Zach Berman clicked off the Web site he had been looking at on his computer. The Tour de France had finished that day, won by the Spanish rider who finished the last stage among the leading procession of riders enjoying the final ride down the Champs-Élysées. But Liang Dalian had taken his place on the dais during the awards, wearing the red polka-dotted jersey of the King of the Mountains, the rider with the best record on the hills over the whole race. He was lauded as the first Chinese to win a stage at the Tour, and the first to win one of the prestigious in-race competitions. Liang was featured for a minute or so on the cable TV coverage of the race (“Was China about to invade the sport?”), but there was far more about his triumph online.

Berman saw an interview with Liang, conducted through the same translator he had met numerous times with the team. Liang was well coached in his responses. He was delighted and amazed at his own achievement. He humbly thanked his teammates and the sponsors and his trainers. He explained that coming to Europe to race was difficult for him and his teammate Bo because neither of them had been outside of China before. He concluded by saying that he hoped this was the first victory of many for his fellow countrymen—and he said perhaps he could win the whole Tour next year, who knows?

Alas, that wasn’t going to happen, Berman thought. Berman guessed that there was some teenage peasant riding his bike for fun in a far-off province who would get that honor, and he would be raised in China and trained in China and be a professional who could be a star in the new China if he wanted to. But the risks with persevering with Liang were too high lest his true biography came to light, and Berman knew that something would happen to him in the next few months that would wreck his dream.

Berman located another Web site he felt he needed to check on. The opening ceremony of the World Athletics Championships in London was now less than a week away, and he would be in town, waiting for the competition with the same anticipation he felt for the Tour, only doubled or tripled in intensity. It was coming down to this watershed event. Berman’s whole future rested on just one race. But the trainers told him repeatedly not to worry. They said the same things Liang’s personal trainer told him one morning somewhere in France during the Tour. Berman had nothing to worry about—the rider was performing extremely well, even though he was utilizing only about 85 percent of his physical capacity. The trainer said Liang could win the whole race if necessary, and with ease. In London, they said the same. The problem wasn’t going to be winning, it was winning by too much.