Chapter 23: The Three Titans Convene

Ma Wenhua could hardly believe the news the vice-principal had disclosed to him—Ling Huanzhen was actually going to replace him as the head coach of the Ningchang University team?

How could this be possible? What was the annual salary of a university team coach?

Ling Huanzhen should be taking advantage of his current influence to break into the Basketball Association, or at the very least, join a professional team as an assistant coach. Once he had accumulated enough experience, he could become a head coach. Why would he settle for a university team?

Even if he were truly noble and indifferent to money, wanting to dedicate himself to grassroots basketball development, he could have chosen a far better university team than Ningchang!

Yandu University, Fusheng Institute of Technology, Southwest Aviation University—which of these wouldn't have eagerly extended an olive branch the moment he mentioned he was interested?

Why! Why choose Ningchang University!

Ma Wenhua thought about his coaching contract, which ran until the end of the Tier 1 League finals next June. If Ling Huanzhen arrived, it was highly likely that Ningchang University would not renew his contract, which meant his livelihood was at stake.

Opening the campus forum, every post was crying out for his resignation. The attention of the entire faculty and student body toward the basketball team was several times greater than it had ever been before.

Not only that, but a Weibo celebrity named Xu Mi had also reported on this intramural competition. Although the focus was on Ling Huanzhen acting as a referee and having fun with the students, she had also lavishly praised the newcomers of Ningchang University, stating they possessed the caliber of a provincial team.

The comments below were varied; some looked down on the Ningchang University team, while others accused the blogger of exaggeration.

But the most popular comment was: "If they have the caliber of a provincial team, why aren't they in the provincial team? The answer, of course, is that nepotism is the glorious tradition of the Jin Province provincial team."

This comment received over a thousand likes and more than three hundred replies, all arguing that basketball in Jin Province could not progress because of flawed talent selection, and that the head coach was nothing more than a local tyrant. In passing, it was dug up that Ma Wenhua relied on the Jin Province head coach as his backer, which was why he had been wreaking havoc on basketball teams in various universities.

Ma Wenhua dialed Chen Chuan's mobile number, demanding he send a private message to Xu Mi to delete that Weibo post immediately.

Chen Chuan wanted to do exactly that, but he had no connection with Xu Mi at all, not to mention that he was currently under the scrutiny of the entire school; he wanted to cover his face whenever he entered or left the cafeteria.

"Coach Ma, I've posted scenes of our team training on my Weibo. Any fool knows who I am. If I send a private message to Xu Mi and she screenshots it and posts it, the whole world will think you're feeling guilty."

Ma Wenhua's back was soaked in sweat. He had completely lost his former composure. He didn't even dare to call his cousin anymore, only praying that his cousin hadn't seen this Weibo post.

But what Ma Wenhua didn't know was that the phrase "nepotism is the glorious tradition of the Jin Province provincial team" had been liked by star players from several prestigious schools and was spreading rapidly.

Like a game of pass-the-parcel, it was forwarded to Ling Huanzhen and Jiao Yingfeng. Although both had retired, they couldn't help but make a few jokes about it.

[Should we be grateful for Coach Ma's kindness in screening you out back then? Otherwise, you wouldn't have traveled across the ocean to compete in the NCAA!]

Jiao Yingfeng squinted as he looked at the WeChat message sent by his former teammate Gao Jinshu. Even through the screen, he could see the other man's gloating face.

He suddenly felt that if he could really develop those two boys who had been screened out by Ma Hongming, it would surely pierce right through Ma Hongming's lungs.

If nothing else, Jiao Yingfeng was the most vengeful person. Even now, he remembered being crammed into a dilapidated little room in America with that idiot Ling Huanzhen, experiencing the panic of an uncertain future every single day.

A gentleman's revenge, let alone ten years, is never too late even after twenty.

Perhaps he, Jiao Yingfeng, could even cultivate another king of three-pointers.

The weekend passed quickly, and military training was set to begin tomorrow.

Because Zhou Zhexiao always liked to hog Xia Chiyi's phone to watch game videos, Xia Chiyi was genuinely worried that this guy's eyes would go bad. So, he cautiously suggested: "How about we buy a laptop with a big screen? Or maybe a projector? We could project games onto that blank wall, wouldn't that be great?"

No sooner had he finished speaking than Ye Chaoying and Fatty raised both hands in agreement, saying the four of them could pool their money to buy a projector.

Zhou Zhexiao nodded and replied, "You know my password."

Ye Chaoying and Fatty looked at him with that suggestive gaze again.

Zhou Zhexiao's password was Sheng Xingming's birthday. The key was that this guy never admitted to being a fan of Sheng Xingming and didn't participate in any activities involving him.

As the other three in the dormitory gathered to select a projector model, Zhou Zhexiao's Nokia suddenly vibrated. He glanced at the text message, walked over to Xia Chiyi, leaned one hand on his desk, rested the other on the back of his chair, and whispered into his ear, "I have something to do, I'm going out for a bit."

"Oh, go ahead, go ahead. Remember the curfew," Xia Chiyi waved the back of his hand.

Zhou Zhexiao lowered his head, glancing at the stray hairs near the boy's ear.

When Zhou Zhexiao left, Xia Chiyi suddenly realized that the other person's posture just now had almost completely surrounded him.

And that close-range, low-frequency voice... it made his heart itch.

Wait? What could this guy possibly need to go out for?

In a KTV room nearest to Ningchang University, the two-meter-two-tall Ling Huanzhen was curled up on the sofa, looking helpless, weak, and pathetic. He held a cup of freshly squeezed cucumber juice. He had been eating Ningchang barbecue and fried skewers for two days straight, and a large red bump had appeared on his nose that made him wince whenever he touched it.

