Chapter 58: Do Chinese People Play Snooker Too?

"Damn, it's finally starting..."
The moment the referee's voice fell, the previously stifling silence shattered, and the crowd watching erupted in excitement.
Chen Yufeng and his two companions stood by the side, faces lit with anticipation; He Meixuan was especially enthusiastic, her adoring gaze sweeping back and forth between the two legends of the game.
Osney and Li Donghui, the two gods of the table, exchanged a polite handshake before launching into their duel amid roaring cheers.

Bang—

Li Donghui was first to break. With a steady stroke, he sent the cue ball flying; it glanced past the tip of the clustered triangle of red balls, rebounded twice, and settled behind the spot, rolling slowly until it nestled tightly against the corner of the table.
"Yes!"
Seeing where the cue ball came to rest, Li Donghui smiled in satisfaction. Clearly, the shot had produced the desired effect.
Though young, he was seasoned and shrewd, sticking to his usual conservative style—defense first with the opening shot.
This was a textbook defensive break: no red ball pocketed, his sole aim to deny his opponent a scoring opportunity and set up his own next shot.
The strength and angle of the strike were executed with remarkable precision.
The ball snug against the rail presented a formidable obstacle, a perfect defensive play.
Yet he had underestimated Osney's extraordinary skill; truly, no defense could withstand him. In the end, Osney, with almost supernatural technique, broke through, cleverly sinking a red ball, then a black.
His opening shot began a relentless streak, and he simply could not be stopped.
"Brilliant shot! Amazing, amazing, incredible!"
"My God, a true master! That shot actually went in?"
Chen Yufeng, Liu Telin, and He Meixuan watched in awe, astonished at Osney's prowess. This was a front-row seat to world-class play—the technique flawless, perfection incarnate.
The next twenty minutes were spent in shock and exclamation by everyone present.
They witnessed Osney clear the table in a single run, saw his artistry, his impeccable execution. In this round, Li Donghui, apart from his opening break, never touched the cue again.
The final score: Osney, one hundred and twenty-three; Li Donghui, zero.

Then came the second round, the third...
Osney played with composure and ease, his expression light, his performance nothing short of masterful, everything under control.
Three rounds flew by, each ending in Osney's victory. The remaining two rounds were now meaningless.
Osney triumphed—effortlessly, beautifully, brilliantly.
China's prodigy, Li Donghui, had lost, beaten by the legendary Osney; the defeat was utter and humiliating—a crushing blow.
The retired master gave the young star a vivid lesson.
After his defeat, Li Donghui lingered no longer, leaving the hall amidst derision, regret, and sighs from the crowd...

"Master Osney truly is divine—admirable, absolutely admirable!"
"Still sharp as ever, still sharp!"
"God of the game, god of the game..."
The hall boiled over with excitement, spectators unleashing their emotions, shouting praises for Osney.
At that moment, Osney was elevated to the heavens by his countless fans.
Not only did the audience cheer, but those watching the showdown on their screens at home were equally jubilant, for most had wagered on Osney's victory—his sweeping win meant profits for them.
Those three matches had indeed been dazzling, a feast for the eyes and a jolt to the soul.
It was not that Li Donghui lacked talent; rather, he simply had no space to display it. Once Osney broke, he never stopped, clearing the table in one go, thus Li Donghui's utter defeat.
Without question, Osney's skill inspired deep admiration.
He had to admit—he was no match for Osney.
After crushing Li Donghui, Osney's face was wreathed in pride. The so-called "Eastern god of snooker" was, in his eyes, nothing but a paper tiger, utterly vulnerable.
"Hmph, what so-called Chinese snooker god? Chinese even know how to play snooker? Are you worthy? Just a bunch of trash."
Osney, flush with triumph, casually spat out this contemptuous remark in English, his voice loud and clear. Many present were well-educated and understood perfectly what he meant.

Someone immediately translated the words, addressing the crowd: "This guy is too arrogant—he just called us Chinese trash who can't play snooker, said we're unworthy."
"What? We're trash? We're not worthy to play snooker?"
"No way, Osney is a master! How could he say something so insulting?"
"Is this the character of a snooker god? Daring to look down on us Chinese?"
Though most present were Osney's fans, awed by his near-miraculous play, hearing him insult them publicly left them furious and indignant.
Many were heirs to powerful families or wealthy tycoons, unused to humiliation. Now, being insulted before everyone, how could they tolerate it? Even some who were formerly fans now turned against him, shouting:
"Who the hell do you think you are? What sort of 'god' has such poor character?"
"So what if you're good at snooker? Don't act so arrogant. Just because we cheered doesn't mean you're untouchable."
"Unbelievable—you actually look down on us Chinese. I used to admire you, but now I'm done."
Several young scions were itching to rush up and teach Osney a lesson, yet he was surrounded by seven or eight burly bodyguards, guarded on all sides, unafraid of their anger.
Osney's manager, Tock, seeing the crowd's reaction, exchanged a glance with Osney; they shared a knowing smile, and then Tock shouted loudly to the crowd:
"You Chinese only know how to scream and shout. If you have guts, show your courage and strength—crush us with your skill. If you're not afraid, step up and break. Osney will play you left-handed! Who dares to challenge?"
This was their usual money-making trick. They knew the Chinese had a certain trait—naive, wealthy, unable to resist provocation.
Since Osney retired, they had used this tactic to rake in gold in China, for every time they uttered those words, someone would challenge Osney.
Though challengers knew they couldn't beat Osney, there was always someone eager to be hailed as a hero.
To challenge the snooker god was, without doubt, to win the admiration and respect of the Chinese watching.
They had long since figured out the Chinese mindset, so deliberately used this goading approach. Seeing some already restless, Tock continued to taunt loudly:
"Trash, what can you do if you're not convinced? Who dares challenge Osney?"