Writing an article to praise Fan Zhendong has always been my wish, especially since he announced his withdrawal from WTT at the end of last year. I originally planned to start when he successfully defended his title at this National Games, but I was inspired by various talented writers praising him on Zhihu, so I temporarily put it aside.
A few days ago, on my way to Zhuhai, I happened to come across a commentary on the film “The Grandmaster” and felt that many lines in the movie coincided with the spirit embodied by Fan Zhendong. Moreover, at this National Games, whether in technical strength or competitive form, Fan Zhendong’s title of “Grandmaster” has been rising among fans. So I felt the time had come—I couldn’t wait any longer.
First Encounter
Twelve years ago, in the office of Mr. Zhu, who taught table tennis at my university’s sports college, I watched the live broadcast of the national team’s “Direct to Paris” selection competition with him. As I recall, that was the first time Fan Zhendong appeared on the live broadcast of a major competition. Unlike all the other newcomers I had seen before or since, he was the kind of player you liked at first sight (at least… you wouldn’t find him annoying). Although it was his first appearance, his advanced technical style and dominating competitive temperament quickly captivated people. That year, he was 16.
In the blink of an eye, 12 years have passed, and he has finally achieved the first Super Grand Slam in history. Today, when we look back at the surprises and emotions Fan Zhendong has brought to an ordinary fan, it’s no longer about counting his achievements and honors. Beyond his talent, technical strength, sportsmanship, and patriotism, what shines on him is that rare light of idealism. From my personal experience, in my 20-plus years of loving table tennis (in those materially scarce times, playing with cheap ready-made paddles or even textbooks on bumpy cement tables was the childhood of most kids who loved table tennis from elementary school), among the thousands of table tennis matches I’ve watched, Fan Zhendong is a gift from this world to those kind, brave idealists. No athlete can replace his position.
Noble Mentors
I often feel that beyond his competitive achievements and admirable qualities, one reason people love Fan Zhendong might be that they think he’s “blessed with good fortune.” Coming from Guangzhou, whether from the Bayi Team to the national team, or later returning to Guangdong and then to the Shanghai team, meeting predecessors like Wang Tao, (early) Wang Hao, Wu Jingping, and Wang Liqin—all along the way, he encountered mentors who appreciated and cherished him. Every time they mention Fan Zhendong, they openly or subtly shower him with praise, as if having such a disciple is the greatest pride and glory of their lives.
For the vast majority of young people who come from small places, without any background or social resources but desperately longing to be loved, recognized, and appreciated, this so-called “good fortune” is like a fairy tale dream. In the early stages of career development, not being subjected to workplace manipulation or various scoldings and setbacks is already a blessing. To have mentors supporting you all the way seems like pure fantasy. Of course, all this should be attributed to Fan Zhendong’s own intelligence, diligence, and ambition—using day-after-day effort to fulfill his talent. As they say, the strong make themselves strong. Isn’t the prerequisite for meeting noble mentors making yourself more excellent? In this sense, Fan Zhendong becoming an idol for many people who have never understood how amazing he is or what exactly makes him amazing, simply because of his “good fortune,” is basically an awkward misunderstanding.
Idealism
Fortunately, whether in the past, present, or future, no matter how awkward the misunderstanding, it cannot obscure the truth of why people love Fan Zhendong. Throughout the various experiences of the entire Paris cycle, under the malicious actions of interest groups and extreme fan circle elements, Fan Zhendong never gave up his inner adherence to idealism. Through his actions, he told the world that one really doesn’t have to lose oneself to achieve one’s goals, even under our national training system.
Fan Zhendong has the hardest backbone. He has not a trace of servility or sycophancy—this is the most precious quality in an era where traffic is king and people are skilled at hype and money-making. Facing the framing and suppression by interest groups, he didn’t go along with the flow but chose to fight back with strength and results. Facing unfair commercial competition rules, at what should have been the golden period of his career, he didn’t become someone else’s money-making machine like a compliant citizen but directly withdrew, as if declaring “I won’t play your game anymore.” Facing the increasingly rampant and brazen fan circle atmosphere both on-site and online, he chose to stay away from the noise and go to a small town on the German border to continue enjoying an undisturbed table tennis life. Returning to the National Games arena, when winning points, he still passionately pumps his fist and shouts, as if that young man who just debuted 12 years ago was just yesterday. When happy, his smile toward teammates and fans remains sincere, brilliant, and bright. In him, you see absolutely no decline or betrayal after suffering persecution. Through his actions, he interprets “The world kisses me with pain, yet I respond with song.”
The Grandmaster
Looking at table tennis history with Fan Zhendong as the origin point, he hasn’t, like predecessors or successors, yielded to others under family pressure, become a reckless fool with courage but no wisdom, become a refined egoist obsessed with honors, or lost himself in the tsunami of screaming fans. Ip Man said in “The Grandmaster”: The world is vast, not just north and south; forcing perfection equals standing still; so-called great achievement seems lacking—only with imperfection is there progress. Yes, in Fan Zhendong’s eyes, table tennis is not just about the national team, not just about WTT—it belongs to all people on this planet who genuinely love this sport. So he resolutely went to overseas leagues, as a pioneer, refining his skills in the solitary no-man’s land, exploring new directions for table tennis technique development, while promoting the sport and showcasing the image of Chinese people in the new era.
Twelve years make a cycle. Today’s Fan Zhendong has long entered the realm of a grandmaster. Now, watching Fan Zhendong play or listening to him speak is like sitting in a quiet teahouse, listening to a long-admired friend quietly tell stories—about growth, about adversity, about kindness and courage, about idealism, about ordinary people’s sorrows, and especially about time. He seems to know many secrets of the human world: that people change, that beautiful things fade, that only pure love can withstand the long years, that enjoying solitude is the ultimate destination. Many of his stories bring tears of sadness, but he places that sadness in the vast world, in the distant flow of time, rolling the sadness into wisps of catkins that drift away with the wind. After your sadness, there’s a feeling of relief and then rebirth, as if that sadness has been digested by you, transformed into the motivation to keep moving forward.
Epilogue
I’m already in my early thirties. In these years when I perceive time passing faster and faster, even living more and more numbly, apart from Fan Zhendong, very few people can move me like this anymore. Perhaps he’s not yet perfect—just as every era’s grandmaster has their own limitations—but I believe the light of idealism in him will never be extinguished, continuing to illuminate those kind, brave idealists who struggle against a murky world and vow never to bow their heads.
Everyone has their own arena, everyone has their own Olympics. I sincerely hope Fan Zhendong can continue to enjoy table tennis and his life freely and happily, and also “wish everyone their own beautiful life” (Fan Zhendong’s words).