In the center of the sofa sat a man who looked clean and refined. His build was tall and slender, and the long, narrow corners of his eyes carried a hint of sharpness. He glanced at Ling Huanzhen with disdain and said coldly, "Didn't you say you were going to summon Sheng Xingming to see me? Where is his ghost? Do you want me to light seven candles?"

Ling Huanzhen gave a fawning smile: "It's coming, isn't there still five minutes left?"

"If you can't summon his soul, I'll send you to reincarnate in five minutes."

The door of the room was pushed open, and Zhou Zhexiao walked in with his hands in his pockets. Looking at the large bump on Ling Huanzhen's nose, he hummed lightly: "I knew it would be like this."

Jiao Yingfeng looked at Zhou Zhexiao with scrutiny and suspicion, then curled his lips into a smile, "That posture is quite well-acted. Ling Huanzhen, did you train him?"

"Jiao-Jiao, he really is that big demon..."

"Shut up." Jiao Yingfeng rolled his eyes at Ling Huanzhen. "Either you've been deceived, or you're colluding with him to deceive me. The former means you're hopelessly stupid; the latter is an unforgivable crime. Either way, you deserve a beating."

Zhou Zhexiao walked silently to the opposite side of Jiao Yingfeng and sat directly on the coffee table. The look of indifference, as if he were looking down on everything, caused Jiao Yingfeng's dead memories to revive uncontrollably.

"So, do you want that person to become history, or do you want him to be alive?" Zhou Zhexiao asked in a calm voice.

"I want him to be alive. And I know that no one can be a second him, not even you." Jiao Yingfeng looked straight into the eyes of the young university student in front of him.

"Well, the second day you arrived in the United States, you sent me a text message complaining that you couldn't go on living in that room."

Jiao Yingfeng was slightly startled, his fingertips trembling slightly.

Ling Huanzhen said in surprise, "I lived with him, how come I didn't know?"

Zhou Zhexiao looked at Ling Huanzhen, "Because your socks were so smelly they affected his breathing. He wanted to chop your feet off and throw them out the window. Now that you're across the ocean, Ling Huanzhen, why do you still buy three pairs of socks for five yuan?"

Jiao Yingfeng's fingers gradually curled, gripping his own knees—how could this kid know?

Had he met Sheng Xingming before, and the guy told him?

No, Sheng Xingming wasn't the type of guy who would tell one person about the trivialities of another's life.

It was precisely because of this that people felt safe telling him about their petty grievances or major secrets.

"You originally wanted to help him wash all his socks," Zhou Zhexiao looked at Jiao Yingfeng again.

At this moment, Ling Huanzhen was moved beyond words, "Jiao-Jiao, it turns out you're so good, you even wanted to help me wash my socks?"

"Are you crazy?" Jiao Yingfeng glared at him fiercely.

Zhou Zhexiao continued, "Let me tell you, if you don't want to die, throw all his socks away. Then he'll have to buy new ones. Over there, it's impossible for him to buy three pairs of socks for five yuan."

Jiao Yingfeng's fists were clenched tightly.

Ling Huanzhen wore an innocent and pathetic expression: "What... my socks were thrown away by you?"

"Shut up. Do you want your feet, or do you want that pile of ratty socks?"

"I want my feet," Ling Huanzhen thought that hesitating for even a second would be a sign of disrespect to Jiao Yingfeng.

"The first laptop you bought was a second-hand one you got from me for a hundred dollars. I said I'd give it to you because the right corner was cracked. You said that even brothers should keep clear accounts."

Jiao Yingfeng's throat tightened. His mind raced, trying to figure out how this college student could know such distant events. Had he ever said it in any interview?

He didn't recall anything like that.

Zhou Zhexiao continued, "Ling Huanzhen's English was terrible, and his 'Sports Psychology' paper was written so badly that not even a dog could recognize it. At the end of the first semester of freshman year, he was terrified, fearing for his life. You helped him revise the paper, and then you sent it to me to take a look. At the time, you had a habitual spelling error; you always spelled 'indicate' as 'indecate,' and you didn't have auto-correct on. It was me who fixed it for you."

Jiao Yingfeng was a thorough materialist. He didn't believe in gods, and he believed even less in reincarnation.

But why would there be another person in this world who knew these details?

It was clear that even that big idiot Ling Huanzhen didn't know... It was as if there were no other explanation than that this person in front of him was Sheng Xingming.

Jiao Yingfeng stared intensely at the person in front of him, his breath caught in his throat, unable to go up or down. He knew what he was hoping for in his heart; if there really was a miracle, then please let this miracle come to pass.

Jiao Yingfeng looked at him, his heart feeling as if it were suspended in mid-air. He spoke slowly, asking, "After we lost to the US team in the Olympics, what did we say?"

Zhou Zhexiao lowered his eyes, looking at his old friend, who no longer possessed the youthful brightness of those years, but whose passion had not cooled.

"You covered your face with a towel and repeated to me, 'Xingming, I'm sorry. It's my fault I didn't catch that ball.'"

Jiao Yingfeng's fists tightened further, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.

"I said, 'Cry all you want. Next time, make the US team cry more than you do; that's the only way to get revenge.'"

At that moment, Jiao Yingfeng's tears finally burst forth, his fists striking his chest over and over again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think that would be your last Olympics..."

A look of deep emotion appeared on Zhou Zhexiao's face as he stretched out his arms and hugged him tightly. "I'm the one who should be sorry. It was I who didn't keep my promise to compete in the next Olympics with you."