Chapter 54 – A Show of Contradictions
When Mu Chen of Team Weiguang spotted Shao Zhan, he quietly recalled the painful memories of losing to Xinghai in the last two major tournaments—and managed not to look too smug about it.
“What happened to you?” he asked with a frown.
Shao Zhan didn’t bother putting on an act. “If you want to laugh, just laugh.”
“Well now,” Mu Chen said, walking in that signature bow-legged gait of his as he circled around Shao Zhan, whose right hand was in a cast and slung across his chest. “How could I bring myself to laugh at an injured man? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Someone who jokes about the disabled right to their face,” Shao Zhan teased, “what a class act.”
Mu Chen raised his hands in mock surrender, signaling he wasn’t here to trade barbs. He pointed to the van behind him. “I brought your guy back. How’s Xinghai planning to thank me?”
Shao Zhan shot an indifferent glance at the person inside the van, then said in mock surprise, “What’s it got to do with Xinghai?” His eyes lingered for a moment on Yang Sa’s profile before turning back to the Weiguang captain. “You got something wrong in the head? That guy’s with LAP, not Xinghai…”
“I’m out,” Mu Chen muttered, reaching for the steering wheel—only to be stopped.
“Appreciate the favor,” Shao Zhan nodded coolly. “Thank you on a personal level.” His tone was utterly unapologetic—he couldn’t have sounded more annoying if he tried.
Mu Chen’s face turned all kinds of colors. He pointed at Shao Zhan’s handsome face and scowled, “With a mouth like that, it’s a miracle you have any friends at all. Now take your guy and get lost.”
Yang Sa originally didn’t plan to pay Shao Zhan any attention. But when Du Changcheng hobbled up, holding his stomach and moaning in pain, he couldn’t ignore it.
Still silent, Yang Sa climbed out of the van and got into the passenger seat of the taxi, arms crossed, brooding.
That’s it?
Just like that?
While Shao Zhan was still mulling it over, Mu Chen suddenly leaned in close, startling him into leaping back.
“What the hell, you perv?!”
Captain Mu rolled his eyes so hard they nearly disappeared into his skull. “You think I’m your blind-ass grandma or something? Who’d be into you?” He leaned in a little. “Serious business.” He quietly pulled a folding knife from his pocket and handed it over—apparently something that had “fallen” off the kid in the taxi.
“Appreciate it, Lao Mu.” Shao Zhan turned slightly to block Du Changcheng’s view, slapped his old friend hard on the back, and said, “On behalf of Xinghai’s official team mascot, the eight o’clock bird, I fully forgive you.”
“You’ll never spit out an ivory tusk from that dog mouth of yours,” Mu Chen muttered, ducking back into the van. He rolled down the window again, a little uneasy. His face looked concerned, but what came out of his mouth was, “Ask that kid if he’s got any interest in joining Team Weiguang…”
Shao Zhan reached in through the window and hit the button to roll it back up for him.
…
The sickly Du Changcheng, though clearly unwell, insisted on staying in the same car as Yang Sa, fearing the kid might bolt halfway through and Shao Zhan wouldn’t be able to stop him.
With one arm in a cast, Shao Zhan had no choice but to grudgingly squeeze into the back seat with him. Maybe he’d pulled something from running around too quickly—just as his butt touched the seat, Du Changcheng let out a howl and shifted to lie face down instead.
On the other end of the seat, Shao Zhan pressed his throbbing temples. “Coach, you’re being way too polite. It’s not even a holiday—I didn’t prepare a red envelope for you…”
Du Changcheng bared his teeth in pain, his forehead covered in sweat—it was unclear whether it was from the pain or sheer anger.
Shao Zhan gave the driver the address of the base, then shot a look outside at Zhuang Bai, signaling him to take another car. Unexpectedly, Zhuang Bai opened the car door and politely helped the driver out.
