Chapter Twelve: Envy

Cancer ultimately defeated the trio of Gan Guoyang with a decisive 10 to 4 victory, as expected. In the latter half of the game, they employed intense, close-quarters defense that completely dismantled their opponents’ offense.

When the match ended, Gan Guohui collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, his sports jersey soaked through with sweat. Chen Xing, usually well-endowed with stamina, also leaned on his knees, gasping for breath. Though the game was short—just ten points—the physical toll was considerable.

Only Gan Guoyang remained composed, his face calm and heart steady, barely affected physically. Yet, his expression was far from pleasant. They had lost, and badly at that.

He had showcased his talent but also exposed glaring weaknesses. Defense could rely on physicality and awareness, but offense demanded enough experience and attention to detail.

The spectators were undoubtedly disappointed. Cancer had once again crushed an opponent mercilessly. This tall Chinese player was gifted, no doubt, but still too inexperienced. He couldn’t even pull off a single effective post move.

LaVine, Pittman, and White came over to shake hands with Gan Guoyang. White, adopting a tone of tough love, said, “You’ve got a lot of practicing to do. You’re too rough around the edges.”

Gan Guoyang clenched his fists tightly. The sting of defeat was unbearable. But you couldn’t resort to violence; basketball was a game to be settled on the court.

The Roshanbo Court remained LaVine’s domain. The three left, bearing the weight of their first loss.

Before leaving, Cap called out to Gan Guoyang. “I’m Cap LaVine, an English teacher. When you have time, I’d like to talk basketball with you. Can I have your phone number and address?”

Gan Guoyang had heard from Chen Xing that Cap was a basketball figure in the San Francisco area. Knowing him might bring some basketball opportunities.

Without overthinking, Gan Guoyang pulled out a small order card from the Gan family restaurant and handed it to Cap. “This is our restaurant. Come by sometime, and we can talk.”

Cap smiled as he took the card. Seeing Gan Guoyang’s frustrated face, he understood the bitterness of defeat and chose not to lecture him. As the three walked away, he sighed softly, “If you had started professional basketball training earlier, you might have been a star in the NCAA.”

Cap lamented that Gan Guoyang’s talent hadn’t been nurtured in time. Yet, he clearly didn’t grasp Gan’s true potential. Of course, no one did—except Gan Guoyang himself.

That evening, back at the Gan Family Restaurant, after dinner, Gan Youwei noticed his son’s mood was off. His face was stern, his movements diligent but overly so, and every now and then he sighed softly.

“Guoyang, are you alright today?” Gan Youwei asked, unsure where to begin.

Gan Guoyang wanted to say “I’m fine.” He rarely confided his worries to his father, partly out of laziness and partly to avoid worrying him—a worry that wouldn’t help anyway.

But looking into his father’s concerned eyes and recalling the basketball shoes he had bought him, Gan Guoyang scratched his head and said, “We lost the game today. Lost badly.”

Gan Youwei suddenly understood. Rubbing his hands, he said, “I don’t know much about basketball, but winning and losing are part of any battle. Losing shows flaws that need fixing. Fix those, and you can become better. So losing isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Gan Guoyang replied.

Having said that, Gan Youwei had nothing more to add—the words had drained his gift for speech.

The two fell into silence.

“Dad, how’s the business at the restaurant lately?” Gan Guoyang broke the silence.

“So-so. Delivery orders have been decent, but it’s been hard on you.”

“I don’t find it hard... By the way, Dad, when will you teach me the Gan family dishes?”

“What? You lost one game and suddenly want to quit basketball and become a cook?”

“No, I’m just asking. You always said you’d teach me.”

“All right, come with me.”

Gan Youwei led Gan Guoyang to the kitchen and said he would teach him the first dish: Crystal Sweet and Sour Pork.

“Crystal Sweet and Sour Pork?” The name sounded familiar to Gan Guoyang.

“Dad, is this dish difficult?”

“Not exactly difficult, but not easy either. Many can cook sweet and sour pork, but crystal sweet and sour pork? I doubt anyone in America knows how. But it’s just an entry-level dish.”

Hearing this, Gan Guoyang realized that his taciturn father was actually quite skilled—just lacking a stage to showcase his talents.

