Vietnamese Wushu Reaps a 'Rain of Medals' at Asian Games 20: Four Bronzes, One Final, and China's Wall Still Standing

Opening: breaths before training

For 46 years, I have kept a habit: before writing about a fight, I go to the training hall early. The morning the Vietnamese wushu team prepared to leave for Asian Games 20, I stood at the corner of the Nha Trang training hall. No flags, no spectators, only the sound of bare feet on the floor, the sound of breathing, the sound of the coach’s rhythm. A 56kg fighter repeated a throwing drill until his legs shook. I do not know whether Dinh Van Tam was thinking about the final, but I know what I heard was not the sound of medals. It was the rhythm of a team holding together.

“The truest heartbeat is not in the stands; it is beneath the feet of early-morning practices.” That is the line I wrote in my notebook before leaving the hall. When the news headline “wushu brings a rain of medals for Vietnamese sport at Asian Games 20” appeared, I did not rush to celebrate. I wanted to look at the numbers, at each bout, at each medal-award rule, to understand where the rain truly came from.

Context: two branches of wushu, two ways to read results

Wushu at Asian Games 20 is split into two entirely different disciplines. Sanda is a full-contact combat sport that allows punches, kicks, throws, sweeps and standing takedowns, but no ground fighting. Taolu is a performance discipline where athletes present forms with sword, spear, dagger or bare hands, scored on difficulty and execution quality. A sanda bout has a winner. A taolu routine has no direct opponent; it only has a score from the judges. I stress this because many fans look at the medal table and think wushu is a single sport. In reality, the four bronzes of September 23 come from two different scoring systems, and they need to be analyzed separately.

The report from Asian Games 20 shows a busy day for Vietnam. Dinh Van Tam beat Indonesian Fereddy Sinaga at 56kg, reached the final, and secured at least a silver medal. Three other sanda fighters stopped in the semifinals: Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy lost to Zhang Xiaoyu of China, Hua Van Doan lost to Tang Sishuo of China, and Nguyen Khac Kien lost to Shoja Panahigelehkolaei of Iran. All three received bronze under the rule that gives bronze to both semifinal losers. Meanwhile, veteran Duong Thuy Vi won bronze in taolu in sword and spear events. September 23 closed with four bronzes and one final berth.

Core insight: three of the four bronzes are produced by the bracket rule, not by dominant strength

I need to say this directly because it determines how we read a “rain of medals.” In sanda, the rules award bronze to both semifinal losers. This is a common convention in the Asian Games. Therefore, the three bronzes of Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy, Hua Van Doan and Nguyen Khac Kien come not from wins over strong opponents, but from reaching the semifinal stage. That is a respectable achievement, but it should not be called a “rain” in the sense of surpassing rivals.

What gives September 23 true weight is Dinh Van Tam. He is the only Vietnamese fighter who passed the semifinal, beat an Indonesian opponent, and placed himself in the gold-medal bout at 56kg. On a day when the other three semifinal losses all came against China or Iran, Tam’s win is the only counter-flow signal. From my experience following fights at the SEA Games and continental wushu championships, reaching the Asiad final is not luck. It requires stable conditioning, fight-reading ability, and composure under pressure. However, the current report gives us no data on whether he won by points, by throw, or by physical dominance. No strike accuracy, no throw counts, no pressure map. We only have the result and one word: “bright spot.”

That is the old problem of editorial sports coverage at multi-sport games. When a delegation wins several medals in one day, writers often follow the emotion of victory. But I have lived long enough to know that a bronze earned from a semifinal loss is not the same as a bronze earned in a playoff win. The medals have the same color, but the stories behind them are different. I am not saying this to belittle the three Vietnamese fighters. They fought, they reached the best four in Asia, and they deserve recognition. I only want to remind us that if we use the phrase “rain of medals” to describe superior strength, we are blurring the line between real achievement and achievement produced by the tournament structure.

The China wall: not today, but structural

The thing that strikes me most in the results is the identity of the winners. Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy lost to Zhang Xiaoyu. Hua Van Doan lost to Tang Sishuo. Both lost to Chinese fighters. This is not random coincidence of one day. It is the expression of a decades-long structure: China is the number one wushu power, in both sanda and taolu. They have depth across all divisions, a systematic youth training pipeline, technical tradition, and institutional advantage. In wushu, Vietnam meeting China in a semifinal is almost an unwritten law of continental games.

