Chapter 518: Chapter 518

When Chiwo posed this question, Tang Long looked up at the snow falling heavily from the sky.

The snow was swirling, descending from the sky, blanketing the already gloomy Manchester sky in a gray blur. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel·fire.net

"Are you joking, Mr. Chiwo? I guess there must be at least a few hundred snowflakes!"

Tang Long responded offhandedly, but Chiwo took it seriously.

"Specifically, the football hit 2,453 ice crystals, and the airflow it caused altered the trajectory of 3,489 surrounding snowflakes."

Chiwo held the football covered in snowflakes with both hands.

At the point where his palms supported it, some of the snowflakes melted from the warmth seeping through his black woolen gloves, soaking Chiwo’s hands.

Tang Long knew Chiwo wouldn’t deceive him, but the number precise to the single digit left him spellbound.

He recalled yesterday’s match and how, during the beta testing of [Fly Eye], he could see the pores and tiny hairs on the faces of two opposing center-backs, and the sweat drops about to fly off the goalkeeper’s forehead, which seemed incredible to him. Yet compared to what Chiwo described, it was insignificant.

"Don’t be surprised. With your current abilities, you must start from the most basic training."

"Remember, sharp visual insight can accurately judge the distance and speed of the ball. It can help you discover many hidden opportunities on the rapidly changing field."

"It’s not just your predictive ability you need to enhance, but also a deeper sensory perception."

Chiwo returned to the other end of the field.

Soon, three consecutive footballs were kicked over by him.

Amidst the swirling snow, Tang Long opened his eyes wide, constantly envisioning the scene in his mind of these footballs striking the falling snowflakes to pieces.

Chiwo’s lofted balls were light and floaty, but each one precisely hit Tang Long on the forehead.

Afterward, Chiwo took Tang Long to a small room in the training facility.

The two of them brushed off the snow from their bodies, and then Chiwo turned off all the lights in the room and drew thick blackout curtains, turning the small room into a dark chamber.

"Please look at the screen."

Chiwo tapped on the computer monitor, immediately bringing up a screen full of dense mosaics.

These mosaics covered the entire screen like a Rubik’s Cube, with colorful patterns rhythmically jumping and moving, making it dizzying to behold, even slightly headache-inducing.

"Each eye of the fly’s compound vision can independently form an image. What it sees is like a mosaic picture composed of hundreds of the same images merged together. It can quickly perceive an object’s overall outline, movement status, and position change, aiding effectively in navigation, foraging, and avoiding predators."

"Think about why it’s so difficult to catch a fly by hand, and you’ll understand."

Tang Long laughed and said, "So, Mr. Chiwo, do you want to turn me into a fly on the football field?"

"No, you certainly won’t be a fly, but you can become as elusive as a fly, feeling the opponent’s movements at the first moment, thereby escaping pressing and pinning."

On the computer screen, there were about a thousand mosaic squares, of which about 1/6 were blue.

These blue squares kept jumping, interspersing, and flashing among the red, green, yellow, black, and white squares, weaving back and forth.

Following Chiwo’s direction, Tang Long focused his attention on these blue squares to the best of his ability.

After half an hour of training, they felt a bout of dizziness overcome them. Chiwo stopped the training, opened the curtains, and the room became bright again.

"I feel is similar to my [Chessboard Insight] ability; it’s also about dividing the field into many squares."

"No, [Chessboard Insight] improves your spatial awareness of the field, while [Fly Eye] trains your perception of the movement and speed between the ball and people."

Italy, Southern Venice town.

The winter in Venice blanketed the town with a chill like a light veil.

The surface of the canals shimmered slightly with a cold light, like a giant mirror reflecting the outlines of ancient buildings on either side.

Grandma Dilata’s red house by the creek stood quietly on the riverbank.

The walls of the house were a dark red color, steeped in the sediment of time, as if dyed by the passage of time.

The wall paint was somewhat mottled, the tiles on the roof were uneven, and a few strands of withered yellow vine hung down from the eaves, swaying gently in the cold wind.

The windows of the house were not large, covered with a faint mist, through which one could only see the blurry yellow light inside, but it was quite cozy.

Dilata, returning from London to Venice for Christmas, briskly tied up her blonde hair and spent an afternoon cleaning Grandma’s red house by the creek thoroughly. Then she put on an apron and prepared a sumptuous dinner for two.

