As is well known, in any field, the ability to negotiate with reporters is a necessary skill. Football is no exception.

For example, Peyton Manning and Tom Brady, two top quarterbacks, are old foxes. After years of being in the league, they have become slick, formal, polite, and meticulous, leaving no room for error.

Manning's answers to reporters' questions are always humble and courteous, appropriate and graceful. Any sharp topic turns into an official response that is not only rigid and formal but also dedicated and professional, making it difficult to stir up trouble. His answers are so boring they make you want to kill yourself.

Brady is always vague. When faced with a slightly sensitive topic, he flashes his signature smile, changes the subject, or feigns ignorance of the question and gives a perfunctory official response. Talk shows often jokingly say that Brady "tries to kill all reporters with his handsome charm."

Besides them, there are difficult players like Marshawn Lynch, who engages in a nonviolent, non-cooperative movement and answers five questions with seven words, making him a league legend. There are big mouths like Richard Sherman and Michael Crabtree, who recklessly go on the attack in every interview, insulting anyone and everyone. And there are players like Cam Newton, the chosen one, who answers questions according to his own thoughts, no matter what the reporters ask.

Now, the league has a new one: Lu Ke.

He's wise and humorous, cunning and quick-witted, sharp but also polite. He is flawless with his official responses, merciless when he makes an appropriate jab, and opportunistic when he makes a joke. Most importantly, he is quick and decisive when he fights back.

In the exchanges between reporters and Lu Ke, the latter often has the upper hand, effortlessly trapping reporters, who then have to swallow their anger. This makes every interview feel frustrating, but also full of thrilling surprises. The topics are endless and never boring, yet he always manages to take control.

Clearly, not only for football games but also for reporters, the emergence of this Chinese player has truly broken many prejudices. Asians are not necessarily rigid and boring. They can be funny and humorous. They can be good at socializing. They can also be aggressive and sharp. From this perspective, Lu Ke's appearance is genuinely changing the status quo of the league.

After looking at each other, the reporters finally made a choice. They gave up on the sensitive topics that could escalate the conflict and accepted the fact that this Chinese quarterback had indeed carved out a place for himself in the league. No matter whether people liked it or not, no matter whether prejudice existed, he could win games, and that was what mattered most. After this Monday Night Football game, people's minds finally began to fundamentally change.

"Bambi, what do you think about Charles Davis's bet?" Another topic came up from the group of reporters. Unlike the Richard Sherman topic, this was one of the hottest topics in the past two weeks and one of the focuses throughout the season. Now, after defeating the Pittsburgh Steelers at home, with only two games left in the regular season, all debates could temporarily come to an end.

This time, Lu Ke did not forget Charles. He smiled and shrugged. "No, I don't have any special thoughts. It's just that maybe this week, people can finally listen to some more professional opinions. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Sure enough, when it was time to strike, he struck. A concise yet sarcastic response immediately ignited the reporters' passion. Now they could write a thousand-word article, pushing the feud between Lu Ke and Charles to a new peak and making them irreconcilable. The regular season was almost over? No problem. There were still the playoffs and next season. The show was about to begin!

While Lu Ke was surrounded by countless reporters at Candlestick Park, where a thunderous carnival of celebration completely ignited the night, Charles, who was alone at home, was on the verge of a breakdown. The room was cold and a mess, but he still couldn't calm his raging and irritable emotions.

The whole house looked like a tornado had gone through it. The floor was covered with the remains of furniture and appliances. Even the TV screen had been completely smashed. A broken flowerpot had overturned soil all over the floor. Broken glass and torn books made a huge mess that was impossible to clean up. Every corner was shocking, and there was nowhere to stand. But his overwhelming anger still hadn't subsided.

How was it possible? How could they lose the game? How could the Pittsburgh Steelers be reversed in the final moments? The defense played so well today. They were in good form almost the entire game and made no mistakes, but they still lost?

