Chapter 7
The “elementary school kid” carefully identified the person at the door and exclaimed in surprise, “Ning Yang?”
Ning Yang’s protruding ears were very recognizable. He walked straight in without invitation, shut the door, his smile fading, “Who told you to spread those things about Ning Zhou? Or did you make them up yourself?”
“I didn’t make them up! I just happened to overhear them from someone else!”
Ning Yang tapped the seam of his pants with a fingertip. “Who said it?”
The kid spread his hands. “I don’t know. The guy had a backpack with a national flag on it—probably a new coach or something…”
Ning Yang studied his expression, confirmed he wasn’t lying, then turned toward the door handle.
“Hey? Wait! Why are you so hung up on this? The stuff about Ning Zhou isn’t even rumors—it’s just the truth, isn’t it?”
Ning Yang’s hand on the door handle froze like a paused video.
The kid pressed on, “You’re a genius who got into training camp on pure skill, while Ning Zhou’s domestic league team only ever made it to the top sixteen. His stats as a setter are mediocre. Isn’t it obvious he only got in thanks to Deputy Coach Ning?”
Ning Yang’s eyes darkened, his tone sharpening, “Do you even know what kind of team he played for in the domestic league?”
“Uh… something in clothing, I think…”
“Yes. A team newly funded by a small clothing brand, less than three years old. Doesn’t making it into the top sixteen under those conditions already say something?”
The kid sneered. “Even if some no-name team stumbled into the top sixteen, that doesn’t prove it was all because of Ning Zhou!”
Ning Yang let out a laugh too, but his smile was cold and chilling, “That team’s attackers had the lowest average height in the entire league. And yet their average attack efficiency ranked top five. Casual fans watch the excitement; insiders watch the details. You do understand what those stats mean, don’t you?”
In the domestic league, height is the first standard when recruiting players. Anyone too short or physically average gets filtered out, left to drift into obscure little teams. Ning Zhou’s team was one of those “weak” teams in the public eye.
But under Ning Zhou’s setting, those rejected short attackers produced shockingly high efficiency—Through his passes, he let those shorter attackers maximize their ability. In other words, he gave them wings, enabling them to fight evenly at the net where they had no natural advantage.
The kid froze, unable to think of a retort.
Ning Yang opened the door, but before leaving, tossed back a weightless warning, “I don’t really care about ‘future career prospects.’ But if you make things harder for him again, I don’t mind dragging this to the bitter end.”
Bang!
The door slammed so hard that the kid’s ears rang. His face turned pale, “Shit… lunatic!?”
Ning Zhou returned to the dorm and picked up his phone, only to see a string of messages from the variety show contact, “Ning Zhou, that really is your account, right?”
“If it is, I’m going to tag it!”
“[Shocked hamster.jpg] Turns out everyone really was confused by your account. I even started doubting whether I’d typed it wrong…”
What’s there to be confused about?
Ning Zhou didn’t get it. He logged into Weibo—his account finally broke past zero followers, reaching three digits.
He searched the official page for Move Forward, Sports! and checked the comment section under the guest announcement:
“Am I the only one noticing there’s a very suspicious account mixed in here…”
“@NingZhouNotTaken—so is this a real guest account or just an empty one?”
“I could accept a small uncertified account, but 0 follows, 0 fans, and even the default avatar? /blackface/”
“Never seen such a broken-looking account. At least there’d be some zombie followers usually…”
“Maybe, just maybe, this guest registered the account overnight just to deal with the tag?”
“On one hand I feel he’s too perfunctory, but on the other I feel sorry for him… I couldn’t resist giving him a follow.”
“Same here. Already over five hundred followers. Weirdly satisfying! /ascend/”
The official page kept pinning and re-pinning posts in the comments, trying to steer attention back to the show itself—utterly failing. Seeing the contact’s sad meme sticker, Ning Zhou felt guilty.
He took their advice: followed the show’s official page, bringing his “following” count up to 1.
Then he searched for a volleyball image, set it as his avatar, and confidently replied, “Don’t worry, I’ve already cultivated my account!”
On the other side, the chat box showed “the other party is typing…” several times, hesitating, “You call this cultivated!?”
Listening to Nie Feiang’s snoring from the upper bunk, Ning Zhou clutched his phone in dismay—Surely this wouldn’t cost him the paycheck…?
For the sake of the salary promised in the contract, he lowered his attitude and asked humbly, “May I ask what I should do?”
“Since you’ve become a public figure, you need to maintain an image. At the very least, post something on Weibo to introduce yourself.”
Ning Zhou noted the request and went to browse through the other guests’ homepages.
Imitating them, he picked up the volleyball from his bedside, rested his chin on it, and snapped a casual selfie…
With only a little time left of lunch break, he rushed to nap, editing and posting at top speed, “Hello everyone, I play volleyball. [image]”
After posting, Ning Zhou went straight to sleep. Before heading to the court in the afternoon, he didn’t check his messages—he had left his phone in the dorm.
While waiting for the coach, he found a corner and started practicing ball control on the spot.
Ning Zhou was sure this was the most inconspicuous corner of the court, yet he felt faint, fleeting gazes on him…
Please, he really just wanted to be a salted fish!
Catching the ball, Ning Zhou walked straight over to a small group of players who were whispering together.