Dilata’s grandmother, already in her seventies, kept her elegant white short hair.

Her figure is quite similar to Dilata’s, and despite her slightly hunched yet still tall stature, one could vaguely see the elegance of her youth.

After slurping a couple of bites of delicious tomato spaghetti, Grandma pulled her reading glasses down from her nose and glanced sideways at her granddaughter.

"Dear child, I say you’re not that young anymore. Christmas is another year gone, and still there’s no sight of you bringing a boyfriend to show me. When exactly are you planning to get married? Oh, when I was your age, your mom was already old enough to buy soy sauce."

Dilata smiled but said nothing, slowly savoring her spaghetti.

Occasionally, she would rest her head and look at the scenery outside the window.

As the cold wind blew by, ripples formed on the water surface, with a small bridge in the distance spanning across the canal, occasionally with a few pedestrians hurriedly passing by.

Seeing Dilata remain silent, Grandma leaned forward and tentatively asked:

"I heard you’re recently hanging out with a young Chinese guy who plays football in the United Kingdom. Is that true?"

Dilata asked curiously, "Grandma, where did you hear such fake news?"

Upon her denial, Grandma got all flustered.

"Oh dear, don’t deny it. It was Grandma Erica who told me, and you never bring anyone for me to see every time I have to ask you. I’ve been nagging you to no avail."

"So how did Grandma Erica know?" Dilata retorted.

"Your Grandma Erica said Grandma Sharon told her. She said she read it in the newspaper."

"Child, I know those football players are all tall and handsome, full of spirit, but don’t let them fool you. Those kids love to play around and are not good men."

"In my opinion, you’re not that young anymore, you need to be more realistic."

Dilata lifted her head and looked at her Grandma, knowing without guessing what she intended to say next.

"You know Grandpa Taylor’s grandson in our town, right? Grandpa Taylor watched you grow up, and his grandson Emerson works at the local Venice transportation bureau as a civil servant and isn’t married yet. How about I set you two up to meet?"

"Grandpa Taylor’s grandson Emerson? I’d rather not, Grandma..."

Dilata instantly choked on her pasta, almost bursting into laughter.

Indecisive, she didn’t know how to explain it to her traditionally-minded Grandma.

Yesterday, she had just returned to the small town of Venice from London, and on the first day of the Christmas holiday, she ran into her childhood playmate Emerson on the street.

What surprised her was that, although Emerson greeted her enthusiastically, his other hand was wrapped around the arm of a young man, displaying a close intimacy between them.

Grandma thought Dilata disliked Grandpa Taylor’s grandson for being too old, so she made a remark in annoyance.

"Do you dislike that Grandpa Taylor’s grandson is 35, too old? Oh, you’re 29 yourself now. When I was your age, your mom was already old enough to buy soy sauce. Honestly, what kind of world is it now? Young people don’t want to get married. At this rate, will I live to see you with a child in my lifetime? Alas!"

In the southern Italian town, the family values remain conservative.

The pressure to marry is an unavoidable issue for the younger generation like Dilata.

But each time, Dilata excuses herself with the busy work at the TV station.

"Work, work, you always say work. Girls eventually must get married. The better you do in your career, the fewer men you fancy. As someone who’s been there, I tell you there are things you should listen to."

During these Christmas holidays, Grandma never ceased her nagging whenever she had a chance.

At first, Dilata could endure;

but as it went on, she grew increasingly irritated.

"Dear Grandma, the TV station has given me a task, I must return to London first. I left 3,000 euros under your bedroom pillow. Buy more of the cakes you like, don’t feel stingy, I’m leaving now!"

On the morning of December 29, having stayed home for four days, Dilata dressed in a thick down jacket and left, sitting in a wooden boat under the small bridge in the water town.

She didn’t return to London, but instead promptly bought a ticket for a flight to Manchester.

As soon as the plane landed, she sent a message to Tang Long.

[Get me a ticket for your home game against Bournemouth, I want to watch you play.]

[Huh? You don’t go have fun for Christmas, but watch a game? Haven’t you had enough of journalism, going mad at work?]

[Yes, I haven’t had enough, I’m crazy.]

[Alright! Want a VIP suite?]

[No need, a regular ticket will do.]