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Coach Lin’s rank was fairly high, but his monthly take-home pay was just over ten thousand, not quite reaching twenty thousand. Compared to the head coach, whose annual salary started at four hundred thousand, there was a significant gap. Not to mention those projects considered favorites to win the championship—their coaches typically earned around seven hundred thousand a year. If it was a popular sport that couldn’t realistically win, like soccer, hiring a foreign coach could mean an annual salary ranging from four to nine million.

So, unless one was just coasting toward retirement, this kind of money would let you live comfortably in a small town, but in the capital, it was barely enough to get by.

Hearing what Boss Li had in mind, Coach Lin didn’t hesitate—he was ready to work with Li immediately. Even if there was no salary, it didn’t matter. Just piggybacking on the title of “Li Jie’s javelin coach” or “Li Jie’s javelin trainer” and returning to the national track and field team would only mean a promotion, not a demotion.

Because he could see at a glance that Boss Li was no ordinary man.

A prodigy like this, a once-in-a-century rare beast, could easily become an Olympic champion.

“Coach Lin, let’s wait until after the competition ends to sit down and talk things over at leisure. I’ll be staying in Huating for a few more days after the event,” Li said.

“Alright, Mr. Li. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I’m completely sincere,” Lin replied.

Even though Boss Li looked every bit the playboy, Coach Lin didn’t mind.

When Li Jie disappeared from view, Zhang Qing, standing nearby, finally looked at him in disbelief. “Old Lin, are you crazy?”

“I’m not crazy. On the contrary, I’ve never been so clear-headed. In fact, I think you should submit your resume to Mr. Li too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s a once-in-a-century genius. I believe with just a bit of training, he could win at least three Olympic gold medals across seven events. With his current results, he could already take the Olympic gold in the decathlon. He’s not far from the Olympic and world records. He’s only eighteen, with at least ten years to fully tap his potential.”

Coach Lin’s face was filled with pride. “What I need to do is help him refine his throwing technique just a little more and help him find a way to unleash his power that suits him. Who knows, he might break the world record in one go.”

“Holy—” Zhang Qing was stunned, but after some thought, he said, “The way you put it… it really sounds promising.”

In their niche events, all their funding depended on the big, popular sports. The country’s investment in javelin and discus was a losing proposition.

Only champions could generate returns.

Even if the championship was won through doping, at least there would be a contract with a pharmaceutical company. As long as a medal was won, a single doping contract could bring in a million dollars in profit for the pharma company.

The reason was simple—the sport could be niche, but doping was a universal demand among athletes, and certain drugs were used across multiple disciplines.

Of course, first you needed enough talent to attract investment from the pharmaceutical companies.

With Li Jie’s current performance, he could easily land three to five doping contracts, since he was already a lock for the decathlon gold.

Li Jie had already shown his dynamic talent in running and jumping, so Lin Chong guessed that even if his 100m results didn’t reach the international master level, being a national master would suffice.

The decathlon was a points-based event. With Li Jie’s dominance in four of the ten events, he was practically unbeatable.

If he could master the pole vault as well, the result would be nothing short of spectacular.

So, after thinking it over, Zhang Qing agreed that Old Lin was absolutely right. For coaches like them, all the talk of tactics and technique was nonsense; meeting someone truly destined for greatness was what really mattered.

If Li Jie also had talent in the 100m and hurdles—those short sprint events with the highest gold content—his value would skyrocket.

Thus, the two of them decided to bide their time and wait quietly for the competition to end.

Meanwhile, Boss Li was busy studying the hand-drawn maps left by his uncle Hou Taiji. Hou had a “comrade” from his days in prison, a local from Luzhou, who, after getting out, gave up the shady business for good and now held the cleaning contracts for three bars on “Luzhou Bar Street.”

It wasn’t easy work. Every day, the vomit and urine he cleaned up weighed at least eighty to a hundred pounds, and on particularly disgusting nights, the used condoms could fill seven to eight liters.

Don’t be fooled by “Great Enterprise Films” chairman Yang Ying, who was both a big boss and a “crown prince.” He might frequent high-end venues, but he’d also “go incognito” at rowdy bars to experience the hardships of ordinary people.

Watching the “little spirit girls” perform their “smoke tricks” with abalone, well, that was entertaining in its own way, wasn’t it?

“Romantic 520? Jasmine? Beacon Fire? What kind of ridiculous bar names are these?”

There was even a gay bar called “Nine Dragons Competing for the Throne”—Boss Li mused that the original name was probably “Nine Dragons Competing for the Boy,” but it hadn’t passed the censors.

He flipped through Hou Taiji’s notes. Any time marked with a star indicated an estimate from his comrade or co-worker, so it wasn’t precise. Unstarred times were accurate records.

Why were some times so precise? Because there was surveillance.

There were friends working the security cameras—a security guard in his fifties sleeping overnight in the booth was nothing unusual.

According to Yang Ying’s patterns, Boss Li circled the “Beacon Fire” bar.

Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday—he’d been going for several days in a row.

“What’s so attractive about this ‘Beacon Fire’?”

Boss Li looked it up online. “It’s not a members-only club.”

But according to online reviews, “Beacon Fire” did have some selling points.

First, the resident singer Xue Xuanqing, hailed as “the best folk singer in the East” by both Luzhou and Jianye, had countless acclaimed works. Boss Yang might very well want to sign this singer; second, “Beacon Fire” had exclusive dark beer, the only bar in Luzhou with that special taste; third, the prices were reasonable—even ordering a pitcher of their signature beer was just forty yuan, very affordable; and fourth, the bar was clean—literally clean.

“Today’s Sunday! No time like the present—Mr. Yang, here I come!”

Boss Li immediately booked yet another high-speed train ticket to Luzhou, told Chen Pi and Guo Rong he was going out for soup dumplings, and disappeared.

After a bit of disguise, two and a half hours later, he arrived in Luzhou without a hitch.

He checked out the place first. There were plenty of cameras around “Beacon Fire,” but that didn’t matter—every bar had its dead corners.

And there were no cameras in the restrooms. According to Hou Taiji’s casual chats with his “comrade,” Yang Ying always took his bodyguards along when relieving himself.

That made things easier.

As long as he was human, he could be dealt with.

Li Jie observed the restroom window at “Beacon Fire” from a tea house across the street. The window was quite high, but it was a good spot. Others might break a leg trying to get up there, but Li Jie thought it could be even higher—he could handle it.

Unlike the quiet streets of Pingjiang after nine at night, Luzhou’s nightlife was unmistakably lively.

After stuffing himself at “Snacks Street,” Boss Li finally spotted a “Huai A 111111” license plate parked in the VIP spot outside “Beacon Fire.”

Chewing on a starchy sausage, dressed in hip-hop style with a baseball cap, Boss Li went in, booked a small booth, forked over two hundred yuan, and requested a song by Xue Xuanqing, “That Poem from That Summer.”

Patting the two batons strapped to his calf, Boss Li felt reassured.

Xue Xuanqing hadn’t arrived yet, but his little fangirl was also a resident singer. Picking up the mic, she smiled and announced, “Here’s ‘That Poem from That Summer,’ for our friend at table sixty-six, thank you~~”

Wearing sunglasses and a heavy gold chain, Boss Li spun his baseball cap around and flashed a six at the singing girl: “Skr~~”