A Chance Encounter
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the park as Jian Chen jogged along the paved trails. This was his rare day off—a break from the relentless training and media frenzy that had consumed his life since Nationals. The rhythmic sound of birdsong and the rustling of leaves provided a soothing backdrop, but Jian's mind was restless.
I'm at the top of the academy, but what's next? he thought. Nationals were a stepping stone, but how far can I really go?
He slowed to a walk, wiping sweat from his brow. That's when he heard it—the unmistakable sound of a shuttlecock being smashed.
Perfect Form
Jian's ears perked up, and he followed the sound to a nearby outdoor badminton court. There, a man stood alone, practicing with a robotic shuttle feeder. The man was in his early thirties, with a lean, athletic build. His movements were sharp, efficient, and precise.
Jian stopped in his tracks, mesmerized. The man's smashes were flawless—95% of them struck the target with perfect form, the shuttle zooming like a bullet and landing exactly where intended. Each swing seemed effortless, yet the power behind them was undeniable.
Jian's heart rate quickened. He couldn't look away. This guy… He's not just good. He's incredible.
The man noticed Jian watching and paused, turning to him with a friendly smile. "Enjoying the show?"
Jian nodded, stepping closer. "You're amazing. I've never seen someone smash like that."
"Thanks," the man said, lowering his racket. "I've been playing for a while."
Jian hesitated before asking, "Do you mind if we play a match?"
The man raised an eyebrow, studying him for a moment. "Sure. Why not? Always good to have a live opponent."
The Match Begins
They stepped onto the court, and Jian felt a surge of adrenaline as he gripped his racket. He didn't know who this man was, but his instincts screamed that this match would be different.
The man served first, and Jian immediately sensed the difference in pace. The shuttle came at him fast and low, forcing him to dive for the return. He managed to get it over, but the man was already at the net, executing a perfectly placed drop shot that left Jian scrambling.
1-0.
The game continued, and Jian found himself completely outmatched. The man's smashes were like thunder, his drop shots like whispers, and his movements were so fluid that Jian felt like he was always a step behind.
5-0.
10-0.
15-1.
The crowd that had begun to gather around the court gasped and murmured with each rally. Jian managed to score a few points with risky, unorthodox shots, but the man always adapted, always found a way to dominate.
The final score: 21-4.
The Revelation
Jian slumped onto the bench, panting and drenched in sweat. The man, in stark contrast, barely seemed winded as he walked over and offered Jian a bottle of water.
"Good game," the man said, his tone genuine.
Jian took the bottle, drinking deeply before managing to speak. "You… you're incredible. Who are you?"
The man smiled, sitting beside him. "Name's Zhang Wei. I'm ranked 25th in the world."
Jian's eyes widened. His grip on the bottle tightened as the weight of that statement sank in. He had just faced one of the best players on the planet—and been utterly demolished.
"World-ranked…?" Jian repeated, almost to himself.
Zhang nodded. "Been on the circuit for over a decade. I'm winding down now, but I still like to keep sharp." He glanced at Jian. "You're good. Really good. What's your rank?"
"I don't have one," Jian admitted, his voice subdued. "I've only played at the national level."
Zhang's eyebrows rose. "No international experience? That explains why you're still raw. But your potential… It's impressive. With the right training, you could go far."
The Aftermath
Jian sat in silence for a moment, staring at the court. The loss stung, but it also lit a fire in him. Zhang Wei's level of play was unlike anything he had ever encountered, and the gap between them was glaring.
"You made it look so easy," Jian said finally.
Zhang laughed lightly. "Trust me, it wasn't. You've got talent, but talent alone doesn't cut it at the top. You need discipline, strategy, and experience. And most importantly…" He tapped his head. "You need to be mentally strong. Matches at the international level aren't just physical—they're psychological wars."
Jian nodded slowly, his mind racing.
Zhang stood, slinging his racket over his shoulder. "You've got a long road ahead if you want to reach the top. But if you're serious about it, I'd say you have a real shot. Maybe we'll meet again—next time on the international stage."
Jian stood as well, bowing slightly. "Thank you for the match. And the advice."
Zhang smiled, giving him a small wave as he walked away.
