The name of the Ji Ba Club was excellent; not only was it domineering, but it also sparked the imagination, making the club’s name instantly memorable.
However, the uniforms prepared for the female coaches were not nearly as striking as the club’s name. Wang Zhuo believed the best choice would be something low-cut, plunging low enough to reveal a hint of two snowy hemispheres, as befitting the sport of billiards!
Regrettably, this idea was nothing more than wishful thinking. Billiards demanded a gentlemanly approach to sport; the female players not only wore shirts and vests without a single flaw but even cinched their necklines tightly, sometimes finishing with a bow tie—utterly lackluster!
Despite this, every time An Qi leaned over to take a shot, Wang Zhuo could admire her full, firm posterior from the side or behind. He silently thanked the designer of the attire; while this design stripped him of the right to admire the beauties' chests, it fulfilled the duty of fully showcasing the sexiness of the female posterior...
Back to the main topic: just as Wang Zhuo was savoring the delicate floral tea sent over by the manager, professional player Zhao Zijun made his grand entrance!
He wore a snow-white trench coat and was flanked by two men who looked like bodyguards. In addition, there were four or five others, likely friends or fellow enthusiasts, accompanying him. As he stood in the center, he possessed a distinct air of standing out from the crowd, radiating confidence!
“Well now, Sieve! Seems the young man is doing quite well,” Wang Zhuo said cheerfully, walking up and clapping Zhao Zijun heartily on the shoulder a few times.
‘Sieve’ was a common folk tool primarily used for washing vegetables or scooping dumplings, and Zhao Zijun’s nickname stemmed merely from his surname, Zhao. No one had called him that in years; those close to him affectionately called him Jun Ge’er.
“Uh…” Zhao Zijun, who had just entered with an air of arrogance, was immediately slapped on the shoulder and called by the nickname he loathed the most. He couldn't help but lose face, frowning as he sized up Wang Zhuo.
“Ahem!” After clearly seeing Wang Zhuo’s face, Zhao Zijun coughed awkwardly, pointing at Wang Zhuo and asking, “It’s you? The cue action instructor?”
Wang Zhuo chuckled and continued to poke fun: “Why wouldn’t it be me? I was the one who taught you how to use the bridge hand back then.”
Zhao Zijun nearly choked on his anger, thinking to himself that he hadn't been taught by Wang Zhuo; it was because he was too short back then and his legs couldn't fully extend when using a bridge shot!
However, such a reason was obviously not one he could voice, as it would be too humiliating! Zhao Zijun coughed awkwardly again and said with forced nonchalance, “What’s up? You play at this club now too? Eight-ball, Nine-ball? Or Snooker?”
The two exchanged sharp words, leaving the staff of the Ji Ba Club on the sidelines. Wang Zhuo felt no guilt about his presumption, smiling, “Snooker, of course. If even you can make it as a pro, maybe if I practice a bit, I could snag a provincial championship or something just for fun.”
“Hmph!” Zhao Zijun finally lost his patience and stopped pretending to be aloof and magnanimous, scoffing, “I only lost to you back then because I had just started learning and wasn't skillful yet! Tell me honestly, after I developed my skills, when have you ever beaten me?”
Wang Zhuo laughed it off, neatly bypassing that part of the history: “Alright, alright. A true hero doesn’t boast of past glories. How about we settle things on the table?”
“Fine by me!” Zhao Zijun agreed without hesitation, “What about the stakes?”
Wang Zhuo’s eyes darted around, and he proposed, “We won’t count by frames; that’s not exciting enough. We’ll calculate the money based on the winner’s score—one hundred yuan per point. How about that?”
Zhao Zijun paused for a moment, then said with a slight smirk, “Isn’t that a little low? In a single game, that’s less than ten thousand yuan.”
“If you think it’s too little, you can aim for a high score,” Wang Zhuo shrugged cheerfully.
“Deal, I’ll go with your terms!” Zhao Zijun snapped his fingers, having already decided he would push the score past one hundred.
Amidst the surrounding crowd, Zhao Zijun and Wang Zhuo returned to the exact table where the earlier match had taken place. Zhao Zijun inspected the table first, appearing slightly unsatisfied, and chuckled lightly, “Forget it. This is already the best table in our city.”
Wang Zhuo secretly smiled. This kid had picked up some decent conversational tricks. If he had said the table was poor, it would have slapped the Ji Ba Club in the face, along with subtly insulting the taste of everyone associated with the club. This line, a subtle dig wrapped in flattery, highlighted his self-importance without offending the club—his verbal skills were good enough to replace the Ministry of Railways as a spokesperson!
“By the way, Cue Action Instructor,” Zhao Zijun said, taking the cue case from an attendant, “what’s your skill level here at the club?”
Wang Zhuo’s mouth curved slightly, “If you beat me, you can move on to the next club.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Zhao Zijun glanced around. Seeing no objections, he nodded slightly.