Ning Zhou, “Sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about me?”
Startled, they scattered at once. The one holding the phone stammered, “It’s… it’s not really a big deal… If I’m not mistaken, Ning Zhou, I think you’ve made it onto trending search…”
Ning Zhou: ???
Five years as an unnoticed substitute—yet in a single moment, he was known across the nation? The volleyball slipped from his hands. For a while, the only sound was the ball bouncing repeatedly against the ground.
Struggling to recover his voice, full of question marks, he asked: “Why?”
The other handed him the phone, studied his face for a few seconds, and said with certainty, “Yep, it’s definitely you!”
Ning Zhou took the phone. On the screen was the very selfie he’d just taken—In the slightly dim light, his skin looked smooth as porcelain.
His features were sharp and refined, and with the volleyball in his arms, he exuded a unique sporty-beauty vibe. But what caught the eye most was the faintly lifted corners of his lips, a restrained smile that revealed his social awkwardness, the look of someone mustering all his courage just to show a little friendliness…
The repost of this selfie had just squeezed onto the tail end of trending search, under the hashtag:
#Who dares say this account isn’t rich now?#
The original post caption read, “I came across a promo for a sports variety show. Everyone was mocking one guest’s bare-bones account, but it only took one photo to shut them all up! [image] @NingZhouNotTaken.”
The comment section was almost entirely people swooning:
“Witnessed this account go from nothing to blowing up into a handsome-guy account. Is this the joy of ‘raising’ an idol?”
“Not bare-bones anymore! Overflowing with richness! The stronger my doubts were before hitting follow, the wider my grin is after seeing this pic!”
“I’ve never followed sports before, but I’ve decided to change—starting with this show and volleyball matches!”
“So obvious, lol. You just want an excuse to stan him. Count me in…”
Ning Zhou fell silent: How did it end up like this?
“Ning Zhou!” Nie Feiang burst in from the court entrance, waving his phone. “Unbelievable!”
“I’ve already seen it, stop shouting!”
Nie Feiang skidded to a stop, panting hard: “Oh my god, I knew you’d get popular, but I didn’t think it’d be this fast!”
“Shh—” Ning Zhou hushed him, not wanting more people to notice. “It’s probably just a publicity stunt by the show.”
Nie Feiang couldn’t calm down, charging around like a bull just let loose, with Ning Zhou as the red cape, “Good thing I was prepared! I already stashed away your autograph. Come on, Ning Zhou, let’s take a photo together so I can brag on Moments that I’ve got a celebrity roommate!”
Seeing him so hyper, Ning Zhou returned the phone to the helpful player with an apologetic nod, “Sorry for taking up your time.”
“Not at all, not at all!” The player shivered with excitement. “Could I… also get a signature?”
Ning Zhou: …
Nie Feiang threw an arm around the player’s shoulder, all brotherly warmth, “My man, you get it! From today on, we’re founding members of Ning Zhou’s fan club!”
Ning Zhou frowned, “Don’t waste people’s time. Who’d be interested in that?”
The helpful player and Nie Feiang exchanged a look of fiery camaraderie, “You serious!?”
Ning Zhou’s face collapsed, “You’ve got to be kidding me…”
Before his eyes, the two bonded like old friends, added each other, and forged a strange new friendship. Glancing sideways, Ning Zhou spotted a few familiar figures entering the hall.
Saved!
He blurted out the first thing to stop the conversation, “Get ready for training, Coach Kong is here!”
The words hung in the air. All three froze. The helpful player scratched his head, a streak of bright-dyed blond catching the light, “Coach Kong? Who’s that?”
Ning Zhou forced a dry laugh, “Slip of the tongue, I meant… the coaches are here!”
Nie Feiang’s usually slow brain lit up suddenly, “Ning Zhou, did you just call Coach Luo ‘Coach Kong’?”(a.k.a Kong = Air/ Empty)
Ning Zhou: Doomed…
The helpful player’s eyes lit with revelation. Together with Nie Feiang, he exclaimed in unison, “Air Bangs!”
It only took two minutes for “Coach Kong” to spread among the players like wildfire.
Standing in line, Ning Zhou heard the whispers shift from “Ning Zhou made it on trending” to “Guess how many times Coach Kong will fix his hair today.”
He lowered his head deeply, praying no one would realize the nickname had come from him. Bitterly, he tried to comfort himself: At least the attention is off me now…
Sorry, Coach Kong(a.k.a Air)—uh, Coach Luo!
Unaware of the gossip, Coach Luo assembled the team and pointed to two unfamiliar faces, “Two new members have joined the national men’s volleyball coaching team. This is Garry, our specially appointed assistant coach from Country I, and next to him is Assistant Coach Hou, who will handle logistics and translation. Everyone, welcome them!”
Sparse applause sounded, and quite a few players whispered in surprise, “Wow, a foreign coach!”
Ning Zhou’s face darkened. He took a deep look at Garry, his heart sinking like it was falling off a cliff—The moment that locked him into the role of “substitute” had, after all, arrived…
![[Sports] I Really Am Just a Substitute](https://i2.wp.com/panda-translations.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/08/20231215185420_300_420.jpg?resize=151,215 "[Sports] I Really Am Just a Substitute")