Chapter 77: The Echo of Cheers

The streets teemed with activity. In the scorching heat, pedestrians sought refuge and entertainment, gathering under the shade to watch the unfolding scene.

My heart grew colder, mirroring the chilling temperature of Old Master behind me.

I gently adjusted Old Master on my back.

“Wait for it, Old Master,” I whispered. “Let me tell you, I used to be on the track team. I once ran the fifty-meter dash in six point six seconds…”

Old Master merely swayed his head slightly, offering no reply.

In truth, my sprinting records from the track team bore no relevance to the current predicament. Old Han’s school was quite a distance from here, a fifteen-minute bus ride at least.

While I excelled at short sprints, and even then, wasn’t particularly fast, I was utterly clueless when it came to long-distance running. Others would leisurely complete a two-thousand-meter run while I had already given up, settled under a tree, and was sipping water.

A profound sense of powerlessness nearly crushed me. With Old Master still on my back, I began to run.

As I started to sprint, pedestrians along the road clicked their tongues in disapproval. Several taxis whizzed past me, and a passenger in one, smoking by the window, casually tossed a cigarette butt near my feet.

A bus drove by, sparsely populated with only a few passengers. One of them, no longer engrossed in their phone, looked at me with curious novelty through the window.

I ran as if my life depended on it. Somehow, sweat and tears mingled, streaming down my face as I sprinted frantically.

I couldn’t recall how long I ran, only the relentless sun beating down on my face and body, leaving me drenched and sticky. I burst through the deserted school gates, Old Master still on my back.

The quartz clock atop the school’s teaching building showed the second hand slowly advancing. It was half past twelve, and a cheer erupted from within the school—the basketball game had already begun.

Carrying Old Master, I hurried through the empty teaching building.

The basketball court was directly opposite the teaching building. What was usually a deserted court during the holidays, with only a handful of people, was now teeming with spectators.

Students from the entire school sat together by class, each section marked by a sign indicating the grade and class number. They chatted, laughed, munched on snacks, and sipped drinks.

I carried Old Master over to the shade of a tree.

Speckles of sunlight filtered through the leaves, instantly cooling me. I rubbed my eyes and gently placed Old Master on a long bench. The front of his patient gown was soaked, stained with my sweat.

I wiped the sweat from my face—it had been years since I’d exerted myself so intensely. I felt as if I might collapse and die on the spot, succumbing to sudden cardiac arrest. I forced a smile.

“Old Master,” I gasped, “we’re here.”

Old Master weakly turned his head and offered me a smile. He then fixed his gaze on the basketball court, watching intently for what would be the last time.

At this moment, Old Han’s team had not yet taken the court, but they were about to. I saw Old Han standing near the basketball court, speaking with Huang Li and the others.

Old Master also spotted Old Han, and the tension in his face gradually eased.

Old Han, still wearing her hooded cap, had her back to us as she spoke with Huang Li and the others.

Huang Li and his teammates looked solemn, nodding occasionally.

Inside the teaching building, the large loudspeaker that broadcast the class bells blared, “Players for Senior Class Twelve, please enter the court!”

The audience erupted. Many boys stood up, whistling and shouting, “Go, Sister Han!”

Old Han smiled, first waving to the stands, then patting Huang Li’s shoulder and giving them a gesture of encouragement.

The boys all nodded, their expressions resolute, as if preparing for battle. They then walked onto the court.

Old Master and I sat under the shade. I turned my head to look at him; his eyes were unblinking, and his breathing seemed to have steadied as he watched Old Han on the court.

I turned back to watch the game.

Suddenly, I noticed Old Han’s somewhat melancholic smile. She took a deep breath, scanning the stands almost unconsciously, then lowered her head again.

Old Master and I were seated in a somewhat secluded spot beneath the trees behind the stands, so Old Han didn’t see us.

She hadn’t looked closely either, merely giving a symbolic, cursory glance before stepping onto the court.

The opposing team’s players wore grim expressions, evidently having heard of Old Han’s team. After all, setting up a street stall on the school court to play basketball, and even winning money, naturally attracted many students. Gradually, their reputation grew, even drawing students from the sports school on Walking Street to practice with them. They were quite renowned.

The players from both teams entered the court, each employing their tactics to guard their assigned opponents.

With the referee’s whistle, the first half began.

I turned, looking at Old Master with some concern.

Old Master’s breathing was not as labored as before, but it hadn’t improved much. Judging by the vapor on his oxygen mask, his breaths were shallow and rapid.