Gan Guoyang had a knack for cooking and, with his father’s hands-on teaching, managed to grasp about seventy to eighty percent of this complex dish in just over an hour—a performance good enough to bluff convincingly.

Seeing his son’s intelligence and quick learning, Gan Youwei’s face blossomed with a smile, unaware that Gan Guoyang was gently humoring him.

That night, back in his small bedroom, Gan Guoyang lay on the extended hard bed, his mind not on the crystal sweet and sour pork but still on basketball.

He wasn’t bitter about the afternoon’s defeat. No one wins forever—unless they quit before losing.

What truly troubled him was how to keep improving.

The training camp would begin in just over a week. How much progress could he make in that time?

He felt continuing to play street 3v3 games would be of little help—he had learned all he could there. The fine details he needed to sharpen couldn’t be honed on the streets.

Perhaps Mr. Cap LaVine could help; Chen Xing said he had extensive connections in San Francisco’s basketball circles.

But why would anyone help him? Besides, he hadn’t gotten Cap’s contact information. Should he lurk around Roshanbo Court?

No way. Not until he had a chance to beat Cancer again would Gan Guoyang return there.

That night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The shortcomings in his skills jabbed like a thorn in his heart.

The restless San Francisco night matched his mood—occasional passing car lights, strange noises from upstairs—the building had once been a hotel.

Suddenly, a cold drop of liquid fell on Gan Guoyang’s brow, startling him.

He wiped his forehead and, by the faint light from outside the window, saw it was water.

Looking up, the wet patch on the wooden ceiling above was the first thing he saw upon waking.

He switched on the bedside lamp and saw the water stain spreading, droplets beginning to fall. Hastily, Gan Guoyang got up and gathered his bedding to keep it dry.

“Fuck, just when it couldn’t get worse—the ceiling’s leaking.”

It was already past midnight. Not wanting to wake the adults, he dressed and went out the back door, climbing the stairs to the second floor.

The door was open. Inside the hallway was a mess, clearly long neglected. It seemed the hotel had shut down.

He found the room directly above his and knocked. To his surprise, the door opened to reveal a flamboyantly dressed man.

Gan Guoyang recognized him—the gay man who had pinched his arm that day, often coming to the Gan Family Restaurant to eat and play cards.

He spent less than a dollar a day but lingered for hours, impossible to chase away, quite annoying.

Gan Guoyang only knew his name was Raymond and nothing else. Could he really live right above him?

Raymond held a cigarette, propped his hand on the doorframe, with many cigarette butts littering the floor. His heavily made-up eyes flickered in a way that made Gan Guoyang shudder.

“Your place is leaking! It’s soaking through to my ceiling. I still want to sleep—please fix this!” Gan Guoyang tried to reason with him.

Raymond took a drag and said lazily, “Sorry, this isn’t my home, just a temporary spot. The bathroom’s got issues, but I don’t care—labor is expensive. Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

He reached out again to pinch Gan Guoyang’s arm.

Gan Guoyang dodged quickly. He was at his wit’s end with such shameless people.

To get some sleep, he entered the room, which was filthy and chaotic, the bathroom a disaster zone, as if it had survived a war.

But having endured hardship at the welfare center, Gan Guoyang wasn’t fazed.

After about twenty minutes, he fixed the drainage problem in the bathroom.

He asked Raymond if there was soap. Raymond shrugged, “Does this look like a place with soap to you?”

Gan Guoyang could only shrug and decided to wash up later at the restaurant.

Raymond tossed his finished cigarette on the floor and said, “Your dad came looking for me.”

Gan Guoyang froze. His dad came looking for you? What does that mean? What do you do for a living? Why would my dad come find you?

Raymond continued, “I know a bit of Chinese, so I could talk to him. He asked me if I knew of any basketball shoes suitable for young people. It must have been for you. I know a guy who just stole a batch of sneakers. I introduced them to your dad at a low price. I saw you wearing them—pretty good.”

Only then did Gan Guoyang understand how Gan Youwei had gotten the Avia basketball shoes.

“Thank you,” Gan Guoyang said softly.

“No need. We’re even. Your dad loves you very much. It’s enviable.”