The morning air carried the faint chill of spring when Li Wei reached the train station. His parents stood beside him on the platform, their faces a blend of pride and worry. A red duffel bag hung from his shoulder, containing everything he owned that felt important — a few clothes, his notebook, a photo of his childhood friend Mingyu, and the envelope that had changed his life.
The loudspeaker crackled overhead.
> Train 2819 to Shanghai, boarding in five minutes.
His mother adjusted the collar of his jacket. "You've packed everything?"
Li Wei nodded. "Yeah. Enough for two years, I guess."
His father's hand came down gently on his shoulder. "Remember, son — it's okay to start over. Just don't forget who you are."
He smiled faintly. "I won't."
The train's horn blared, echoing across the platform. The moment had arrived.
Li Wei hugged them both, trying not to let the weight of goodbye linger too long. "I'll call once I reach," he said, stepping toward the door.
"Be safe, Wei!" his mother called.
He waved as the doors closed and the train began to move. The platform slipped away, his parents' figures growing smaller until they disappeared behind the fog and glass.
For a long while, he sat silently, staring at the passing countryside — the green fields, the small towns fading into the horizon. The rhythmic clatter of wheels against rails filled the cabin, steady and soothing.
He thought about everything that had led to this moment — the baseball tournament, the home run that shattered his confidence, the year of silence that followed. He had spent so long running from his failure that he'd forgotten what it felt like to chase something new.
Now, with the world sliding past his window, he felt something stirring deep inside — not fear this time, but a strange, thrilling anticipation.
He reached into his pocket and took out the envelope, tracing the golden dragon with his thumb. The Chinese Cricket Project.
Two years. No turning back.
The countryside blurred into suburbs, then skyscrapers, the gray sprawl of Shanghai rising like a living machine. The sight of the city made his pulse quicken — a place of ambition, energy, and opportunity.
By the time the train slowed into the station, Li Wei's heart was racing. He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stepped onto the platform into the noise and chaos of Shanghai Central.
-----
The station was massive — a storm of people, announcements, and motion. Li Wei tried to stay calm as he followed the signs, his eyes darting from gate to gate. Somewhere among this sea of travelers, he was supposed to find a man from the program holding a sign with the project's emblem.
But before he could search, something caught his eye.
At the far end of the platform, standing alone by a vending machine, was a boy around his age — tall, lean, wearing a black hoodie with the hood halfway up. His hair was messy, dark with faint blue streaks near the tips. But what stood out most was the eyepatch covering his left eye.
In his right hand, he held a phone, tapping impatiently at the screen. On his back was a long, dark-blue cricket kit bag — unmistakable. The golden letters GRAY-NICOLLS gleamed faintly across the strap.
Li Wei froze. Cricket gear?
Until that moment, cricket had felt abstract — a sport from videos, a concept on paper. But seeing someone his age carrying real equipment made it suddenly real.
Li Wei stared for a second, half curious, half cautious. The boy caught him looking and grinned. "You lost or just amazed by my fashion sense?"
Li Wei blinked. "Uh… I was just wondering—are you… wearing that for a reason?"
The boy chuckled, straightening up. "Yeah. It makes me look mysterious. Works every time."
Li Wei couldn't help laughing. "Does it?"
"It just did," the boy said, offering his hand. "Name's Han Jianyu."
"Li Wei."
Their handshake was quick but firm. Jianyu's accent had a strange rhythm—Mandarin mixed with something lighter, more relaxed.
"You're not fully Chinese, are you?" Li Wei asked.
"Half right. My mom's from Guangdong, my dad's Australian. He played a lot of cricket back in Melbourne. I grew up hearing about runs, overs, and googlies before I could spell my own name."
Li Wei's eyes widened. "So you're already a cricketer?"
"Yeah," Jianyu said proudly. "Batsman. And sometimes bowler, when I'm bored. Got my first bat when I was six. Broke a window with it. My dad said it was a sign."
Li Wei smiled, impressed. "I didn't even know China had cricketers."
"We don't—yet," Jianyu said, swinging his kit bag higher. "That's why they started this project. To make us the first generation. You must've got the same envelope?"
Li Wei nodded, tapping his bag.
Jianyu tilted his head. "So, what's your story? You look like someone who's swung a bat before."
"Baseball," Li Wei said quietly. "Quit a year ago."
"Ah, that explains the shoulders," Jianyu said with a grin. "You'll pick up cricket fast. The swing's different, but the rhythm's the same. Just don't call it a home run, or Coach might faint."
They both laughed. The tension that had followed Li Wei since he left home started to fade.
"Come on," Jianyu said. "The project van's this way. Look for a guy with a golden dragon badge."
----
Outside the main hall, a man in a black suit stood near a sleek van, holding a tablet embossed with a golden dragon wrapped around a red ball.
"Li Wei and Han Jianyu?" he asked.
They nodded.
"Welcome to The Chinese Cricket Project. Please get in."
Inside the van, several other teens sat—gymnasts, sprinters, swimmers. All had that same uncertain look of people stepping into something far bigger than themselves.
Li Wei and Jianyu sat together. The van started moving, the skyline of Shanghai melting into the distance.
For a while, no one spoke. Then Jianyu leaned closer. "So what made you join?"
Li Wei thought for a moment. "I think I just wanted to feel like an athlete again. After I quit baseball, everything felt… empty."
Jianyu nodded thoughtfully. "You know, that's what cricket's good at. It fills empty spaces. The time between deliveries, the silence before the bowler runs in—it's addictive. You'll see."
Li Wei looked out the window. "I watched a match once—India versus Pakistan, 2016. The crowd, the sound… it felt alive."
"That's the one where Kohli went crazy," Jianyu said, smiling. "Good taste, rookie."
Li Wei laughed. "You really love this sport, huh?"
Jianyu leaned back, one arm behind his head. "Love? It's more like a part of me. I mean, come on—look at me. Half Aussie, half Chinese, full cricket nerd, wearing an eyepatch for fashion. I was born to confuse people."
Li Wei shook his head, chuckling. "You're definitely not like anyone I've met."
"That's the point," Jianyu said. "If we're gonna build Chinese cricket from zero, we need weirdos like us."
The van drove through the drizzle into open country, the city lights fading behind them. Li Wei could see faint outlines of practice nets and floodlights in the distance.
Jianyu stretched, then said softly, "You nervous?"
"Yeah. A bit."
"Good," Jianyu said. "Means you care."
Li Wei turned to him. "You really think we can do this? Make China good at cricket?"
Jianyu grinned, his eyepatch catching a flash of light. "Why not? Every great story starts with a crazy idea. This is ours."
Li Wei looked out the window again. The road wound into the mist, carrying them toward something that didn't exist yet—but might soon.
For the first time in years, he felt that old spark again—the thrill before the first pitch, before the first ball.
He smiled quietly. "Then let's make it count."
"Deal," Jianyu said, offering a fist bump.
Li Wei bumped it back.
The van rolled deeper into the countryside, toward Dragon Field, the training ground where their journey—and Chinese cricket—was about to begin.
And as Li Wei glanced at Jianyu, he couldn't help but think: Maybe this time, I won't be running from failure. Maybe I'm running toward something new.