712 Little Red Riding Hood and Her Uncle Wolf

Twain and Dunn sat in Greenwood's office, looking at what was in front of them. Both men had very serious expressions.

Greenwood pointed to what they were looking at and said, "This is Chen's training log. Records are made every day as per your instruction."

They were two thick, B5-sized notebooks made out of photocopier paper.

Twain certainly could not finish reading the contents of these two books any time soon. He turned to the beginning, then flipped over to the middle, and finally flicked to the back. It was enough for him to draw a conclusion.

"He persisted and completed George Wood's training program at the youth team. To tell you the truth, I'm very surprised by it."

"I could tell George was very strong just by his physique," said Greenwood, "but Chen ... how could such strength come from such a thin figure?"

Twain did not make a sound, and continued to look down as he flipped through the training log.

Greenwood looked to Dunn, who was Chinese, and Dunn answered with a smile, "I don't know. Maybe it was the power of his dreams."

"Dreams?" Greenwood stroked his chin and smacked his lips, "Wasn't it his dream to become a professional footballer? But in the end it didn't come true. And I think he should have known long ago that this was impossible. No club wanted a young man who had only trained for one year, not to mention the fact that he was already eighteen years old. Why did he persist? Where did his strength come from?"

Dunn pointed his finger at Twain."Isn't there a guy here who accepted a 17-year-old who only just started his formal football training, and developed him to become the youngest captain in Nottingham Forest's history?"

"And Stuart Pearce only started playing professional football at the age of 21," Twain said without looking up. "This kid did a good job... he completed everything well. I thought you lied to me at first."

Greenwood cleared his throat. "Why would I lie to you? To be honest, Chen's drive was amazing. If he had started training here from the age of ten, he would have been able to become a qualified professional football player. But as for now..." He shrugged.

Twain closed the notebook and said to Greenwood, "Can I take these back to read?"

"They were prepared for you, Tony. If it wasn't for your illness...You should have read them in February."

"Well..." Twain put away the thick books and said, "It looks like I've missed a lot of wonderful things in the last five months..."

"Is your health all right, Tony?" Greenwood asked.

"You've already asked, Ian. Of course, there's no problem. Otherwise I wouldn't have come back to work... You know how many beautiful Brazilian women there are, heh heh."

Both Dunn and Greenwood ignored his joke.

Twain glanced at the two training logs again and said, "He even gave himself additional training? Dribbled the ball back and forth between here and home every day?"

Greenwood nodded. "Yes, he even did it when he went to the University of Nottingham for his cultural studies classes. John also told me that he saw Chen running in the street with the football when he got home. His classmates said he was a 'weirdo.' You know, the sidewalks were uneven, and the football always bounced around..."

Twain interrupted his account to ask, "How long did he do it for?"

"Until the last day of his training here."

Twain stared at the cover of the training log and didn't say a thing.

He thought of that muddy face in the wind and rain, the miserable appearance, and how it was somewhat in line with the public image of football in that country...

With the terrible defeat of the Chinese team at the Olympic Games, "football" was already a word that almost everyone abhorred in China. The mention of football would inevitably provoke a burst of ridicule, which was almost always the case in both popular and state media. Nowadays, if someone announced that he wanted to be a professional footballer, he would be jeered at. As long as a person was playing football, some people would think that he was related to the Chinese Football Association. And as long as he did not hate Chinese football, he would be looked down upon ... The wave of fanatical antipathy was not expected to cool down for years to come.

Twain did not have any special views on this. The Chinese Football Association did this to itself, and cannot escape. It's better to let them die early. Maybe that will provide a new lease on life.

But Chen Jian has nothing to do with the Chinese Football Association, and it's not his fault that the state of Chinese football is so dire. He's not even a product of the system. He's just a stubborn kid with a head full of dreams.

He had given his best, and he was exhausted. Had he broken down the wall?

What was his mood like when he left Wilford? Did he regret it? Was he disappointed? Unwilling to resign himself to his fate?

