The Buddha strives for a breath, while mortals vie for a stick of incense.

It was evident that Bai Haonan’s method was correct. After listening to Chen Sufen’s explanation, the scholar-physicians found that it fit perfectly with their rational thought processes and knowledge base, thus acknowledging that the private coach they had hired at one thousand five hundred per hour was indeed of a high standard.

Bai Haonan soon grew tired of talking and simply went down the line, teaching each of them hands-on. He required that, at least during this training phase and until the official match, each person had to complete about ten sets of squats daily. Of course, the barbell weight would vary depending on the individual. With this volume, he guaranteed that in two months’ time, the difference would be visible on the field. Afterward, these squats would no longer be included in the regular afternoon training sessions—they would be managed independently.

Most of these young scholar-physicians had studied abroad and were already in the habit of keeping fit. Previously, they might have followed the advice of ordinary fitness coaches, but now they felt they had finally found the right direction. Their research projects might have been profound, leaving little room to consider such basic matters, but at Chen Sufen’s reminder, memories surfaced: in high-level foreign gyms, the squat racks were always the most crowded, whereas in domestic gyms they were often empty. Here, the bench press was all the rage, as if it were the ultimate test of strength.

Little did they realize that the most important human strength comes from the lower body—the thighs, hips, waist, and core define total body strength, not the chest or arms, which are merely decorative. Traditional Chinese wisdom has always emphasized a stable foundation. Those tall, broad-shouldered fellows may assume they're strong, but in any contest of strength—lifting, grappling—it is the squat that is fundamental. Most ordinary people struggle to squat fifty kilograms, while professional athletes begin at one hundred, and even the crafty Bai Haonan could power through at around one hundred twenty.

Chen Sufen’s long, slender legs were different from those of typical models—rounded, solid, yet not cumbersome. No one knew just how much she could squat, but seeing her casually steady Bai Haonan’s barbell, it was clear she outperformed all the men present.

That was the difference. Throw-ins, long kicks, flips, kip-ups—every display of power, even what Bai Haonan jokingly called “thrusting strength,” all derived from the waist and core. Such a direct, purposeful, and blunt approach.

This was Bai Haonan’s philosophy: outcome over convention. If everyone was starting from scratch, then the most effective shortcut was the one that produced rapid results, even if it meant forcing the growth.

The fitness session lasted about an hour. Bai Haonan was eager to distance himself from Chen Sufen and forbade her from following them to the pitch: “Don’t forget the situation. You want to draw attention and get me killed? Get lost!”

The assistant coach didn’t bother arguing with him. She smiled politely, seeing the “gentlemen customers” off and reminding them to take all their belongings, fill up their water bottles, and stay hydrated—even though summer in Rongdu was cooler than Jiangzhou, it was still nearly the hottest days of the year.

So, the twenty-odd physician-players all politely took their leave, thanking Bai Haonan as they exited, praising his reliability. Even in this makeshift team, with fees already agreed upon, he had paid out of pocket for a fitness coach. The man nicknamed Enzyme shyly asked if he needed to chip in extra.

Bai Haonan scoffed, “Ignore that fool!” To the players, this showed generosity—especially to successful professionals, this was the spirit needed to see something done right. And if payment terms were set and respected, that was even more admirable.

Little did they know that if it hadn’t been for his bet with Chen Sufen, Bai Haonan, ever the opportunist, would have demanded extra from anyone else—only a fool wouldn’t!

If the previous fitness session merely demonstrated that Bai Haonan had chosen the right path—perhaps due to the fitness coach—what followed truly left the players in awe.

In the past, when directing players on the street courts, Bai Haonan would issue curt commands. His status was such that anyone who didn’t listen would be ousted by the group. He’d call someone to a position without explanation.

But today, having been paid—and perhaps still frustrated from being upstaged by that foolish woman in the gym, wanting to prove himself after feeling blocked—he spoke at length: “Old Song, Song Fengyun, right? You’re thirty-eight, and in college you were the top scorer in the medical university league—I’ve heard students mention it. So you’ve always played as a forward, but scoring back then doesn’t mean you can now. You were young, and your build suggests natural explosiveness. Back then, you could sustain it a bit longer, cover more ground, and your shooting rate was higher. Now, at your age, that burst has dwindled to a single step. Yesterday, you received over twenty passes from midfield and defense, attempting a shot each time. Let’s not talk about defensive pressure—you only succeeded three times, scoring once. That’s why in the second hour, I moved you to defensive midfield. Do you know why?”

The players, standing in formation, were astonished. Truth be told, they had only entrusted Bai Haonan with the team to tweak their skills, formations, or fitness. Deep down, they still saw themselves as casual street players, where familiarity wasn’t required—most teams played together for years, knowing only nicknames, nothing more. Off the field, they barely interacted, perhaps sharing a meal at best.

Thus, when Bai Haonan took charge, no one even gave him a roster. The day before, Enzyme had simply run through the names—most of them nicknames like Old Song, Zhang the Blade, Liu Gyno.

This meant Bai Haonan had gone to the gym to gather information, even matching names to faces from snippets overheard while playing. Never mind that such initiative and attention to detail was the surest path to success—the very ability to remember faces so well was elite. Most impressively, all he had was a whistle—no notes or records.

Old Song pondered, “It’s true, you called for me to press, then instantly return to position. At first it felt odd, but then it became easy, not tiring! I made quite a few passes, didn’t I?”

Bai Haonan nodded, “Because you’ve always played forward, your ball control is among the best on the team. That little bit of skill masked the decline in your explosiveness. To make the most of your remaining burst and control, you should play as a holding midfielder. You still have that one-step burst, and as a former forward, you’re comfortable with the ball. The forwards you face aren’t particularly skilled—so watch for the chance, intercept with your burst, then immediately distribute the ball. That’s your role now, and it’s far more valuable than scoring once in twenty attempts. Yesterday, in the last hour, you intercepted nine times. In professional matches, the average is just over four per game. Not that you’re amazing—the opposition is just weak!”

Old Song’s delight was quickly tempered, but he was still pleased; those listening were even more amazed by the analytical ability on display.

There had been no cameras allowed to record yesterday’s session. Had he really paid such close attention to Old Song and remembered all this?

No, Bai Haonan immediately moved on: “Old Song, when you release the ball, it should only go to two people—forward to Old Hong, or back to Old Zhang. If you can go forward, always do so; only pass back if blocked. That’s a non-negotiable order. Old Zhang, here’s why—Zhang Tingsong, right…”

Truthfully, Bai Haonan was showing off a bit, his mood still sour from Chen Sufen’s earlier antics, and wanting to prove he was worth the fee. So he stood there, critiquing each player one by one!

He could fluently analyze all twenty-five, breaking down their data and characteristics, and offering solutions! This was what he had spent over a decade doing for Old Chen.

The young scholar-physicians, all considering themselves high-IQ elites, were dumbstruck.

How much preparation had he done, or was he truly a walking computer?

Bai Haonan didn’t mind their envy, openly admitting his memorization skills and casually mentioning a few more obscure data points: for example, whether someone had suffered a serious injury to their right leg, since he had noticed habitual avoidance—three times in two hours yesterday, the player could have made a move but hesitated, though there was no reason to. It wasn’t obvious under normal circumstances.

The young physicians were briefly stirred, but then the conversation shifted to scientific discussion. They had all encountered people with photographic memories, encyclopedic knowledge, even atypical brain structures. The consensus was that Coach Liu was a rare genius, both intellectually and emotionally gifted.

Coach Liu, basking in their praise, was delighted.