watching him with concern.
As if sensing her gaze, Lin Yiyang looked up, searched the surroundings, and found her. He shook his head slightly, signaling: *I’m fine.*
Ten minutes later.
The tournament organizers notified Lin Yiyang to take the floor for the 10-ball bronze medal match.
After consulting with the head coach, they realized that with only a ten-minute break, there was no way he could play. Forcing it would ruin him completely. To preserve his strength for the Snooker Team event that evening, Lin Yiyang and the head coach reached a unanimous decision—to withdraw.
With the doctor's help, he fastened his buttons one by one and tucked his shirt back into the waistband of his trousers. Just as he was about to refasten his belt, Yin Guo’s hands took over. She helped him snap the metal buckle and, after he stood up, gently smoothed out his shirt.
Under the gaze of the entire audience, Lin Yiyang walked to the center of the arena and bowed solemnly in apology.
"Lin Yiyang’s old injury has flared up. Regrettably, he can only finish in the top four for the 10-ball event," the commentator said with genuine regret. "Let us hope he can recover his form by tonight and return to the Men’s Snooker Team arena."
...
Ultimately, the Men’s 10-ball gold went to the Indian team.
Meng Xiaodong fought back to take the silver.
At four in the afternoon.
The Women’s 6-red Snooker gold was decided, going to the Hong Kong, China team.
Lin Lin took home a silver medal.
Yin Guo stopped at the semi-finals, but this was already a surprising result for her. After all, she was a novice who had been forced into intensive training just to fill a roster spot, unlike someone like Lin Lin, who had played both snooker and 9-ball since childhood.
Yin Guo returned to the lounge and sat down beside Lin Yiyang.
Lin Yiyang had his team jacket draped over his shoulders; his upper body was actually bare underneath as he continued to ice his injury. He was waiting for the final team events.
"Is everyone from Dongxincheng... a dual specialist in snooker and 9-ball?" Yin Guo chatted with him to relieve his stress. "That’s just brutal."
Lin Yiyang smiled and stroked her hair. "I'll teach you when we get back. You can come again next time."
"Mm."
On the constantly updating gold medal tally and overall rankings, China remained far ahead of the pack, just as in previous years.
"The weightlifting team swept all the golds again," the head coach sighed with regret. "We’re still too weak."
Everyone finally turned to look at the head coach in unison—
*Why don't you compare us to the diving team? Not only did they sweep everything, they even intimidated the whole field with perfect 10s...*
The head coach wasn't just checking the rankings; he was also refreshing various social media feeds.
"Oh, our captain has been exposed," the head coach said, showing everyone what he had just found.
Some quick-handed fan had captured a photo of Lin Yiyang with his shirt off, icing his injury, and uploaded it online. Jiang Yang glanced at the photo and curled his lip. "Did you know you were going to show off like this? Your muscles are looking pretty good."
Lin Yiyang knew everyone was joking on purpose, with only one goal: to relieve the mutual pressure.
So he didn't say a word, letting them tease him as they pleased.
He gauged his own condition, asked the team doctor for painkillers, popped them into his mouth, and washed them down with a bottle of mineral water. His mind was entirely on the evening's matches. Only two team events remained—Men’s Snooker Team and Women’s 9-ball Team.
Yin Guo, Lin Lin, and Liu Xiran weren't particularly worried about their gold medal slipping away.
Women’s 9-ball was China’s strongest suit, and with the three of them joined together, there was naturally no cause for concern.
The difficulty lay with the three men.
Now, with Lin's injury flaring up, Jiang Yang just recovering from surgery, and Meng Xiaodong’s form being unstable, none of the three were at their peak.
"How is it?" Jiang Yang walked over to Lin Yiyang and asked in a relaxed tone. "Can you hold out for the whole match?"
He nodded. He could grit his teeth and get through it, but he truly couldn't use his full strength. "My arm won't take the strain."
"What a coincidence," Jiang Yang said with a smile. "Your big brother here is the same. My arm won't take much strain either." But there was no other choice. When they signed up, the younger generation wasn't ready yet, and Li Qingyan was only in the top twenty—not quite qualified enough to anchor the Asian Games.
The two of them simultaneously looked at Meng Xiaodong, the only "healthy" person among them.
Meng Xiaodong felt as though they were digging a hole for him. When dealing with these two from Dongxincheng, he much preferred being their opponent. Being their "brother"... his heart still didn't feel quite at ease.
Jiang Yang patted Meng Xiaodong’s shoulder with mock gravity. "Lin Yiyang and I have objective physical injuries. You just have subjective psychological issues. Overcome them; we’re counting on you."
Meng Xiaodong was silent for a long moment, then nodded. The burden of the main force would fall on him now. Old Six of Dongxincheng had already contributed his maximum effort; it was time for Old Six of Beicheng to step up.
Lin Yiyang sat in the furthest chair, his team jacket draped over him, staring at the table.
At this moment, the competition was in its mid-session interval.
There was no one by the table—not a single soul. His entire focus and conviction were centered there, on the green baize under the spotlights. That was the battlefield he had galloped across since the age of eight. He knew the dimensions of the table, even the thickness of every inch of the rails... A frantic passion had forged him, Jiang Yang, and Meng Xiaodong.
The next battle could not be lost, and it absolutely would not be lost.
***