How could he lose the bet? And at a time when victory was just one step away, he had to watch Lu Ke's heroic comeback with his own eyes. To lose the bet in such a shameful and heartbreaking way, how was that possible?

This was a humiliation, a grand humiliation! Just imagining the touchdown in the final moments, the two-point conversion in the final moments, he fell into an unparalleled rage. He grabbed a heavy object next to him and slammed it against the wall again. He heard a thud and then realized it was a single lazy-boy chair. He started panting heavily.

"Ding-dong."

The sudden doorbell rang like a midnight bell in a horror movie, echoing through the empty living room, making all the hairs on Charles's body stand on end. It was late at night. The neighborhood where Charles lived was a purely residential high-end community. There were no entertainment facilities, no parties for young people, and you had to drive to the supermarket. After ten o'clock, the place was completely silent. He had lived here for so many years, and no one had ever come to visit after dark. But now, all of a sudden, someone was ringing the doorbell? This was too strange!

Charles froze in place. He was terrified and motionless. Even his eyeballs were completely frozen. The blood that had been boiling a moment ago instantly turned to ice. He listened carefully to the sounds in the silence. Then, "bang, bang, bang," a fist banging on the door exploded, echoing emptiness in the cold air. His heart involuntarily shrank.

Then, the sound disappeared, leaving only a faint echo in the air. Everything was too abnormal. Just when Charles thought the sound had finally disappeared, a shout came. "Charles? Charles Davis?" One voice started, then several voices overlapped, and finally, a loud commotion broke out. "Charles? Charles? I know you're in there!"

Charles frantically turned his head. In his line of sight, he could clearly see a large group of people in his backyard, looking for a way to get in. Then, a word popped into his mind: reporters. Or rather, paparazzi.

"Charles? Charles! The 49ers won the game. What are your thoughts?"

"Lu Ke defeated the Steelers led by Roethlisberger this week. You lost the bet!"

"Pittsburgh fought to the last moment, but they still lost the game. What do you think?"

"You lost the bet again. Do you still think Lu Ke is not a qualified quarterback?"

"Someone accused your prejudice against Lu Ke of being from racial discrimination. Do you have anything to say about that?"

"Charles, you can't hide forever. Come out and be interviewed!"

"Charles! Charles! Charles!"

The shouts came one after another, continuously and roaring, like a spell to hasten his death. They echoed in the empty house for a long time, harshly hitting his eardrums. They were everywhere, instantly surrounding Charles. It was not only the house that had been swept by a tornado; his whole brain had also been ravaged by one. Paparazzi, those damn paparazzi, were everywhere.

In his line of sight, Charles could vaguely see seven or eight figures exploring his backyard. He could also see other figures slowly invading his territory. The feeling of being besieged on all sides and ambushed on all sides came like a tide, instantly drowning him. Then, he fell into suffocating fear and panic.

"Bang, bang, bang," the sound of banging on the door came again, but this time it wasn't the front door; it was the sliding glass door in the backyard. Three paparazzi, like beasts, were banging on the sliding door, and then the flashlights started to flash, like bolts of lightning streaking across the sky, thundering.

Charles reflexively began to flee. He turned and ran into his master bedroom. First, he locked the door, then he used his desk to block the door. But that was not enough. He piled everything he could see in his sight against the door. He frantically crouched in a corner, fumbling in his pockets, but couldn't find his phone. Then he realized that his phone had also been smashed.

He frantically found the landline on the bedside table, quickly dialed 911, and huddled in the corner. He was trembling all over and almost soaked in sweat. "Bang, bang, bang," the knocking on the door got louder and more violent. The thin door seemed like it would fall apart at any moment. Charles finally couldn't take it anymore and frantically yelled into the phone, "Help! Help! Help!"

This was a nightmare. A nightmare he couldn't wake up from. Charles never thought that one day he would be forced into a corner by paparazzi, with nowhere to run, and have to call the police for help in such a pathetic state. What was even more terrifying was that this nightmare still had no end in sight. He felt like he had plunged into an ice-cold cellar.

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