Chapter 29: Hey! Who Plays Cuju Like That?

Several teams marched onto the stage, their demeanor fierce and intimidating. Among them, the trio from Luo Gan’s side appeared rather inconspicuous in the crowd—some wore full suits of armor, hardly looking like they’d come to play ball, others seemed barely into their teens, and a few had muddy hands, as if they’d just finished farm work and wandered into the wrong place.

The proprietor of Green Pavilion announced, “I am Kuang Xiangde. We’ll draw lots for the on-site competition. Four teams will be grouped for a knockout round, and only one group will claim the grand prize! Team representatives, please come forward to draw lots.”

Luo Gan stepped up, only to be shoved by a burly armored warrior at his side, tumbling to the ground. The warrior spun around and glared at Luo Gan with a menacing scowl, sending a chill down his spine. The audience, keeping their distance, noticed the nervous fool who had fallen flat and burst into laughter.

To be mocked before the match even began—this was intolerable! Luo Gan, having now made an enemy of the “armored warrior,” straightened his back and swaggered toward the lottery box. His affected bravado only made the spectators laugh harder, though inwardly Luo Gan prayed desperately not to be matched against that unlucky armored team.

Before setting out, the three hadn’t considered naming their team, but just before going on stage, they learned it was required. After a quick consultation, they settled on “Gentlemen of the Bamboo Grove,” ready to face their opponents.

The draw revealed Luo Gan held the slip for “Cultivators from the Northern Mountains.” Three elderly men, nearly seventy, approached from the other side. Han Chong and Han Xiaozhi, standing behind, were overjoyed—surely they’d drawn the best possible lot! Facing old men was a step toward certain victory.

The elderly trio appeared frail, as if they might collapse before the game even began, and Luo Gan worried whether their bodies could withstand the rigors of the match.

The Cultivators from the Northern Mountains and Gentlemen of the Bamboo Grove squared off. Han Xiaozhi, thin and wiry, guarded the “swirling eye” at the back. The three opposing elders were similarly built: one was bald except for his fringe, another coughed incessantly, and the third grinned and nodded endlessly, like withered branches on a rotting stump—a flickering candle in the wind. Han Chong and Luo Gan, unconcerned, let their formation drift loose.

A staff member, acting as referee, placed the ball at the center and explained the rules: “To score one point, kick the ball into the goal. If you keep possession all the way and score, that’s two points. The match takes place on the stage—step off, and possession switches to the other team. Whoever earns the most points in an hour wins, or the first to three points. Understood?”

The old men, hard of hearing, asked the staff to repeat the rules. Luo Gan and Han Chong exchanged a look, shaking their heads, clearly annoyed.

After some final adjustments, the referee’s shout signaled the start of the match, and the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers.

The elder with the fringe deftly juggled the ball onto his head, surprising Luo Gan as he brought the ball forward. Han Chong realized something was amiss and rushed to intercept, but the coughing elder persistently blocked him, matching his movements step for step, refusing to let Han Chong break free.

Luo Gan shouted anxiously, “Xiaozhi, hold the line!”

Xiaozhi yelled back, “Got it, Brother Luo!”

No sooner had he spoken than Xiaozhi blocked the fringe elder’s path, only for the elder to head the ball to his smiling companion, who promptly kicked it into the “swirling eye.”

The referee cried out excitedly, “Beautiful!”

On the VIP platform, Magistrate Lu stared in amazement, applauding in praise. The high-ranking official beside him merely took notes in silence.

The Third Young Lord and Prince Song chatted with perfect rapport.

The Third Young Lord said, “It’s said the resilience of the Northern Mountain folk only grows with age; now I see it for myself.”

Prince Song displayed a proud smile. “Indeed, Huang Zhong joined the fray at seventy and still achieved greatness. I bet on the elders’ team to win!”

After his declaration, Prince Song tossed a handful of coins to the beautiful woman managing the bets, who bowed in return.

Luo Gan turned, shouting angrily, “What was that? Didn’t I tell you to hold the line?”

