“That day when the player fell, none of us paid attention, all blinded by hatred. Only when his face turned purple and he lost all signs of life did anyone notice?”

The evening breeze brushed across Wang Fa’s face, like a silent long take, until finally, there would be a piercing ring that broke through the eardrums.

“At that moment, I suddenly wondered, what am I doing? Not what I was doing in this incident, but what have I been doing all along?” Wang Fa said.

In the scene, the green of the field grew wildly, losing all sense of time, like a vast expanse of muddy swamp.

“What you don’t understand is why you’re standing on the field in the first place,” Lin Wanxing said.

“There will be times like this, I suppose.” Wang Fa gently rotated the now empty beer can. “It’s possible that death itself truly shocked me, but I don’t think there’s anything shameful about that.”

“Then why did you want to become a coach in the first place?” Lin Wanxing opened a new can of beer for herself and took a sip. “You were still a player when you were 14, what changed your ambition?”

“14?” Wang Fa’s strong arm rested on the dining table as he fell into a long recollection. “At that time, I was playing for the Milton Keynes Youth Team U15 squad. Milton Keynes had just changed to its current name; before that, they were called Wimbledon, once a renowned ‘Crazy Gang’ in England. The Crazy Gang emphasized power, running, and physical contact, so their youth team coaches also preferred to select physically strong children.”

When Wang Fa spoke of these things, there was no trace of regret in his voice. He said, “My physical condition was decent, but compared to those gifted Europeans, there was still a gap, so I often sat on the substitute bench during matches.”

Lin Wanxing looked at the black-haired young man across from her, imagining a smaller version of him back then.

He must have been a black-haired teenager with healthy tan skin, features not as defined as now, and lighter pupils, making him appear gentle and quiet, somewhat harmless.

This teenager sitting on the bench, while in front of him on the field were players from both sides fighting for their lives—what would he have felt?

“Did you feel frustrated, wanting to go out and play yourself?” Lin Wanxing asked.

Wang Fa shook his head: “There was no frustration. Although everyone wants to prove themselves on the field, I found watching others play quite interesting. It was a perspective both involved and detached, allowing me to observe my team well. I had a friend at the time named Miles, who was very strong—I don’t know what he ate to grow that big. He was fast, built large, and the coaches all thought highly of him, believing he would become a top forward like Rooney, but I didn’t think that was right.” Wang Fa said with certainty.

Lin Wanxing continued listening.

“Miles’ technique was too rough, his fundamentals poor. As a forward, it would be difficult for him to score under intense pressure. Once during a match, the coach sent him in to play as a forward. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I suddenly said, ‘I think Miles should play as a defensive midfielder.’ At that moment, everyone turned to look at me…” Wang Fa said.

“Did the coach scold you?” Lin Wanxing asked.

“I was just a substitute, and saying such nonsense during an intense match was taboo, but the coach didn’t scold me—no one paid any attention to me.”

Lin Wanxing imagined the black-haired teenager mustering his courage to express his thoughts, only to be ignored, and the dejected look on his face. “Then what happened?”

“Although no one listened to me, I still wanted to try. I wanted to prove that my idea was correct. So I secretly trained with Miles on defensive midfielder movements. When the coach found out, he didn’t listen to my explanation at all, sent me home, and banned me from training for a week. He thought I was just being mischievous, so he punished me,” Wang Fa said.

“Then you left the team?” Lin Wanxing asked.

“No, I went to find our coach again.”

Wang Fa’s persistence exceeded Lin Wanxing’s imagination.

He said, “That week I wasn’t allowed through the club’s doors, so I climbed over the wall into the old man’s house. I stood in front of him and told him he had to listen to my ideas.”

“The old man… I mean, your coach, did he listen?”

“Of course not.” Wang Fa finally revealed a hint of his teenage defiance. “The old man asked me, ‘Kid, how tall are you now?’ I said, ‘I’m almost 5.9 feet,’ but he told me, ‘Kid, the goal is 8 feet off the ground. Do you know why I don’t listen to you? Because you’re too short and your voice is too small.’ Then he told me to get out, or he’d call the police.”

The so-called shortness was, of course, just another way of saying “You’re not qualified yet.”

Lin Wanxing imagined the scene at that time.

That 14-year-old black-haired teenager, full of ambition and prepared with a pile of reasons, mustered the courage to run to the coach’s house but didn’t even get the chance to express his ideas.