I really want to see his face with my own eyes.

When I was lying in the hospital bed, I really missed out on a lot.

"Tony?" Dunn saw Twain in a daze for a little too long, and called out to rouse him.

"Ah... Ian. I'll ask you one more thing. How did he perform in the internal game after that incident?" Twain looked up at Greenwood.

"He was a lot better than before, and in the end, I could hardly pick out any faults...If I had to pick on something, it would be an inevitable factor, such as the gap between his level and that of his teammates, who have been training here for a decade. But I couldn't say that his ability was terrible. For example, in terms of progress, he was the fastest on the team. But after all, he was nearly a decade behind the average player."

Twain smiled. "Yeah. He thought there was just a wall blocking the way to his dream. But what's blocking him is not a wall, but a mountain...Ah, the fool."

He stood up and said goodbye to Greenwood before he left North Wilford with Dunn.

"What do you have in mind, Tony?" Dunn asked after they left.

"Nothing. I'm going to go back and take a good look at these..." Twain waved the two training logs and said, "I'll leave the afternoon training to you, David, and the others."

Dunn nodded and said nothing. Twain could not tire himself out on his first day back to work. No one would want him to stay here and tough it out. He needed to resume his work day by day. Anyway, the team's terrible situation couldn't get any worse. No one would urge Twain to get back to work quickly, and guide the team to get back on track.

※※※

Twain had been sitting at his desk since he had gotten home at noon. He carefully finished reading the two training logs. Other than grabbing a meal in the middle, he had not moved from the spot, and did not even play provocative little games with Shania. Shania also found that Twain looked serious and focused. She knew it must be an important matter, so she did not go up to him and bother him. She only persuaded Twain to go to bed when it was time to rest. Douglas' contract expired the day Twain decided to return to the team. Now Shania needed to take care of her beloved Uncle Tony herself. But it was nothing, for she had learned a lot of professional medical knowledge and skills from Douglas. She could take care of Uncle Tony alone.

She did not have a job for the time being. Because Uncle Tony had to be in England, she did not go to Hollywood. Her Hollywood career also seemed to become insignificant. She did not care about which celebrity parties to go to, which famous stars to get to know and meet, and all kinds of necessary social interactions.

Twain once asked her about this decision, and her answer was fairly simple: "Movies have always been my passion. It would be good if I could make them my profession. But if I have to choose between my passion and Uncle Tony, I certainly won't choose to go to America."

"Don't tell me you've given up after a year-long struggle in the United States?" Twain felt sorry in his heart for Shania. He knew that once she was far away from Hollywood, she could only get farther from the land of her dreams, even if she had many friends to support her.

"Although I have let Mr. Cruise down a little, for me, nothing is more important than you, Uncle Tony."

Hearing Shania say so, Twain gave a long sigh. "You're going to make me feel guilty, Shania. Because I deprive you of the right to pursue your dreams..."

"Come on, Uncle Tony," Shania pouted. "Don't forget, four and a half billion years. I already feel that it's a bargain to get four and a half billion years of love in exchange for a movie career."

What else could Twain say? He could only tightly embrace his young girlfriend.

※※※

Before helping Twain to bed, Shania casually asked, "What were you so engrossed in reading? I've never seen you so focused on a...book?"

"A dream journal." Twain rubbed his temples. Although his eyes and mind were a little tired, he was in a good mood. "I was very pleased reading it. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. I just wanted to finish reading in one breath...Unfortunately, it was cut off before the writing was done. The author was just horrible..."

"A dream journal? Is it a novel?"

"No, a reality TV show."

Shania shrugged. Her Uncle Tony sometimes liked to say inexplicable things. She was used to it. But it was safe to say that what he was reading had something to do with his job, because that kind of focus only appeared when Uncle Tony was working. It was charming to look at his silhouette.

After she covered Twain with a thin blanket and kissed him on the lips, Shania got up and turned to walk away.

