The Third Visit

A gentle breeze blew, and the sunlight was warm. The gray-haired gentleman stood calmly in place, patient and composed. He was unlike any agent Lance had encountered before.

Curiosity arose naturally within Lance, and he couldn't help but ask, "What if I hadn't turned around and just kept walking?"

The gray-haired gentleman smiled. "You would've called me."

Lance remained skeptical. "And what if I didn't call you?"

The gray-haired man responded smoothly, "I'd still be here next week, at the same time, in the same place."

Without waiting for Lance's reply, the man continued, "And if you still didn't respond, I'd be here again the following week, same time, same place, just like today."

A smile crept onto Lance's face.

The gray-haired man noticed Lance had caught on. "Just as Zhuge Liang was worth three visits to the thatched cottage, you are too."

Lance chuckled, finding the man amusing. "If I'm Zhuge Liang, then you must be...?"

The gray-haired gentleman shook his head quickly, "No, no, no. It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that I know your value, and I believe you deserve the best treatment."

Lance looked at the man closely, assessing the sincerity behind his words and expressions. Finally, he spread his hands. "Alright, I admit I fell for it… Jesus Christ…"

Out of nowhere, Lance sighed.

The gray-haired man looked curious. "What is it?"

Lance waved dismissively. "Nothing. I just remembered a cheesy line, 'Woman, you've caught my attention,' and now I've got goosebumps. No, stop! Let's not think about it. End of scene."

The gray-haired man was caught off guard for a second, but then he burst into laughter, realizing what Lance meant. "Has anyone ever complimented your sense of humor?"

Lance shrugged lazily, appearing harmless and relaxed, with none of the fierce energy he displayed on the field. "Do scouts assess a player's humor during evaluations?"

The gray-haired man chuckled, acknowledging the joke but shifting gears quickly. "I'm sure I'm not the first agent to approach you, and I won't be the last."

"And I'm sure you're aware that being Asian in football is seen as a disadvantage. But disadvantages can become advantages."

"Before me, there must have been agents more eloquent, with more impressive resumes and greater advantages, all trying to paint a grand vision for you. But I have my own judgments and my own strengths. All I'm asking for is a chance to have an open conversation."

Lance raised his chin slightly. "So, your last name?"

On the man's business card, it was spelled "Yee," which could be pronounced as "Yi," but when the man introduced himself, he had pronounced it "Yu."

Lance had noticed this small detail earlier when glancing at the card and now brought it up as a way to shift the conversation—

In fact, Lance was subtly trying to disrupt the man's rhythm.

Conversations, like everything, have a flow. Lance might have fallen into the man's "reverse psychology" trick earlier, but he wasn't about to lose control of the dialogue. He was attempting to take charge.

Sure enough, the gray-haired man looked slightly surprised that Lance had picked up on the nuance. "Yu. My surname is Yu. But there's no such vowel sound in English, and people often pronounce it as 'you,' which is inconvenient. So we settled on another phonetic spelling. But yes, my real surname is Yu."

Lance raised his chin again. "So, what sets you apart from other agents?"

Sensing Lance's scrutinizing gaze, the man immediately understood.

Still, he remained composed and unflustered. He didn't try to evade the question and answered candidly. "You're Chinese, and I'm Chinese, but I'm not playing that card. In fact, I won't lie—I can't speak a word of Chinese."

Lance was taken aback. "Are you a third-generation immigrant?"

The man smiled gently. "Second generation. But when my parents immigrated in the 1950s, they didn't really use Mandarin much for communication."

In the 1950s, Mandarin hadn't yet been fully promoted, and many regions in China still primarily spoke local dialects.

Lance asked, "So, what language did you speak with your parents?"

The man smiled and said, "Toishanese. Hardly anyone speaks it nowadays, I'm sure."

Lance thought for a moment but still wasn't certain. "Cantonese?"

The gray-haired man's smile widened slightly. "Taishan dialect, from the western part of Guangdong."

"Ah, I see!" Lance waved his hand dismissively. "Well, that's a whole new language to me."

The man smoothly redirected the conversation. "I can guess that most of the agents who've approached you so far are drawn to you primarily because of your Chinese heritage..."

Lance responded with a knowing look. "You can say that again."

The gray-haired man paused, then smiled, understanding the implication. "Alright, one hundred percent of them."

"Sure, they all want to replicate the success of Yao Ming's entry into the NBA. But football and basketball are completely different sports."

"In basketball, there are only five players on the court. Whether you play well or not, you're always in the spotlight. Naturally, Yao's success had a massive promotional effect. But in football, there are over fifty players on a team. Even if you perform well, it's hard to guarantee the spotlight will always be on you."

"So, if they're hoping to use you to capture the Chinese market, I believe they'll soon lose patience because things won't be that simple."

"You'll need time to grow, and the Chinese market will need time to develop. It's not something that can be achieved overnight."

"We need to remain patient and build slowly."

Lance didn't rush to respond or interrupt. He remained patient, quietly listening.

Then, at just the right moment, Lance spoke. "And what about you?"

The gray-haired man exuded confidence. "In my eyes, you're a running back first. I see the value of a running back in you. It's only after that that I see you as a Chinese player."

"We both know that running backs in the league are currently hitting a wall. I won't make unrealistic promises, telling you that we can break down that barrier overnight because that's just not realistic."

"But if you asked me who has the potential to break through that barrier, I could give you an answer right now."

The gray-haired man didn't say another word, simply looking at Lance.

The answer was clear.

Lance smiled knowingly.

The man continued. "In the world of competitive sports, the market is important, but skill is even more important."

"If you enter the NFL and end up sitting on the bench or only rotating in occasionally, believe me, the Asian market won't care about you."

"So, before we discuss anything else, you are first and foremost a running back—a talented running back who will continue to grow into one of the best. Once you have the necessary skills, the labels others have placed on you will become your leverage, turning into your voice."

"By then, I will be your support and your partner. Together, we'll break through the barriers in front of running backs."

He didn't raise his voice, but his words carried a calm yet powerful conviction.

This agent clearly knew what he was doing, and he had come prepared.

Lance looked back at the gray-haired man, smiling brightly as he asked, "So, where does your confidence come from?"

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Powerstones?

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