Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Mark of Difference

On a standard athletic field equipped with a 400-meter track and various sports facilities—not including the six training pitches—nearly five hundred students, spanning ten age groups from Yun Jia Tianyu Football School, stood in orderly formation. It was precisely 6:40 a.m. Within the allotted ten minutes, everyone had assembled, even the youngest children of just six years old. Standing on the podium, Xia Liquan and another foreigner with gray eyes nodded in satisfaction.

That foreigner was none other than Rad, former head coach of China’s Olympic football team and now chief coach of the Yun Jia Tianyu youth academy. Since stepping down from his post as head coach of the 1996 Olympic squad, this elderly Yugoslav had devoted himself to nurturing young football talent in China. The current success and scale of the Yun Jia Tianyu youth system owed much to Rad’s tireless efforts.

“The new semester is about to begin,” Rad announced in a commanding voice. After five or six years in China, his Mandarin, complete with a flawless Beijing accent, was impeccable. Despite being over sixty, he was robust and spirited; his words carried across the field without need of a microphone, reaching every one of the nearly five hundred students. “For all of you, the start of a new term means you’re one step closer to professional football. But first, let me tell you: compared to other professions, the elimination rate in sports is the harshest of all, and for footballers, even more so. You may know that Yun Jia Tianyu boasts the highest success rate in the country, but do you know what that rate actually is? Thirty percent! That means out of ten, only three will eventually become professional players. The rate is even lower at other schools. Even in Europe, it’s not much higher. I trust you now understand the reality you’re facing.”

The new arrivals were visibly shaken. The young are often fearless through ignorance, but as one draws closer to a goal, the distance and cruelty become painfully clear.

The older students, having witnessed this reality firsthand, understood all too well. Each year, Yun Jia Tianyu admitted nearly a hundred new students, but the total number hovered around five hundred. Aside from the twenty or so outstanding players who advanced to the U-17 team each year, almost eighty were eliminated annually—a merciless process.

Of those who were cut, only a small number found places at other clubs—especially those who lasted until their third year of middle school, often targeted by other teams seeking young talent. The rest could only bury their dreams of professional football and return to the paths of their peers: continuing their studies or entering vocational schools to learn a trade. For them, the road to professional football was already closed.

So, although Rad’s words had been heard by the older students many times before, none showed impatience. They listened intently, for each year, his speech served as a fresh reminder and new motivation.

People are sometimes forgetful, which is why Rad repeated these truths at the start of every semester, tirelessly impressing upon the young that there is no room for luck on the path to success.

Pressure breeds progress—how true that is.

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Rad’s speech lasted barely a minute before he announced the start of the morning run. The students, divided by age, set off in orderly groups under the guidance of their coaches. Five hundred bodies formed a perfect ring around the 400-meter track.

“Keep your rhythm! Inhale, run two steps, exhale, run two steps! This way, you won’t burn out your stamina so quickly!” shouted a coach, instructing the newcomers on proper breathing and pacing.

From 6:40 to 7:00, a span of twenty minutes, the coaches had mapped out distances tailored to push each age group to the brink of their endurance, gradually increasing the challenge over time.

For footballers, stamina and technique are as essential as two legs; neither can be neglected. To debate which is more important would be as laughable as the disputes between the sword and qi factions in Jin Yong’s martial arts novels.

Focusing solely on stamina produces nothing but headless chickens—marathoners on a football pitch. Focusing only on technique creates fragile showmen, no better than circus clowns. Yun Jia Tianyu sought to forge footballers, not marathon runners or street performers.

After the twenty-minute run, breathless students followed their coaches to the cafeteria for breakfast. Milk, eggs, noodles, steamed buns, and fruit were all laid out in abundance. For children in or approaching puberty, poor nutrition could mean a lifetime of physical limitations.

The new semester had just begun, but Long Bisheng already sensed the profound differences between Yun Jia Tianyu and the Xi’an Hope Football School he had attended the previous year.

At Xi’an Hope, the living conditions were nowhere near as comfortable. Mornings were a scramble for the bathrooms, and the coaches rarely offered guidance; they simply handed out a training schedule and expected you to follow it. The cafeteria’s food was just enough to fill a stomach—never as varied or satisfying as it was here.

At Xi’an Hope, neither coaches nor teachers cared about what you did in your free time. Skipping training was no issue, as long as you had an excuse. At Yun Jia Tianyu, even being slow to get out of bed or arriving late for assembly resulted in punishment. The strict discipline reminded Long Bisheng of the familiar atmosphere of his time in the army.

What would the training ahead be like? How would professional football training differ from his past experience? Long Bisheng waited, his heart brimming with anticipation.