The confused driver took a couple of seconds to process, rubbing his shiny bald head. “Sir, that’s not how this works. Not just anyone can drive a cab…”
Zhuang Bai slipped him 200 yuan and told him to grab another cab and follow them. Then he pulled out both his taxi operator license and driver’s license, holding them up for comparison.
As he watched his own taxi drive off, the bald driver slowly closed his mouth, feeling oddly unsettled as he raised a hand to flag down another car.
The new cab driver, seeing a fellow uniformed driver hop in, joked, “What happened, buddy? Got hijacked?” while expertly punching the meter.
“Close enough,” the bald guy muttered, brushing the few hairs on his head and pointing to the roundabout ahead. “Just follow that car…”
“The world’s a wild place, huh?” the second driver said, tapping the dashboard. “You sure that license was legit? Don’t get yourself into trouble.”
“That was a B2 license,” the bald guy muttered in disbelief. That’s way higher than his own Class C—no joke. He clutched his seatbelt, eyes locked on the back of his own car.
Someone hijacked his cab—and paid him to sit in it.
No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t sit right. Before clocking out that evening, he even called up a few colleagues to thoroughly search his vehicle, afraid someone might’ve used it to stash contraband.
Meanwhile, up front, Zhuang Bai had no clue the car behind was carrying such a storm of thoughts. The rest of the team knew his background, but he figured it was worth explaining to the “new passengers” anyway.
“My mom passed away early. When I was a kid, my dad drove freight trucks. I basically grew up in his cab. Got a knack for all this stuff. The moment I turned eighteen, I went and got my license. Later, my dad got cancer, and I planned to drive taxis to help out—but then Xinghai picked me up instead.”
Zhuang Bai’s driving was fast and smooth, way better than the ride over. Du Changcheng groaned in comfort, “Man, having a driver in the family is the best.”
Then he reminisced about recruiting Zhuang Bai. “I remember when we first brought you in—you were so scrawny and short, you didn’t even reach the top of the steering wheel…”
Zhuang Bai didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Scrawny and short? Not even as tall as the wheel? What was he, a fire hydrant?
“Then why’d you recruit me in the first place?”
“That was just because we’d just recruited Fatty, and he ate way too much,” Du Changcheng said, rubbing his nose sheepishly. “The club wasn’t doing so well back then, so I figured we should balance it out—recruit someone thinner who’d eat less.”
The air went still for two seconds. Shao Zhan crossed one leg over the other. “Coach, aren’t we being a little too casual with our recruitment process?”
Du Changcheng shot him a glare. “Casual like who?”
At this point, anyone with sense would’ve shut up—but Shao Zhan had never been the type to just go with the flow. He was the kind of guy who’d poke at the Horse King’s third eye or stick a branch in a hornet’s nest just to see what happened. He connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and started playing Jay Chou’s Chrysanthemum Terrace, specifically setting the line “The chrysanthemum withers, and pain is everywhere” on loop.
Then he told Zhuang Bai, “When we get back to base, order extra spicy crawfish for the whole week. Anyone who can’t feel their chrysanthemum like Coach Du here—fire them on the spot.”
Zhuang Bai was barely holding in a laugh, but didn’t dare show it. In the back seat, Shao Zhan was already searching up levels of chrysanthemum damage on his phone.
Du Changcheng was furious, but couldn’t bring himself to hit Shao Zhan’s injured head—so he pounded him on the thigh twice instead. “Always joking! You’re this badly hurt and still messing around? Can’t you think of yourself—or at least think of the team? The Asia Cup is right around the corner. Where am I supposed to find a replacement now?”
His voice echoed in the cramped car. Yang Sa, who had remained silent the entire ride, could feel everyone’s gaze drifting toward him, but he kept his head down, lost in his thoughts.
Outside the Xinghai base, Zhuang Bai returned the cab. The moment his hands gripped the familiar steering wheel again, something flickered in his eyes—just a touch of vitality in a life that had rarely been his own to steer.
After checking in with his friends to let them know he was safe, Yang Sa shut himself in the room they’d prepared for him, curling up like he was incubating an egg. He didn’t even come out to eat.