Yet, Old Master sat there quietly, watching with intense focus.

The game on the court was fiercely contested.

The opponents had clearly anticipated Old Han’s team, and their tactics were specifically designed to counter her. They positioned three players to fight for rebounds in the paint, while a tall player stepped out beyond the two-point line to tightly guard Huang Li, preventing the shooting guard from scoring.

Old Han’s playing style leaned towards a small forward, often utilizing techniques like three-step layups. Although she skillfully used pump fakes and mid-air directional changes to evade blockers, she was clearly being severely targeted. Whenever her team lost possession, the opponents immediately took their positions, passing the ball to a hefty player who would drive hard into the paint, then executing skillful passes to allow their guard to score.

Old Han’s team truly lacked in skill. I even saw Xueli on the court; he still had that frail, delicate demeanor and didn’t like to run, preferring to wait for the ball outside. The opponents even ignored him, letting him stand there.

Old Han’s team suffered from a lack of skilled players. While Huang Li was decent, he was only marginally better than the school team’s standard.

Moreover, Old Han’s physique was somewhat delicate, making it difficult for her to drive hard into the paint. The opposing team played with brutal intensity; when Old Han was defending, a stout player executed a pick-and-roll, directly knocking Old Han to the ground. The referee, following normal rules, awarded Old Han’s team two free throws, but it wasn’t enough to catch up to the first half’s score. The opponents were clearly only there to win.

As the first half neared its end, Old Han’s team called a timeout and went to the stands for a few sips of water. Huang Li and his teammates looked visibly dejected, but Old Han remained expressionless. She simply patted his shoulder, smiled, and said something that was likely encouraging.

The half-time whistle blew.

This time, when Old Han stepped onto the court, her demeanor was distinctly different.

If her previous play had merely been a warm-up, this time she unleashed her true, lethal moves.

The moment Huang Li passed the ball to Old Han, and the opponent rushed forward to cover the open space, Old Han executed a series of fluid movements—a forward step, a crossover dribble, a fake-out—so swiftly that the opponent didn’t even have time to react. Old Han had already left him behind, charging straight for the hoop.

A gasp rippled through the stands, and several more boys stood up, shouting, “Go, Sister Han!”

The opposing team’s rebounders were well-prepared, however. As Old Han drove into the paint, one player already stood before her, while two others moved behind to guard Huang Li and another tall rebounder. It seemed this offense had no chance.

Just as I assumed Old Han would surely pass the ball to the outside, she forcefully threw it between the opponent’s legs. The ball bounced through his crotch before he could react, and Old Han, after a beautiful darting maneuver, caught the rebounding ball and began a layup.

In the stands, the boys gasped and rose to their feet.

I had seen this move before; it seemed those streetball players on YouTube loved to use it. It was indeed a dazzling technique.

The opponents’ skill level was truly impressive. Even with that, their rebounder somehow reacted, a man nearly six feet three inches tall, raising his arms to block the shot.

Mid-air, Old Han held the basketball, executing a nimble wrist flick, completing a mid-air reverse layup.

The man didn’t even have time to react before the ball grazed the backboard and dropped cleanly into the hoop.

A roar erupted from the stands.

I heard someone hysterically shout, “Go, Sister Han!”

It was unclear who started it, then a few students joined, and finally several classes.

Eventually, it seemed the entire audience was cheering in unison. Girls watched the soaring figure with a mix of surprise and envy, while boys stood, whistling and yelling, “Go, Sister Han!”

I heard a faint chuckle beside me.

I turned my head. The wrinkles on Old Master’s face deepened, revealing a joyful smile.

It was as if long ago, there had been such a sea of cheers. A young Old Han, clutching a basketball, her face resolute—and the no longer young Old Master, pushing a dilapidated Phoenix bicycle, gazing blankly at Xiao Feng, a gentle smile gracing his face.

“Exactly the same…” Old Master’s voice was muffled by the oxygen mask, somewhat indistinct.

At that moment, the entire audience cheered repeatedly. Some even stood up, a group of boys egging each other on, all shouting encouragement for Old Han. Finally, the entire stands echoed with their voices.

“Sister Han!”

“Go, Sister Han!”

Old Master used to say that when Old Han played basketball in middle school, she was like a gust of wind. The young girls in the stands would be utterly mesmerized.

And now, I finally understood.

📚 Also on NHV Novels

Enemies on a Single-Log Bridge

AcademyBattleBL

Read Now →
Not interested