“Then what?” she asked.

“Then it was simple. Since he thought I wasn’t tall enough, I could only climb step by step to a higher place, make him hear my voice, and tell him I was right.”

“I obviously couldn’t get an opportunity at Milton Keynes, so I moved between several clubs, finally arriving at Southampton, because I knew their youth training was the best in England, and I had to be better than the old man. The rest of the story is about those painstaking efforts to get an opportunity.”

When first talking about Miles and the old man, Wang Fa’s tone still had many vivid emotions. But by this point in the conversation, it suddenly became understated and glossed over. He didn’t care about the hardships, feeling that those struggles were meaningless.

Lin Wanxing: “So did you prove yourself? Or rather, do you think the old man finally heard your voice?”

Wang Fa said calmly, “About ten years later, during one of our youth camp openings, I saw the old man again. He was holding a little boy’s hand and said it was his grandson. As he patted the child’s head, he entrusted me to find a respectable fan family for his grandson to stay with. Of course, this was a euphemistic way of putting it…”

After more than a decade of effort, the roles were reversed, and Wang Fa had become the one being asked for help.

Lin Wanxing said, “He hoped you would look after his grandson.”

Wang Fa nodded: “It was raining that day, and the old man told me some news about Miles. He said after I left, Miles played worse and worse, gradually only able to play in lower leagues, now playing as a defensive midfielder for an amateur team, and had switched careers to become a pastry chef. He told me, ‘You were right back then.'”

“In the end, the old man gave me this.”

Wang Fa leaned slightly forward, reached into the pocket of his loose sweatpants, took out a stopwatch, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward her.

She looked down. The stopwatch was indeed very old, especially under the dim light of the starry night, it appeared even more battered.

“The earliest reason I wanted to be a coach was just to prove I was right. On that rainy day, when the old man put his grandson in my hands, I had already proven that hadn’t I?” Wang Fa asked her.

Lin Wanxing thought that seemed to be the case, a perfect story.

Beginning with a teenage thought, persisting through half a lifetime of a young man’s efforts, ending with a conversation on a rainy night.

The old man handed over what he cherished most to the black-haired teenager he once thought was rebellious.

But real life is never like a good story; it keeps going on and on until one day…

Perhaps it was beside the field or maybe in a hospital. Perhaps Wang Fa was at the police station being questioned when he received the news of the player’s death during that match.

Regardless of the setting, it must have been a moment he wanted to destroy and bury, yet it lingered countless times in his mind.

In that chaotic video, players lunged at their opponents, and the roars of fans in the stands were deafening.

Everyone was their most primitive self, yet not themselves at all.

“Fervor,” Lin Wanxing said slowly. “There’s a line between life and death, but fervor makes people cross that line.”

“Football is an industry that profits from fervor,” Wang Fa’s narrative was calm. “Death on the field is a one-in-a-million accident, I understand that clearly. Portsmouth and we are arch-rivals. ‘Arch-rivals’ is a manufactured term; all fans would pay attention to this match. Because we had a grudge against them, everyone had to go all out, and physical confrontation was completely normal. That day when the player fell, none of us paid attention, all blinded by hatred.”

Lin Wanxing said matter-of-factly: “People in a state of passion aren’t governed by reason. If this were a street fight, you would probably take out your phone and call the police, but when you’re caught up in it, it’s a different situation.”

“You’re like my psychologist, thinking the problem is that I was greatly impacted after the opposing player’s death, blamed myself excessively, and therefore projected my emotions onto the football,” Wang Fa said. “I admit, that’s part of the reason.”

“What’s the other part?” she asked.

“The other part is about Wade Stuart, that was the name of the player who died. Portsmouth held a funeral for him, and we received the news. I told the club that I wanted to attend. At that time, I was undergoing psychological therapy, and both my psychologist and I thought attending the funeral would help resolve my issues.”

“So, did you go?”

Wang Fa finally showed a disappointed expression: “My club refused my request because we’re arch-rivals. Someone died on their side in this incident, and we absolutely couldn’t bow our heads and take the blame. The official position was to send unrelated personnel to express condolences, and they asked me not to leave the training base that day.”

“But you still went,” Lin Wanxing said.

