The Discarded Punching Bag

Lu signed his name, leaving the line marked voluntary blank. He packed his mouthguard, wraps, and a dog-eared training journal. Behind him, Han's team was already laughing over a new sponsorship deal. Rain fell all night. At 3:40 a.m., Lu returned. His access card would expire at dawn. He had not come to beg. He simply refused to let his final day end with him on the floor. Emergency lights shone across the empty gym. In the mirror, his bruised face looked like an old poster somebody had crumpled and thrown away. He opened his journal. For 1,095 days, he had usually arrived at 5:40. Han came at 6:30, Jiang Bailu at 6:10. Yet no matter how early Lu arrived, he had always practiced somebody else's assigned movements.