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MidReal Story
The Unforgettable Snooker Player
Scenario:李浩，在八岁的时候，家庭遭遇突入其来的变故，爸爸在一次意外中去世，家里剩下妈妈，弟弟，妹妹，他从此开始了坎坷的前半生。
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李浩
He is a former professional snooker player. He is resilient, determined, and nostalgic. His life changed when his father passed away in a mining accident when he was eight. He grew up under the care of his mother and siblings. Despite the challenges, he pursued his dream of becoming a snooker player. He eventually achieved success and won the World Snooker Championship. He still cherishes memories of his father and struggles with the past.
Lee Hao's Father
He was a miner who tragically passed away in a mining accident when Lee Hao was eight years old. His presence had a profound impact on Lee Hao's life, shaping his relationship with his family and influencing their dynamics after his death.
Lee Hao's Mother
She is the mother of Lee Hao, Ming, and Ping. She is nurturing, resilient, and selfsacrificing. After her husband's death, she took three children under her care and raised them with devotion. She supported Lee Hao's dreams and saw him achieve success in snooker tournaments. Her selflessness had a lasting impact on her children as they grew up without their father but with her unwavering love.
When I was eight years old, my dad died in a mining accident.
From then on, my life was never the same.
My mother took the three of us under her care and raised us by herself.
Life was very tough, but my mother was very brave and resilient.
She worked multiple jobs to support the family and make sure we had enough food and clothing to wear.
She also made sure we went to school and got a good education.
I have two younger siblings, a brother, and a sister.
My brother is one year younger than me, and my sister is two years younger than me.
We all looked up to my mother and admired her for her strength and bravery.
She was like a rock that held our family together during the most difficult of times.
I remember when I was little, my dad used to take me to the snooker hall to watch people play snooker.
I loved playing snooker, and I would practice every day after school until my mother called me home for dinner.
When my dad passed away, I didn’t know how to deal with the loss of him not being there in my life anymore.
I stopped playing snooker for a while until I grew up and went back to play again.
When I turned eighteen, I decided that I wanted to be a professional snooker player when I grew up.
My mother was overjoyed when I told her this, as she knew how much I loved playing snooker.
I sit at our small dining table, pushing rice around my bowl while telling Mother about the tournament poster I saw at Old Wang's snooker hall.
She stops eating, puts down her chopsticks, and reaches into the worn cabinet behind her.
The small tin can she pulls out is our family's emergency savings.
She counts out the entry fee - fifty yuan - and slides it across the table to me.
My siblings watch silently, their eyes wide with curiosity.
I stare at the money, knowing that it's meant for their school fees.
"Mother, I can't take this," I protest.
"It's for your brother and sister's education."
She shakes her head firmly.
"No, you will take it. You have a chance to compete in a big tournament. Your father would be so proud."
I remember how Father would spend hours teaching me proper stance, how to hold the cue stick, and how to focus on the target.
He'd cheer for me every time I made a shot.
After he was gone, I stopped playing for a while, but eventually, I found myself back at the snooker hall, seeking solace in the familiar rhythms of the game.
Mother places her hand on mine.
"Your father always believed in you. He'd want you to follow your dreams."
I look at my siblings; they're watching us intently.
I know how much they admire me, and I don't want to let them down. "But Mother—"
She cuts me off gently.
"Take it. We'll figure something out for their school fees. This is an opportunity you can't miss."
I stare at the worn fifty yuan note in Mother's outstretched hand, my throat tight with emotion.
Ming and Ping lean forward from their seats, their homework forgotten on the table.
The familiar scent of Mother's cooking lingers in our small kitchen, and the evening light filters through the dusty window.
My fingers brush against the money, remembering Father's calloused hands teaching me how to hold a cue stick.
Mother gently places the note in my palm, closing my fingers around it.
I fold the bill carefully and tuck it into my shirt pocket, right above my heart, while meeting her determined gaze.
I push back my chair and stand, the fifty yuan bill feeling heavy in my shirt pocket.
Mother begins clearing the dinner dishes while Ming and Ping return to their homework, pencils scratching against paper.
At the door, I pause to put on my worn sneakers, the ones Father bought me before the accident.
The familiar walk to Old Wang's snooker hall takes me past shuttered shops and flickering streetlights.
Inside, chalk dust floats in the fluorescent lighting as I approach the counter to rent a table.
Old Wang nods in recognition, his weathered face showing a hint of approval as I pull out the money Mother gave me.
I hand over the fifty yuan, feeling the weight of my family's hopes resting on this single moment.
I scan the rack of cue sticks along the wall, each one worn from countless games.
My fingers brush over the familiar scratches and nicks, searching for the right weight and balance.
Old Wang shuffles over, pointing to a dark wooden stick slightly apart from the others.
"Try this one," he says in his gravelly voice.
"It belonged to your father."
My hand trembles as I grasp the smooth wood, remembering how Father would guide my small hands into position.
The stick feels heavier than I remember, but when I test it against my chin, the balance is perfect.
I grip the cue stick tightly, following Old Wang to the table.
He helps me rack the balls on the green felt, the sound of clinking glass echoing in the hall.
The fluorescent lights hum above us as other players glance curiously at my return.
Methodically, I arrange the colored balls in their precise positions - red, pink, black forming their familiar triangle.
The chalk feels powdery between my fingers as I prepare the cue tip, just as Father once showed me.
My hands still tremble slightly, but I force them steady.
I position myself at the end of the table, Father's cue stick steady in my grip.
The green felt stretches before me under the harsh fluorescent lights, every ball perfectly arranged in the triangle.
Old Wang steps back, giving me space, while other players pause their games to watch.
I adjust my stance the way Father taught me - left foot forward, right foot back, body aligned with the shot.
The white cue ball sits motionless, waiting.
My chest tightens as I lower my head to the cue, eyes level with the ball.
I lean forward over the table, Father's cue stick steady in my grip.
The familiar chalk dust tickles my nose as I adjust my stance one final time.
My left hand forms a bridge on the green felt, fingers spread wide like Father taught me.
The white cue ball sits perfectly aligned with the red triangle at the far end.
The hall falls silent except for the distant hum of fluorescent lights.
I pull the cue stick back smoothly, feeling its worn wood slide between my fingers.
"Do you feel him guiding you?" Old Wang's voice breaks the silence, his eyes fixed on me.
I nod slowly, whispering, "It's like he's right here, watching every move."
Old Wang smiles faintly, murmuring, "Then don't let him down—show them what you're made of."
I draw back Father's cue stick with a smooth motion, feeling its familiar weight in my hands.
The white ball sits perfectly aligned with the red triangle, waiting for my strike.
My left hand stays rock steady on the green felt as I remember Father's words about following through.
The hall falls completely silent.
Even Old Wang holds his breath.
I push the cue forward with controlled force, making clean contact.
The sharp crack echoes through the room as the white ball rockets forward, smashing into the reds.
"That's it, just like he would have done," Old Wang says, his voice filled with quiet pride.
I watch the balls scatter across the table, whispering, "I can almost hear him cheering."
Old Wang nods, adding softly, "And now it's your turn to carry his legacy."
I circle the snooker table, studying the scattered reds and calculating angles like Father showed me.
The colored balls wait in their spots, while other players whisper behind me.
My left hand trembles slightly as I place it on the green felt, but I steady it by pressing down firmly.
Father's cue stick feels natural against my chin as I eye a red ball near the corner pocket.
I adjust my stance twice, remembering Father's corrections about keeping my back straight.