Xiaozhi protested, “I did hold the line! I didn’t let him through, did I?”

Han Chong retorted, “But the ball went through! Or do you plan to carry the old man back for the prize?”

Xiaozhi groaned, having never really learned to play, now forced to learn as he went.

The second round began, and the trio steeled themselves. Their opponents no longer seemed like flickering candles but monstrous beasts.

Luo Gan seized the ball, spun past the fringe elder, only to be trapped between the smiling and coughing elders. Attempting a flashy spin move, his straw sandals betrayed him and he tripped, yelping in pain.

The smiling elder took the ball from Luo Gan’s feet, while the coughing elder, passing him, let out a foul-smelling fart, so pungent Luo Gan sprang up, fearing for his health.

Han Chong intercepted the smiling elder, who passed the ball to the fringe elder, now ready to receive.

At that moment, Xiaozhi, eager to redeem himself, leapt forward with lightning speed, unleashing a mighty sweep—only to miss the ball entirely. The fringe elder caught it, while Xiaozhi crashed face-first into the floor, drawing peals of laughter from the crowd.

“How can they not beat the elders?”

“Are they here just for laughs?”

“Street performers, really!”

Luo Gan’s pride was stung by the mockery, his body flushed with heat. Suddenly, he felt weightless, moving without resistance—surely a surge of supernatural power! Filled with confidence, he dashed toward his own goal.

The fringe elder shot—the ball arched through the air, and Luo Gan leapt, heading it down.

Gasps and cheers rose from the audience; Luo Gan’s save was swift and decisive!

He quickly carried the ball past the fringe elder, while the smiling elder’s grin became a strained mask, his breath short.

Seizing the opportunity, Luo Gan and Han Chong combined, dribbling past two defenders.

With the ball at his feet, Luo Gan faced the coughing elder, whose hacking worsened with speed. As he defended, spittle landed on Luo Gan’s face, making him feel sick and awkward, disrupting his play. Han Chong rushed forward and stole the ball.

Charging ahead, Han Chong shot beautifully, sending the ball into the “swirling eye.”

The referee announced, “One to one!”

The Gentlemen of the Bamboo Grove cheered, embracing to celebrate their goal.

“Brother Luo, that’s our first goal! I’m so cool!”

“Brat, what does it have to do with you?”

Meanwhile, the Cultivators from the Northern Mountains seemed to truly begin their path of cultivation—exhausted, hands on hips, resting their spent bodies. The elders exchanged glances, signaling to each other.

Play resumed, the fringe elder rolling the ball forward at a snail’s pace, and Han Chong rushed up, stealing it outright.

Suddenly, the fringe elder collapsed sideways, crying out loudly. The referee hurried over.

The fringe elder complained of pain, claiming Han Chong had collided with him ferociously. Han Chong tried to explain, but the referee was unmoved.

The referee admonished, “Filial piety comes first! Do you young people not know proper manners? Show respect to your elders!”

The fringe elder echoed, “Yes, yes, respect!”

Luo Gan watched the elder’s theatrics with indifference. As an experienced soccer fan, he felt nothing for such obvious dives.

Play resumed, Luo Gan spun past the fringe elder, deliberately avoiding contact, making it clear to all. Yet the fringe elder repeated his trick, sprawling to the ground, but the referee ignored him.

The fringe elder rolled and thumped the floor, wailing loudly, but no one paid the slightest attention.

He shouted, “Isn’t anyone going to help? Can an elder fall without concern? Is there no law or justice left?”

Magistrate Lu, savoring his cheese cherries, had been calm, but upon hearing this, he could no longer endure. He slammed the table and stood.

“Law? A rogue dares question the law? Take him away!”

Plainclothes guards flanking the stage stepped up and dragged the fringe elder off, leaving the audience in stunned silence. While everyone was distracted by Magistrate Lu’s action, Luo Gan swiftly scored, sending the ball into the “swirling eye,” changing the score to two to one.

Boos echoed through the venue, but the match carried on.

Luo Gan turned, shouting triumphantly, “Fall for that, you big-headed fool!”