Chapter 937: Bid for the Olympics

The little girl was having fun when suddenly she was picked up; her lips pouted, she squirmed, and reached out her tiny hand toward Jian Qiu.

“Mama… Mama!”

Seeing the child’s forlorn expression, Gu Minglan tenderly reached out to hold her: “Come, Granny will hold you.”

Seeing her mother didn’t respond, the little girl twisted her body and reached toward Gu Minglan.

The old man helplessly handed the child to Gu Minglan, then said to Jian Qiu: “You must bring the child over often—I’m a stranger to her, she won’t even let me hold her.”

“Okay!” Jian Qiu smiled and agreed.

The old man checked the time and said to Zhou Andong: “Don’t leave for lunch—have a drink with me.”

“Alright!” Zhou Andong nodded.

With the little one present, the whole family was cheerful, laughter echoing frequently through the house.

The old man sat on the sofa, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV—just in time for the noon news.

It was about Beijing’s 2000 Olympic bid; the entire nation had prepared to celebrate, especially Beijing, where lanterns hung and banners flew, waiting for the announcement.

Zhou Andong asked: “Grandpa, do you think we’ll win the bid?”

The old man smiled faintly and said firmly: “We will.”

Zhou Andong hesitated, then said: “I think we won’t.”

“Oh?” The old man showed no irritation; instead, he asked seriously: “Tell me your reasoning.”

Reasoning? Zhou Andong shook his head: “No real reason—I just feel Western countries won’t let us succeed.”

As early as 1974, the state had proposed bidding for the Olympics and insisted on hosting them successfully.

But Western nations had mocked China, claiming a country with such backward economic and technological conditions could never host the Olympics—it was pure fantasy.

Even the international sports organizations excluded China, denying it eligibility to bid for any major sporting event. Facing this international bullying, China’s stance was clear.

To take the first step toward bidding, China first needed to prove itself with results at the Olympics. In 1984, with Xu Haifeng’s gunshot, China finally broke its zero-gold streak on the Olympic medal table.

That breakthrough of “zero” intensified China’s determination to bid for the Olympics. China’s first gold medal had a seismic impact on the future development of its sports.

With reform and opening-up, China’s progress in both economy and technology gradually gained global recognition.

Especially in 1990, when China hosted the 11th Asian Games—its first time hosting such a massive event—the successful organization gave China renewed confidence in its Olympic bid.

In 1991, preparations for the Olympic bid were in full swing; Beijing publicly revealed its intention to host the 2000 Olympics and even established a dedicated Olympic Bid Committee.

Everything was ready, waiting only for the international community to grant Beijing a chance. Who could have imagined this bid would be lost to a conspiracy?

At the time, Western nations published reports openly claiming Beijing shouldn’t host the Millennium Olympics—full of arrogance, contempt, and doubt about China’s capability.

But who understood how desperately China longed to host the Olympics? So much effort had already been poured into fulfilling this dream.

After three rounds of intense voting, China had consistently led Sydney; if it maintained its lead in the fourth round, it would win the right to host the 2000 Olympics.

But on the morning of September 24, 1993, the day the result was announced, countless Chinese people watching at home burst into tears.

Just two votes short, they lost to Sydney, shattering China’s Olympic dream. At that moment, every media outlet, every city, every Chinese person had already prepared to celebrate—making it a global joke.

Zhou Andong’s words were brief, but the old man fell silent—he had closely followed the bid and knew Western nations had been smearing China to block Beijing’s success.

But the state had worked tirelessly and had strong confidence in winning; otherwise, they wouldn’t have launched publicity so early.

Others were listening as Zhou Andong and the old man spoke.

Jian Yue said: “I believe we’ll succeed.”

Zhou Andong smiled: “I hope we do—but some people won’t let us.”

In fact, the reason for this bid’s failure wasn’t revealed until 1999, when the Australian Olympic Committee publicly admitted it had invited representatives from Kenya and Uganda to dinner the night before voting.

It promised them certain “benefits”—framed as funding for their sports infrastructure, not bribery. In truth, this scheme was planned by the U.S. and executed by Australia.

The old man looked at Zhou Andong: “You mean we’re definitely going to fail?”

“I can’t say for sure we’ll fail!” Zhou Andong shook his head. “But we must prepare mentally for failure—and we absolutely must not celebrate wildly before the result is announced.”

Those Western nations are waiting to laugh at us. Think about it—if we throw a nationwide celebration before the result, and then lose, won’t we become a global joke?”

Gu Minglan said: “I think Dongzi is right. Until the result is announced, we should stay low-key—otherwise, if we lose, Western nations will laugh at us.”

“Will we really fail?” Jian Yue found it hard to believe, since the early voting results had always been ahead.

“Better safe than sorry!”

Zhou Andong watched the TV screen—many places in Beijing had hung red lanterns and banners celebrating the Olympic bid’s success.

“In short, staying low-key won’t hurt. If we win, we can celebrate after the result is announced.”

The old man nodded: “This matter must be handled with extreme caution—we absolutely cannot give Western nations a chance to laugh at us.”

Zhou Andong smiled. If the old man took this seriously, this wouldn’t become a global joke like it had in his past life.

“I’m going out to make a call.”

The old man said: “Use my study phone.”

Zhou Andong paused—no one was allowed to touch the old man’s study phone. He was tempted, but declined.

“I’ve been cooped up all morning—I’ll go for a walk.”

“I’m coming too!” Jian Qiu stood and followed Zhou Andong out; once outside, she asked: “Who are you calling?”

“Zhang Shenghui and Wu Hongkang.” Zhou Andong grinned. “When there’s a big money-making opportunity, how could I forget my old friends?”