I recall sitting at a SEA Games sanda final once. A Vietnamese fighter told me: “In Southeast Asia, we can compete. But when we meet China, we know we are touching the ceiling.” That sentence stayed with me for years. Today, the Asian Games 20 results repeat the same structure. The two losses to Chinese fighters do not mean Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy or Hua Van Doan fought badly. It means the Vietnamese wushu team, at this moment, still ranks below China in specific weight classes. This does not reduce the value of the bronze. It only helps us understand Vietnam’s true place on the Asian wushu map.

The loss of Nguyen Khac Kien to Iranian Shoja Panahigelehkolaei has its own meaning. Iran is a traditional sanda power, known for wrestling influence and strong throwing. At 65kg, a Vietnamese fighter facing an Iranian often faces pressure from takedowns and close-range control. I have no data on throw counts or points lost. But from my experience watching Vietnam–Iran sanda contests, this is one of the hardest matchups of the day. Iran lacks China’s volume of fighters, but the technical quality and conditioning of their top athletes are always elite.

Duong Thuy Vi: the taolu bronze cannot be measured by win-loss logic

The four bronzes of September 23 cannot be grouped into one analysis. Duong Thuy Vi won bronze in taolu, a completely different discipline. Taolu is performance, judged by difficulty and execution. A sword form can be beautiful but lack difficulty in jump height. A spear form can be difficult but lose points because the retraction is not crisp. There is no opponent, no decisive strike, only judges and a score scale. So when we read Duong Thuy Vi’s result, we should not ask “who did she beat?” We should ask “how did her routine rank among the routines of China, Japan, Hong Kong and other nations?”

I know Duong Thuy Vi has competed at many games. At 62, I have learned that time does not make a team older; it only makes the story thicker. That is true for the Vietnamese wushu team, and especially true for Duong Thuy Vi. At an age called veteran, her value no longer lies in maximum difficulty, but in maintaining precision in every movement. Her taolu bronze is a medal of endurance, of knowing how to control the body at a stage when many athletes have already stopped. It is not like the sanda bronzes of three fighters who lost in the semifinal, and it should not be judged by simple win-loss logic.

Data gap: we cannot conclude more deeply

The most unfortunate part of this news is the lack of technical data. We know Dinh Van Tam beat Fereddy Sinaga, but we do not know the score, the duration, the strike accuracy, the throw count, or the penalty count. We know Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy lost to Zhang Xiaoyu, but we do not know whether she lost by points or by stoppage. We know Hua Van Doan lost to Tang Sishuo, but we do not know whether he controlled the first round. No heat maps, no pressure statistics, no distance data. We only have final results.

I have always been suspicious of heat maps used as modern fortune-telling. They paint red zones all over the map, but they do not tell us what the athlete did at the decisive moment. In this case, we do not even have a heat map. In a sport like sanda, where a single throw can change the fight in one second, the absence of throw data is a massive gap. I cannot say Vietnam lost because of tactics or because of conditioning. I can only say that three fighters stopped in the semifinal, and that reflects a certain level of team quality.

Contrarian view: the “rain of medals” needs a different measure

I want to offer a contrarian angle to the mainstream articles about Asian Games 20. The phrase “rain of medals” creates a feeling of constant victory, but if we look at the mechanism, September 23 was a day when Vietnam got four bronzes from four different possibilities: one from taolu performance, three from the rule that gives bronze to both semifinal losers. That does not mean these medals are worthless. It means we are using a very strong word – “rain” – to describe a small and light shower.

More important is the almost guaranteed silver of Dinh Van Tam. The final on September 24 will be the true measure of Vietnam’s sanda standing. If Tam wins gold, the “rain of medals” story will be rewritten completely. If Tam loses, the story returns to a normal games narrative: a strong regional team, but not yet able to pass China and Iran at the continental level. I do not know who his opponent will be. I only know that at 56kg, Chinese, Iranian and some West Asian fighters are always difficult. The silver is secured, but the final color remains open.