“Yes, I went,” Wang Fa said. “It was still raining that day; it’s always raining in England. I stood outside the cemetery, but in the end, I didn’t go in.”

Lin Wanxing didn’t ask “why”—”why did you go there but not enter.”

Because for Wang Fa, he wasn’t just an individual.

He was the hope of the fans, carrying the reputation of the club, and more importantly, he was the coach of those children. He couldn’t disappoint his players; he had too many constraints.

The feeling in that instant and countless recollections afterward was the same—disappointment in himself, causing him pain.

“There must still be many interesting things about it,” Lin Wanxing tried to ask. “I mean being a coach. If it was just to prove yourself to others, you should have resigned and left when the old man acknowledged you.”

“It’s quite different from what you think. Southampton is different from other clubs; we’ve always been in the business of buying and selling young players, making hundreds of millions of euros from it,” Wang Fa said seriously. “In our industry, time and effort are the least valuable things. I’ve seen too many outstanding and talented players. Out of 100 players who enter Southampton, perhaps only one makes it to the end. In this process, I must quickly give up on any child who can’t keep up. Compassion is useless; in the real professional arena, there’s no room for any flaws. The same applies to me. But when you finally reach the position you wanted, after more than a decade of hard work, after countless people’s blood, sweat, and tears, what does it all amount to?”

Wang Fa’s account made Lin Wanxing truly feel his sense of loss.

“Under the banner of the club, we are just warriors gathered beneath a primitive totem, fighting opponents in another form. Once on the field, how are we essentially different from slaves entertaining nobles in ancient Roman arenas?” Wang Fa asked her.

Lin Wanxing suddenly looked up, not expecting Wang Fa to think this way: “You’re questioning football itself.”

“So what if I am?” Wang Fa retorted. “Faster, higher, stronger, breaking self-limits, exceeding human boundaries? Those are all other people’s concerns. I’m just a member of the smokeless industry that is football, serving to satisfy fervent desires. I indulge players in on-field brawls and ignore the dying opponent, I didn’t even dare to enter that cemetery. Standing in front of the sink, looking at myself in the mirror, I find myself detestable. Tell me, what am I doing?”

Lin Wanxing couldn’t answer.

After seeing that video, she wanted to talk with Wang Fa and had planned many talking points.

But after hearing Wang Fa’s story, she found that in the face of true interrogation, all consolation was futile.

Because looking at Wang Fa, she could genuinely feel that sense of bewilderment—having struggled for half a life only to suddenly stop and look around.

He stood between life and death, overshadowed by a huge black umbrella.

He suddenly looked back at the better part of his life he had walked, but the rain blurred everything, making it impossible to see the path he had taken.

“Perhaps football is radiant, but its light has not fallen on me,” Wang Fa finally said.

Lin Wanxing finally understood how ridiculous it was for her to invite Wang Fa to coach the high school team.

He had once stood too high and seen too much; he viewed professional football as an industry created to please fans and generate profit.

He believed he had lost himself in the industry and hadn’t properly guided his former players. So now, he didn’t want her students to continue down this path either.

He could give them a good start with these ten days, but he couldn’t do more.

Things like “dreams” indeed held no attraction for him.

Because the moment the old man placed his stopwatch in his hands, he had already realized his initial dream.

And standing outside the cemetery, he had abandoned the dream he had pursued for half his life.

He wouldn’t stay at Hongjing Eighth School, nor would he go to Yongchuan Hengda, because he discovered he was wrong.

“I understand,” Lin Wanxing could only say in the end.

Wang Fa sat at the table, hearing this response.

Across the dining table, the girl’s voice was very soft. Having drunk too much, her cheeks and eye sockets were slightly flushed.

But her gaze remained bright and gentle, just like her name.

Many times later, Wang Fa recalled how he felt at that moment.

He remembered walking with Lin Wanxing beside the park pond, someone throwing a stone into the water, droplets falling on the pink petals of a lotus flower.

She probably didn’t know that just sitting there made people want to confide in her.

The night breeze was gentle, so he sat a while longer. In the distance, the city lights gradually went out. Wang Fa knew it was indeed time.

He stood up from the chair and once again gripped the handle of his suitcase.

“You left something behind,” Lin Wanxing said.

Wang Fa looked at the stopwatch on the table and said, “It’s yours now.”

For just a moment, Lin Wanxing sensed disappointment in his gaze.

