But the 29 year-old is not the archetypal Chinese sports star. For a start, she hardly ventures back to her home country. "If I go back into my house, I will never get out again," she says, only half-joking. "Right now I couldn't imagine what would happen if I go back. After Paris, I stayed in Europe. I know if I went back to China people would be crazy. If I don't do well at Wimbledon, maybe they will forget me."
In China, sports stars are, like almost everything else, effectively considered the property of the state. Until she quit the national tennis programme in 2008, Li had to hand over almost two-thirds of her winnings to the government (the figure now is roughly 10 per cent).
It is this system - along with the suffocating expectation of a huge public - that the fiercely independent Li has subtly sought to evade. She is about as rebellious a sports star as China has ever produced, from the rose tattoo on her chest to firing her husband as coach and appointing the Dane Michael Mortensen.
Her first grand slam title may prove to be a tipping point. Flushed with confidence and experience, Li's sense of individuality is now higher than ever. You sense that after a decade of carrying the torch for Chinese tennis, the responsibility of being flag-bearer for an entire nation is beginning to weary her.
If she wins Wimbledon, it will be depicted as a triumph for China, but ironically it may also accelerate Li's own process of self-liberation.
Source: http://network.yardbarker.com/tennis/article_external/li_begins_long_march_to_freedom/5123407
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