In the "Black Eight" ball room at midnight, the crystal lamp shattered into stars between Zhang Jie's fingers. The moment he leaned over to set up the pole, the hustle and bustle of the entire city was compressed into the distance between the cue ball and the target ball - the low pole drew a silver arc, the black eight fell into the bottom bag as if being pulled by fate, and Lin Shuang in front of the bar suddenly drank down the whiskey in one gulp.
No one knows that this mysterious player who can always put a toothpick to the corner of his lips was the youngest dark horse in the Snooker Youth Championship three years ago. A rigged final caused him to break his club, and from then on he made a living gambling in the market room until he met Lin Shuang. She wore a Chanel suit that was incompatible with the billiard hall, but she could accurately report the rotation angle of each shot. The contract she handed over said: "In three months, help me win back my father's ball room."
The incandescent lights in the training hall went on and off, Lin Shuang counted his bald fans, and Zhang Jie discovered the key flaw in the fake match that year on the tactical board she handed him. When they finally stood in front of the Tainey in the city finals, the bribe check thrown by their opponent arrived at the same time as the notice of Lin Shuang's father's critical illness. The moment the cue ball trembled on the green cloth, Zhang Jie suddenly understood: the real victory or defeat is never in the bag, but when he looked at her, the heartbeat was hidden in the shadow of the cue.