After watching many games, I have learned that Asian media tends to shine a golden filter over the host nation or the national team for a few days. Victory math easily makes people forget that a bronze from a semifinal loss is a medal-award mechanism, not a victory. I do not reject the phrase “rain of medals.” I only want to remind us that this rain has three parts created by rules, and only one part actually comes from a win on the mat. In a sport measured by points, confusing “reaching the semifinal” with “winning a bout” is a small mistake that can lead to wrong conclusions.

After a media shock, people do not need another viewpoint; they need a shoulder

I write this not only for fans, but also for the athletes. If the final on September 24 ends unexpectedly, I hope the media will not throw extra pressure on Dinh Van Tam. After a media shock, people do not need another viewpoint; they need a shoulder. I have seen too many Vietnamese athletes praised before a fight and then criticized after one unplanned result. They are still the people who reached a continental games final. That is an achievement millions dream of. The medal is already in hand, whatever the color.

The issue is not in the stands: athlete health and career

September 23 passed without any injury information. But as someone who has followed combat sports for many years, I know that semifinals and finals are the highest-risk moments. Sanda is full-contact, with throws, falls, and potential impacts to the head and neck. Unlike boxing, where cumulative damage comes from repeated punches, sanda concentrates risk in acute situations: throw impact, landing, and kicks to joints. This makes me want to remind team managers that medals are results, but athlete health is the foundation.

Duong Thuy Vi, at a veteran age, faces a different risk. The jumps, spins and landings in taolu create enormous pressure on knees, ankles and spine. A young athlete can compensate for small errors with explosive power, but a veteran must rely on technique to reduce body load. Her bronze shows she can still compete, but it also reminds us that her competition schedule and recovery process need very careful management. If the team looks only at medals and not at her age and training load, they may push her into an unsustainable cycle.

I also want to talk about the career issue of the bronze medalists. In a state-funded sports system, continued selection to the national team is often tied to performance at major games. An Asiad medal gives an athlete a huge advantage in funding and training support. Conversely, an athlete without a medal may face reduced support after the games. I have no figures about the Vietnamese Wushu Federation’s budget decisions, but I have seen this model repeated many times in Southeast Asian countries. So when we celebrate four bronzes, we should remember that behind each medal is a person trying to extend a career in a system that is not always generous.

What we should follow in the next days

I cannot end this article without talking about the final on September 24. This is the most important signal of the whole games for Vietnamese wushu. If Dinh Van Tam wins gold, the story is a real breakthrough, because it proves a Vietnamese fighter can break through the China or Iran wall at 56kg. If he loses, the story is a silver on a day with four bronzes – still a good result, but not a “rain of gold.” That fight will answer the question I raised at the beginning: is Vietnamese sanda ready to compete at the top continental level, or does it remain in the strong regional group?

I also want to watch how Vietnamese media tell the story after the final. If the fight is lost, will they keep the same decency as when the team was winning? I hope so. To me, the way a society treats athletes after defeat is a measure of sports culture more important than any medal. After a media shock, people do not need another viewpoint; they need a shoulder. I hope Dinh Van Tam will be welcomed as someone who gave his best, no matter the color of the final result.

Open ending: the training hall is home

September 23 showed that Vietnamese wushu has real depth at the continental level. Four bronzes, one final berth, one taolu bronze from a veteran athlete. If we look at the medal table, this is a successful day. But if we look at the mechanism that creates medals, we see a more modest picture: the team is strong regionally, can reach semifinals, but is still not strong enough to pass China at decisive moments. I do not see this as failure. I see it as a state of development. Every games, Vietnamese wushu moves one more small step. Sometimes the step is long, sometimes short. But the important thing is that the rhythm is still there.

When the stadium was empty, we clapped from afar to remind each other that the heartbeat does not need distance. I wrote that line during the pandemic, when all arenas were closed. Today, I think of it again when I look at the medal board of the wushu team. Vietnamese fans are clapping from afar, and the fighters are continuing their story through early practices, through sweat on the floor, through throwing drills repeated until the legs shake. Medals will come and go. But the training rhythm, if kept alive, is where the story grows. The September 24 final is one step in that journey. I will sit in front of the screen, listen to my own breath, and wait to see how the Vietnamese wushu team answers the biggest question of Asian Games 20.

The training hall is home. And home is never a place where people say goodbye with tears of regret. Home is where they return after each fight, fix their technique, and start again. I believe the Vietnamese wushu team will do that, no matter how the final ends.