Reflection
As Jian walked back through the park, his thoughts were a whirlwind. The match had been humbling, but it had also given him clarity.
This is what I've been working toward, he thought. This is the level I need to reach—and surpass.
His phone buzzed, a message from Feng:
"You alive? Practice starts in an hour. Don't be late!"
Jian smirked, pocketing his phone. Practice is just the beginning.
For the first time since Nationals, Jian felt a renewed sense of purpose. Zhang Wei had shown him the path forward, and now it was up to him to walk it.
The Picture That Became Motivation
After his match with Zhang Wei, Jian Chen couldn't stop thinking about the sheer difference in their skill levels. The experience left him humbled, but it also sparked a determination unlike anything he'd felt before.
Before leaving the park that day, he had asked Zhang for a picture. Zhang, ever good-natured, had agreed, and they had posed on the court—Jian looking drenched and battered, while Zhang appeared fresh and composed.
That night, Jian sat on his bed, staring at the photo on his phone. He opened an editing app, added a bold red circle around Zhang's face, and typed one word at the top: "TARGET."
Satisfied, he saved it as both his wallpaper and his social media profile picture. Every time he picked up his phone, it would be a reminder of who he needed to surpass and the level of effort it would take to get there.
Practice and Revelation
The next morning, Jian was back in the gym, pushing himself through an intense solo drill. He had set the shuttle feeder to maximum speed, forcing himself to return each shot with precision. The repeated smashes echoed through the gym as his sweat dripped onto the polished wooden floor.
On the sidelines, Feng lounged on the bench, scrolling through his phone. He wasn't much for solo drills, preferring to save his energy for match play. Jian's phone, sitting on the bench next to Feng, buzzed with a notification.
Curious, Feng glanced at the screen. That's when he saw it—the photo of Jian and Zhang Wei, with the word "TARGET" emblazoned across it. Feng blinked, leaning closer to get a better look.
"Wait a minute…" Feng muttered to himself. He picked up the phone and called out, "Hey, Jian! Is this real?"
Jian paused mid-swing, turning to face Feng. He noticed his phone in Feng's hand and immediately knew what he was referring to.
"Of course, it's real," Jian replied, his tone blunt as usual.
Feng stared at the photo, his jaw dropping. "You're telling me that's Zhang Wei? As in ranked 25th in the world Zhang Wei?"
Jian nodded, walking over to grab his water bottle. "Yep. I played a match against him yesterday."
Feng's eyes widened even further. "You played him? What happened?"
"I got destroyed," Jian said matter-of-factly, taking a long sip of water. "21-4. He made me look like a beginner."
Feng burst out laughing. "And you still asked for a photo? Man, you've got guts."
Jian smirked, glancing at the picture on his phone. "Every time I see it, I get happy and angry at the same time. Happy because I got to face someone like him. Angry because I wasn't good enough."
Feng tilted his head. "So you made him your 'target,' huh?"
"Exactly," Jian said, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Every time I feel like slacking off or think I'm working hard enough, I look at that picture. It reminds me I'm not even close to where I need to be."
Feng grinned, shaking his head. "You're something else, Jian. Most people would've been crushed by that loss, but you're using it to fuel yourself. Respect."
Motivation on Display
Throughout the week, Jian's teammates couldn't help but notice the intensity in his training. He was faster, sharper, and more relentless than ever. Every time he looked at his phone during breaks, they saw the same photo—the one with Zhang Wei and the word "TARGET."
"Is that…?" one of them asked.
"Yep," Feng replied before Jian could, grinning proudly. "That's Zhang Wei. World rank 25. Jian played him and got obliterated."
"Why would he keep a picture of that?" another teammate asked.
"Because he's Jian," Feng said with a shrug. "He's wired differently."
A New Level of Determination
For Jian, the picture wasn't just a reminder of his loss—it was a symbol of where he wanted to be. Whenever he felt his legs give out during sprints, or his arms ache from endless rallies, he'd glance at his phone. The calm, confident face of Zhang Wei stared back at him, reigniting his drive.
One day, Jian thought to himself, I'll meet him on the court again. And next time, I'll win.
Every ounce of effort, every drop of sweat, and every sacrifice was aimed at that singular goal. The picture on his phone wasn't just a target—it was a promise.
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