During The Blizzard (Amidst A Snowstorm Of Love)

Canto 45: My Queen

"My victory is sweeter because I know I shared it with you."

Translator: Wuxia Studio, Editor: J.C Forester (Mrphysit)

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The air crackled with anticipation as three distinct clusters of spectators materialized in the stands before the final women's group match.

From the east, the Dongxincheng contingent arrived in a flurry. Jiang Yang hurried Chen An'an and Fan Wen to the front row, their eyes sparkling with excitement. The second row held the stoic nine-ball players, including Wu Wei and Chengyan, their expressions a mask of concentration.

In the back, the junior and youth group players huddled together, animated whispers revealing their fascination with the "Sixth Brother's wife."

Westward, the North City contingent formed a contrasting picture. Meng Xiaodong, a solitary figure, occupied the first row. Behind him, Li Qingyan and his snooker players, recently "passing through" New York with Meng Xiaodong en route to Ireland, sat in stoic silence. The neighboring seats were filled with the nine-ball contestants, their quiet anticipation palpable.

Lin Yiyang slipped in, his role as "coach" seemingly understated. He found a seat towards the back.

Two boisterous boys from Washington flanked him, one still buzzing from his narrow escape in the tournament. The memory of pre-match nerves hung heavy in the air he'd skipped lunch, his hunger finally satiated by a post-victory hamburger.

"Sister-in-law," he exclaimed between bites, eyes wide with admiration, "Is Xinya the champion of the Singapore Open?"

Another boy chimed in, adding reverently, "Number three in the world!"

Lin Yiyang, a stark contrast to the two lively and energetic boys, sat rigidly in the front row. His elbows rested on his knees, forming a makeshift table for his clasped hands.

One index finger tapped a silent rhythm against his nose, the sole outward sign of his inner turmoil. His gaze scanned the arena, taking in every detail the polished surfaces of the tables, the stoic figures of the referees, the stark white of the scoreboards. Each object seemed to hold its breath, mirroring the tense anticipation that filled the air.

The Grand Slam. It was a dream he once held close, a burning aspiration that now felt like a distant memory. He had been away from the arena for eleven years, and though he finally stood amidst the international competition, it was from the unfamiliar vantage point of a spectator's seat. An ironic twist, he mused, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

The game commenced, the opening serve snatched decisively by Xinya. "Lady Luck seems to favor her today," boomed the commentator's voice, echoing through the stadium. "Securing the serve is a significant advantage, and it seems victory might be hers for the taking."

Indeed, the right to serve nine balls held immense weight in their world. Yin Guo, a solitary figure on the plush red sofa, gripped her cue tightly, her gaze fixed on her opponent's every move.

The serve advantage proved decisive. Her opponent, a whirlwind of momentum, swept through the first four games, the thunderous applause of the crowd echoing her dominance. By the fifth game, Xinya still held the serve, her lead an imposing 5 points to Yin Guo's 0.

Lin Yiyang, his gaze glued to the table across the arena, observed Yin Guo, a solitary figure on the plush sofa. Her composure remained unfazed, belying the storm brewing within. He recognized the glint in her eyes  the unwavering focus of a predator waiting for the pounce.