Chapter One: Return to 2007, the Advice System
May 2007, the weather was gradually warming up.
Yet the frequency of boys appearing on the sports field had noticeably increased compared to spring.
It wasn’t because they were more tolerant of the sun.
The real reason was those long, captivating legs.
The sporty girls had long since swapped into short skirts and shorts, swaying and dazzling everyone’s eyes.
“Am I... reborn?”
Jiang Hong collapsed onto the steps, rubbing his eyes hard, doubting whether he was hallucinating from heatstroke.
But the faded shirt on his body, the familiar playground before him, the still-flat eight-pack abs on his stomach, the hair that hadn’t begun to fall out, and the handsome face that life hadn’t yet weathered—all screamed at him that this was real.
To be honest, aside from a decent face, Jiang Hong’s other traits were standard for a young man from a county town.
He had gotten into a second-tier university and stubbornly chose “Marketing,” a major infamous for “graduating into unemployment.”
After graduation, he naturally went into sales, but lacking both silver-tongued charm and the nerve to bluff, he failed to close a single deal in two months and was promptly “optimized” out by the company.
Subsequent jobs were all traps. When the internet boom arrived, he bit the bullet, withdrew his savings, and enrolled in a computer training course.
At that time, the industry was short on talent, and he finally earned over ten thousand a month. But once universities began churning out computer graduates en masse, this “wild coder” was swiftly optimized out again, thrust back into society.
Just as Jiang Hong was contemplating opening a small convenience store in his hometown to live off the land or stubbornly staying in the big city, suddenly, a screech of brakes pierced his ears.
Looking up, he saw a hundred-ton truck barreling toward him, about to make him its KPI.
At that moment, Jiang Hong had only one thought:
“Though I like anime, I don’t want to cosplay as a speed bump!”
When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting on the university playground, transformed back into a freshman about to enjoy summer vacation.
He had been granted a second chance by the heavens!
It was 2007—housing prices hadn’t skyrocketed yet, opportunities were everywhere, and the whole world seemed charged with the urge to surge forward.
“Beast! Using coaching as an excuse to take advantage of senior and junior girls!”
“Is this appropriate? This is not appropriate!”
Nearby, the short, dark-skinned chubby boy Li Hua stared at a senior hand-teaching a girl how to serve, his teeth grinding with envy, wishing he could run over and shout.
“Let me try.”
---
But Li Hua misjudged the fact that it wasn’t tennis that attracted the girls.
Jiang Hong gathered himself and turned to his roommate and frenemy, Li Hua.
This guy was decent—when Jiang Hong was at his lowest, he was the only one who still sent occasional messages.
He had even planned to support Jiang Hong, his “old father,” for a month.
Seeing Jiang Hong not respond, Li Hua grew suspicious and squinted, “Old Jiang, something’s off with you!”
“What’s off about me?”
Jiang Hong’s heart skipped a beat—had this guy seen through his time travel?
“Hmph!” Li Hua smugly lifted his chin. “Usually your eyes are glued to the senior girls, but today you didn’t glance once. Something’s definitely wrong—at least nine-tenths wrong!”
Exposed on a dirty secret, even with a thickened skin from life’s hardships, Jiang Hong’s face flushed: “Slander! Pure and simple slander! I was studying tennis technique, got it? Don’t slander an innocent man!”
Who didn’t know college students were bursting with hormones?
He, a small-town, rule-abiding test-taker, what harm was there in admiring the youthful beauty of senior girls?
Is that not reasonable?
Li Hua immediately tore down his argument: “With your skills? You’re worse than me!”
Arguing with this joker strangely eased Jiang Hong’s mood. He threw his head back and bragged, “Pfft, I’m a man destined for Grand Slam titles. I’ve just been going easy on you.”
To be honest, as a small-town test-taker, Jiang Hong had nothing to do with tennis originally. Joining the tennis club was entirely Li Hua’s doing—this guy kept nagging, “The tennis club has loads of girls, and in summer all the seniors wear short skirts.” Eventually, he half-heartedly joined.
But even after graduating, Li Hua never managed to hook up with any juniors in the tennis club.
Actually, the school’s tennis courts were only built a couple of years earlier, with the administration claiming it was “to prepare for the Olympics.”
But Jiang Hong never understood what a second-tier university had to do with Olympic preparation.
“Looks like last time I didn’t beat you enough. Today I’ll make sure you admit defeat!” Li Hua tossed the ball over. “You serve first!”
Jiang Hong instinctively caught the ball, gazing at the green-yellow sphere in his palm, suddenly a little dazed.
Though his original reasons for joining were impure, he really had fallen in love with tennis. After graduation, with no courts to play on, he could only watch matches online to satisfy the craving.
Starting over, making some money, and playing tennis sounded pretty good.
He grabbed the hundred-yuan racket, stepped behind the service line, tapped the ball on the ground, tossed it up, bent his knees, pushed off, and struck!
“Bang!”
---
The ball hit the racket, tracing an arc as it flew—his form was decent, but the result was...
“OUT!”
Li Hua called out mockingly.
Jiang Hong didn’t mind, feeling the vitality surging within him, he stood ready again.
It had been years since he last held a racket, so rustiness was normal.
The second serve made it into the court, though it lacked quality. Li Hua ran over to retrieve it. The two rookies volleyed back and forth for a while; Jiang Hong gradually found his rhythm, ultimately losing by just one point.
Li Hua tossed the balls back into the bucket and teased, “Old Jiang, at this level, the Grand Slam might be a bit of a stretch.”
Jiang Hong was about to retort when a snicker came from nearby.
“Grand Slam? Have you guys even seen a Grand Slam? Learn to serve first.”
The speaker was a crew-cut guy wearing a white headband, flashy Adidas wristbands, and pink tennis shoes—a classic gear enthusiast.
Jiang Hong recognized him as Wang Li, the tennis club’s vice president, a junior reputed to have trained since childhood and holding a Level-2 certification.
They were joking around, but being mocked out of nowhere wasn’t pleasant—especially for hot-blooded college students.
Li Hua was about to fire back when Jiang Hong spoke first, addressing Wang Li with a sarcastic tone:
“Of course, us newbies can’t compare to the vice president. I heard you’ve trained for seven or eight years and you’re the club’s number two. Your skill must be top-notch! Care to give us some tips on improving our serves?”
Wang Li found the words odd—half praise, half not—but he couldn’t appear incompetent by refusing to advise.
He said casually, “Simple. Serve a thousand balls every day, and your skill will naturally improve.”
He only said that offhand—professional players train for just an hour or two, and serving a thousand balls daily would wreck their arms.
After speaking, he tilted his head back, as if his brain was planted on the top of his head, and left the court.
“Pfft, what’s there to be proud of? Just a bit of money, good looks, and tall stature.”
“What else do you have?”
For some reason, the more Li Hua talked, the more his eyes stung—probably because of the strong wind and sand in his eyes.
[Beep!!]
[Detected a suggestion related to tennis directed at the host. Tennis Advice System officially bound.]
[Completing related suggestions will grant rewards.]
[Suggestion recorded. Would you like to view it?]
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