There is always just a touch of beauty.

No matter how much professional football is criticized in the country, any player capable of competing in the domestic top league is a legendary figure on an amateur pitch—a rare talent among thousands. Witnessing this firsthand makes one understand the essence of the word: all-powerful god.

Bai Haonan possessed no particularly outstanding specialty; his abilities were well-rounded, and among professional players could even be considered mediocre. Yet on a university pickup field, he was a presence that surpassed all others. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, his feet clad in brand-new Nike Airs, he moved effortlessly across the pitch.

He didn’t need to sprint at lightning speed or perform dazzling tricks. With absolute composure, he advanced, calmly and steadily. Any defender rushing up to block or disrupt him was easily bypassed as he used his hips to drive his thighs, while his calves and ankles flicked the ball nimbly. In the space of a few feet, he maneuvered deftly, the ball glued to his feet, inching toward the opponent’s goal in measured rhythm.

That’s the nature of football: the difference in skill level is akin to an adult effortlessly dominating basketball or table tennis against a four- or five-year-old. The vast physical gap brings total confidence, and this ease and assurance translate into flawless control. Ultimately, football is a sport where one uses the least agile part of the body to control the ball. It’s a contest of who can best overcome this lack of agility and minimize mistakes. Even something as small as a knot in the shoelace can alter the rebound direction of a ball. When confidence and technical foundation are so far apart, the result is absolute dominance.

The professionalism honed over twenty years cannot be dismissed as worthless—especially when facing a crowd of novices. Advancing to about twenty meters from the goal—the distance of a standard penalty arc—Bai Haonan instinctively knew he was within shooting range, even though the boundaries weren’t marked. Gracefully sidestepping another defender, he maneuvered the ball to his most comfortable position. Thigh driving calf in a sudden burst of force, the angle between the rolling ball and the swing of his leg—a detail professionals always mind—allowed him to maximize the power of his shot. He might not grasp the physics behind it, but the ball thundered toward the goal with a resounding thump, carrying a force that made every university student’s heart tremble.

Many amateurs wonder why, despite similar physiques, professionals always strike the ball more powerfully and accurately. The secret lies in the arc of the leg, the angle of the ball’s movement, even the body’s twist and tilt—whether the whole body acts as a hammer hitting the ball. Professionals refine this motion thousands, even tens of thousands of times over years, not to improve aim, but to ingrain muscle memory. With coaches guiding and correcting, the results become worlds apart.

So the student goalkeeper didn’t even dare reach for the ball, staring in astonishment as it sailed through the goal posts—no net to stop it, just sheer force. Behind the goal, a group of girls had been jumping and cheering. Bai Haonan noticed and instinctively directed the shot away from anyone, avoiding danger. Still, the ball slammed against the bleachers, startling the girls into shrieks, scattering like startled sparrows before regrouping and craning their necks to watch.

Many male students sweat it out on the pitch, perhaps hoping for exactly this kind of attention.

The university students were persistent, now worshipping this masked and bespectacled “classmate,” applauding and cheering as someone hurried to retrieve the ball and restart play. In pickup games, with no referees or strict rules, scoring and kick-offs happen casually from mid or back field. But before they could even comprehend the vast skill gap, as the ball passed Bai Haonan, he leapt on the spot and, with a dazzling header, snatched it back. Seamlessly, he juggled with his thigh, then gently nodded the ball forward in midair, sending it soaring between two incoming defenders. The ball went through, and his body followed. His muscular, professional physique worked its way between the two, colliding like a cue ball splitting two others on a billiard table. The two grown students bounced away, unable even to touch Bai Haonan’s shadow as he strode past, perfectly timing his steps to meet the ball as it began to drop, swinging his leg in midair.

He was now less than ten meters from the goal. The sheer dynamism of his charge frightened the student goalkeeper into jumping aside, unwilling to stand in front of the goal. Yet to everyone’s surprise, Bai Haonan, in the midst of apparent violence, made a gentle, almost nurturing touch, rolling the ball softly into the goal. The student seemed almost pushed away by the ball, comically so.

Now even the girls burst into laughter and shrieks, some calling out how handsome he was.

Never mind how much technical skill went into that feint—beyond the reach of a novice—the beauty of strength and skill left a deep impression in those fleeting seconds. It didn’t matter if one understood or loved football; it was like the original purpose of the Olympics, a celebration of the body’s beauty. Witnessing someone perform such marvelous feats with the same physical form filled the students with awe.

Bai Haonan himself felt exhilarated!

No championships, rankings, wins or losses, odds, or stakes—no match-fixing, no corrupt referees, no buying and selling, thus no harm!

Only the pure joy of playing football remained!

It had been years since he’d felt this.

So, this burly man, facing a group of university students who couldn’t put up a fight—not even worthy of being called amateur players—jumped up and down in celebration!

He bounced in place, shaking his hips in a style reminiscent of African dance.

Some professionals love to invent such signature moves; with black foreign teammates in his club, Bai Haonan had often joined in the fun.

Yet what’s common on a proper field seemed a bit outlandish here, further amusing the students. Two lively boys even joined him in his dance.

So after Bai Haonan scored again, a whole group of students waited to jump and celebrate together, the girls blushing and sneaking glances.

But really, wasn’t it a bit much for a professional player to seek pleasure among such hopeless amateurs?

Some might say: with skills like these, shouldn’t he have left Asia and conquered the world by now? The truth is simple: this is a professional versus amateurs. The huge gap makes everything look effortless. When Bai Haonan faces other professionals, especially high-level foreign players, he’d likely struggle against fierce, airtight pressing, prone to mistakes, or crumble under the weight of their reputation.

In the end, football is a sport where mistakes are all too common. Any error is almost expected.

Perhaps that’s why football is so favored by gambling and betting circles.