The female manager, relegated to a spectator role, had nothing to say about Wang Zhuo’s domineering attitude. Their star player was injured and couldn't attend, and the club’s highest-ranked coach, An Qi, had just lost two frames to Wang Zhuo. She had held little hope for the match between An Qi and Zhao Zijun anyway. Since Wang Zhuo had stepped up to take the challenge, she quietly acquiesced.
“Best of three, I’ll find a beauty to flip the coin,” Wang Zhuo called out cheerfully to An Qi.
Clink! The coin spun high into the air before being sharply slapped down into An Qi’s waiting hand.
Zhao Zijun signaled Wang Zhuo with his eyes. Wang Zhuo, not bothering with pleasantries, casually called out, “Back.”
The X-ray vision could calculate the depth of sperm within semen; what was it compared to a coin in An Qi’s delicate hand? Thus, Wang Zhuo sauntered confidently to the break spot; he had chosen to break first.
Competing against a professional player and an old rival, Wang Zhuo’s excitement was fully ignited; his mind and body were active at their absolute peak.
The X-ray vision went into overdrive, dissecting the entire table into a three-dimensional holographic geometric map. The relationship between the balls, the flatness of the cloth, the wear on the nap, even the air temperature, humidity, and the force of the indoor air conditioning were all factored in!
Watching the cue in Wang Zhuo’s hand, Zhao Zijun smiled silently. It was a meter-and-a-half cue, with a center of gravity shifted toward the butt end, and its weight was clearly over the 480 to 520 grams more common for Snooker—and it was made of softer maple. Judging only by this cue, one could glimpse his skill level: a soft cue with an extended length and rear bias—it was guaranteed to miscue!
If Zhao Zijun had known that Wang Zhuo had casually picked this cue from the public rack only a short while ago, he would have been utterly speechless!
Just as he was dismissing Wang Zhuo as an easy mark, crack! The break shot rang out.
The white ball struck the pyramid of reds with tremendous force, the sheer power making one wonder if a ball or two might shatter. Zhao Zijun was somewhat stunned; in all his years playing Snooker, this was the first time he had seen someone break with such brute force—an uncivilized brute!
The white ball, reds, and colors bounced chaotically across the table. Two reds collided near the center pocket mouth; one stopped right at the lip, and then a slow pink ball rolled by, gently grazing the red ball near the pocket mouth and nudging it in.
In?
Zhao Zijun shook his head with a wry smile. Everyone else looked relaxed and amused; to them, this pot was clearly not intentional but a one-hundred-percent fluke.
Assessing the situation on the table, Zhao Zijun noticed the white ball had formed a simple angle with the black seven-ball. There were no obstructions near the front pocket mouth, meaning the next black seven should also go in, giving Wang Zhuo a chance to continue his run.
“Nice luck, your turn,” he gestured to Wang Zhuo with a smile and calmly walked back to his seat.
Wang Zhuo, however, walked toward the position for the black seven with an ambiguous smile after simply applying chalk to his cue tip.
A victorious start! Not only had he potted a red as predicted, but he had also positioned the white ball and the black ball into a perfect angle. His confidence instantly soared, and his target shifted from mere victory to something much higher!
Thwack!
The black seven dropped into the pocket. After the balls settled, the referee added seven points to the score of "Father" on the electronic display!
Thwack! A red, one point. Thwack! The black ball—another seven points!
Thwack, thwack! Thwack, thwack!
The scoreboard climbed back and forth between one and seven points. When the reds on the table resembled a scattered pile of sand, and the score reached seventy-two points, Zhao Zijun was already standing, his face a mask of shock. The area around the table fell into absolute silence; one could hear a pin drop over the rhythmic sound of Wang Zhuo’s shots.
Thwack! Thwack!
The total score had surpassed one hundred. According to Snooker etiquette, the audience should now applaud to show respect to the player who achieved a 'century break,' thanking them for such a brilliant performance.
But everyone forgot this detail—even Wang Zhuo, deeply focused on his shot, didn't notice this small lapse. He didn't even leave time for applause before potting the one hundred and fifth point!
The referee had lost count of how many times he had respotted the black ball, but he clearly remembered that, aside from the seven-point blacks, none of the other five colored balls had been respotted even once. This meant that, apart from the seven-point blacks, Father had not sunk a single ball of any other value!
His goal was seven points! With the score over one hundred, was seven points far behind? The answer was clearly no. Under the astonished, delighted, and disbelieving gazes of everyone present, Wang Zhuo soon cleared all the reds, then sequentially potted the yellow, green, brown, blue, and pink—all with crisp clinks—before sinking the final black seven-ball, sending the white ball back to the break spot, stopping precisely where he intended, executing a beautiful flourish!
“A maximum break!”
Someone suddenly shouted in a hoarse voice, clearly having forgotten to swallow while engrossed in the spectacle, his throat growing dry from the prolonged silence.
Zhao Zijun was already petrified on the spot, unaware that the cue he was leaning on had fallen to the ground. In his professional career, he had only witnessed a European player achieve a maximum break from the audience stands. He never imagined that the second time he saw this coveted score, it would be scored against him by someone else!
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