Even twenty years on, the moment track star Liu Xiang crossed the finish line at the 2004 Athens Olympics is still a source of pride for many Chinese people. After winning the 110-meters hurdles, with a Chinese flag draped over his shoulders, Liu said to the camera: “Who said Asian people cannot make it into the top eight? I’m here to prove to everyone that I am the Olympic champion.” Liu pointed into the camera, towards every Chinese person eagerly watching in front of their television.

In 2008, Liu bore the hopes and dreams of Chinese fans everywhere, but an injury forced him to drop out of the home stadium race at the Beijing Olympics. After that, Liu slowly faded from the public eye. But a few weeks ago, just ahead of the Paris Olympics, Liu launched a Xiaohongshu account and announced to fans that he hopes to share snippets of his life there.

In less than a week, over 10,000 netizens flooded to Liu’s posts, sharing their own stories of the hurdler.

One user on Xiaohongshu wrote this heartfelt message: “Liu Xiang, did you know, most post-90s* student athletes pursued sports because of you. Even though I’m not an athlete anymore, I still remember the feeling of empowerment every time I hear the phrase ‘Liu Xiang has created history.’ To us, you’re not just an athlete, you represent an entire era.”

Another user under the name Bowen Sun shared that, framed on his wall to this day, is one-eighth of a pair of shorts that Liu wore while racing. Fans soon swarmed to this comment, wanting the full story.

In a video, Bowen explained that he took his mother to see Liu race in 2009. However, their seats were so far up in the stadium that they were better off watching on television. So, Bowen brought his elderly mother to a lower section, begging the security guards until they finally allowed the pair to watch the awards ceremony from better seats.

After the race, Liu returned onto the field to a crowd of cheering fans. He threw the jersey into the crowd, then he took off his shorts and tossed them towards Bowen, who was determined to catch them and never let go.

Seven other people had the same thought. The eight of them grabbed firmly onto the pair of shorts, and no one was willing to budge. Finally, the security guard came, took out his keys, and cut the shorts into eight pieces.

That is how Bowen became the proud owner of the inner linings of a pair of Liu Xiang’s shorts. Under his comment, Liu wrote back: “Hello, one-eighth (handshake emoji).”

Stories like Bowen’s demonstrate the cultural and historical significance that Liu represents, and how his 2004 Olympic win imprinted a shared sense of pride and nostalgia onto an entire generation of Chinese fans.

* 90后 (90 hòu), a Chinese term for the generation born in the 1990s, roughly corresponding to millennials.

Banner. image via Xinwen Chenbao.