She wasn’t sure if it was disappointment with football or disappointment with her.

This was a question he had repeated many, many times. He had spent too much time sitting in the stadium stands pondering. Whether directed at others or himself, he felt disappointed that no one could ever convince him.

“I understand how you feel,” Lin Wanxing finally stood up from the table and said, “Perhaps in all your previous therapy sessions, you’ve heard this sentence countless times, but I truly understand how you feel.”

Yet they still passed each other by.

“Many problems can’t be solved; that’s what I thought at the time.”

She walked toward the edge of the rooftop. The night breeze brushed her face, the nearby field like a crouching beast, while in the distance was the world sinking into night’s slumber.

“To be honest, I tried just now, but the things from books, those conversation techniques, all seem so inadequate in the face of real problems,” the wind blew her hair at the temples. “Don’t laugh at me, but a few months ago, I came back here once. My mental state was very poor then, and I wondered, ‘What would it feel like to jump from here?'”

The sound of wheels and advancing footsteps finally stopped, but Lin Wanxing’s voice didn’t.

“At that time, I was thinking, I’ve only walked so little of life’s path, who knows what lies ahead? But I also felt it was too difficult; I really couldn’t go on. Whether good or bad, I didn’t want to see any more of it. It seemed meaningless.” Lin Wanxing looked back at Wang Fa. “You also think football is meaningless, don’t you?”

The young man not far away was also looking at her.

He put his baseball cap back on, revealing his clean jawline and straight neck, yet his expression remained unreadable.

“Then what?” Wang Fa raised his head, looking toward Lin Wanxing.

Across from him, the girl walked slowly toward him in the night breeze.

She still wore that gentle smile, the wind brushing over lotus leaves and petals in the pond.

She took something out of her pocket and placed it in his hand: “I said you left something behind.”

Wang Fa looked down. It was a silver 1-yuan coin, still warm from her body and carrying a hint of alcohol.

Lin Wanxing looked back, pointing at the pile of snacks on the table, telling him: “It’s hard to get a 1-yuan coin these days. To find a coin for you, I bought all those things.”

“You want me to flip a coin?” Wang Fa was surprised.

“Yes, in football, don’t you flip coins to choose sides? It’s quite meaningful, isn’t it?” Lin Wanxing said. “I happened to have a coin in my pocket at the time. I thought, heads I go, tails I stay. I can’t convince you, and I even think you’re right, but I also know that here, you still have some reluctance to leave.”

The girl gently pointed at his chest with her finger: “Don’t ignore that little bit of reluctance and attachment in your heart. All your emotions are very precious.”

“I can’t keep you from leaving, because I also don’t know what lies ahead if you continue, but I hope you’ll do something foolish—try letting fate help you make the choice.”

The girl’s face always carried a faint smile, her short hair tied back with just a short section showing, most of her hair at the temples tousled by the wind.

This method certainly didn’t seem like something someone like her would come up with, but Wang Fa knew clearly that she truly had no other options.

In the night sky, the pink balloon fluttered loudly in the wind, Minnie Mouse remaining friendly and lovable.

Wang Fa lowered his head; he couldn’t refuse.

It was a simple action, but as the coin was tossed into the night sky, it seemed as heavy as a thousand pounds.

It quickly fell back down with a “ding” sound, rolled a couple of turns on the ground, and finally came to a stop.

Under the night sky, the silver number “1” was exceptionally clear. Heaven’s will was decisive—go.

Wang Fa and Lin Wanxing both looked away.

He saw no disappointment in the girl’s eyes; her gaze remained peaceful like the starry night, continuously watching him.

Wang Fa gripped the handle of his suitcase and turned to walk away.

But the person behind him didn’t move.

“Which side did it land on for you that time?” Wang Fa suddenly asked as his hand touched the green iron door.

“Heads,” Lin Wanxing answered.

Heads meant to leap, into life’s bitter sea, to be free of it all.

The electrocardiogram finally suddenly moved toward a trembling peak. Wang Fa turned back, looking at the girl not far away: “But you’re still here.”

“Yes, because I cheated,” she stood under the starry sky, answering him with a very faint smile.

The wind that night always carried a bitter taste.

As if someone had sprinkled salt into the wind, gently stirring it with chopsticks, all emotions were swept up, dissolving in the wind, gently diffusing and finally enveloping them.