He never had a racket of his own. His first coach used scraps of wood and rubber to glue together his first racket: the blade was pieced together, and the rubber sheets were different colors.
With a practice robot at four in the morning and an old racket worn smooth by his calluses, he claimed provincial and national championships before fighting his way onto the national team.
World Cup champion, World Championships champion, two-time Olympic gold medalist, undefeated in international matches, world number one. He won every honor there was to win, yet always lived in the shadow of the spotlight. Nobody remembered how hard he worked; they only cared whether he won or lost.
On the eve of the final at his last Olympics, countless people urged him not to take it so seriously. Even the coach he trusted most hinted that he should let the other player win.
He won the match, then announced his retirement.
On the high-speed train heading south, he fell into a deep sleep clutching his old racket and two Olympic gold medals. When he woke, he was on a wasteland in Beiping in 1935, with Japanese military police armed to the teeth in the distance.
Can a table tennis champion who has won every title in the world protect the land beneath his feet in a time of turmoil?