Although the two were engaged, they tacitly maintained their way of life at No. 13 Branford Garden Lane—they slept in separate bedrooms. They kept up this arrangement even while they were on holiday in Brazil. It had started out because Uncle Tony was physically weak, and his heart could not withstand the stimulation. Making love and having an orgasm, which would lead to his heart beating overly fast and put it in extreme danger, were naturally forbidden. Later on, because this lifestyle had become a habit, Shania would not take off her clothes and come on to Twain to initiate sex. As for Twain...he was accustomed to being a bachelor, and neglected this area of life. Coupled with his hope to start work as soon as possible, he had not been in the mood.

But today, after he had returned to the team and read Chen Jian's training logs, he suddenly felt he was in a good mood.

Twain grabbed hold of Shania.

He laid in bed and looked at Shania. The dim bedside lamp shone and penetrated the layer of gauze-like material, fully showing off her curvaceous model's body. Except for a pair of panties, she did not seem to be wearing any undergarments. Her youthful, naked body exuded a seductive fragrance through the thin top. It suddenly stirred his appetites, and he was feeling amorous...

Shania did not make a move to leave. But she didn't turn around to smile at him, either, or ask, "What's the matter, Uncle Tony?" She just sat still, with her back to Twain.

"Would you like to hear a story, Shania?" Twain's hoarse voice came from behind.

"Okay, Uncle Tony. But what's the story?" Shania still had not turned her head back.

Twain suddenly pulled Shania forcefully into his arms. "Little Red Riding Hood and Uncle Wolf."

Shania did not play along with him or whine coquettishly. Instead, she screamed, "The pacemaker..." She was afraid that she would fall down and hit the pacemaker in Twain's chest.

Twain made a face and said, "You don't need to worry about that little thing...You're not playing along, Shania. The mood is gone!"

Shania laid on Twain's chest and glanced sideways at him. His face was straight. Her lips slowly curled up at the corners as she said, "Isn't it supposed to be Little Red Riding Hood and Granny Wolf?"

"Now it's Little Red Riding Hood and Uncle Wolf!" Twain tried hard to look serious, and widened his eyes to pretend to be the fiendish Uncle Wolf.

"Is Uncle Wolf hungry?"

"Yes, hungry!" Twain said gruffly. In fact, even if he was not intentionally gruff, his voice was hoarse enough...

"Then in that case, Little Red Riding Hood will go make you a late-night snack!"

Without letting go, Twain said, "No, you will run out to call the huntsman. I'm not stupid!"

"Oh, what should I do!" Shania said in distress, with her head cocked to the side. "Uncle Wolf is hungry and won't let me go..." She thought about it. "There's only one way!"

She suddenly unbuttoned her shirt with one hand and winked at Twain. "I'll have to feed Little Red Riding Hood to Uncle Wolf!"

Twain did not stop her. He just let go of her other hand and put both his hands behind his head. He quietly watched Shania lower her head as she carefully undid each button. As she peeled off her top, that flawless, alluring, milky-white body was unveiled before Twain's eyes bit by bit.

He watched her in a daze, and suddenly he had the surreal feeling that he was dreaming.

Was the beauty standing undressed in front of him really the long-legged Lolita who had annoyed him so much that he wanted to call the police? When he had carried her to the hospital because she was unconscious from a fever, and disturbed Constantine's happy occasion, did he ever think that he would share a moment like this with her? When this cute young girl constantly addressed him as "Uncle Tony," had he ever felt love for her from the deepest corners of his heart, and wished that she would become his wife?

These past events and his perception of time were slowly blurring. Only Shania's bashful body was clear in the dim light.

She opened her arms and leaned down slowly. With her cheeks flushed, her rosy lips slightly parted, and her sweet-smelling breath in his face, her voice spoke from the depths of her throat, as if through a layer of hazy water vapor. "Dear Uncle Wolf, please ... don't hold back..."

An abundance of love flowed within the bedroom, as if the couple's intense passion could not be melted.