She has described her relationship with tennis as a “coexistence of love and hate”. She disliked the game when she was young, feeling that it had taken over her childhood and prevented her from having a life of her own. She also objected to training methods that emphasised harsh negative reinforcement and was already suffering pain from long-term injuries. In fact, she ended up opting out of the game—a temporary retirement of sorts—for a couple of years early in her career, not long after turning professional, and heading to university, where she studied journalism.

“When I retired for the first time [in 2002], I didn’t know why I was playing tennis. I felt very lost. I’ve always felt that it was my job. It’s like any other job, just with a different nature.”

It shouldn’t really come as a surprise—many people don’t exactly love their jobs. But society often holds athletes to a higher standard, perhaps because it’s seen as such a desirable way to make a living, with no consideration of the relentless grind of training and travel, the fiercely solitary nature of a solo sport like tennis, and the immense psychological pressure that comes from doing your job in public and being judged on it.

When she went back to the game, she has said, she found that she had internalised the negativity from her coaches, and was held back by an insistent voice of self-criticism.

Even her first Grand Slam victory in 2011 didn’t make her jubilant—merely relieved; she wrote in her 2013 autobiography My Life (a biopic based on the book, directed by Hong Kong filmmaker Peter Chan, has been in production for several years) that she was most grateful for the inner peace it brought her. “I don’t have to cover my face with a towel after the match, hide in the locker room or bathroom and cry uncontrollably. I don’t have to hate myself for mistakes, I don’t have to torture myself repeatedly.”

Li broke away from the national training set-up in 2008, in an arrangement that allowed her to hire her own coaches and keep more of her prize money. Her game went to another level after that—starting off as a hard-hitting, athletic baseliner, known for her ability to dictate play but sometimes be a little predictable, she became more versatile and more dominant as her career went on.

Having had a relationship with Rolex for more than a decade, she says that the Swiss luxury watchmaker similarly gives sportspeople the opportunity to be themselves. “Rolex supports leading sporting events and individuals, creating a platform for athletes that allows them to boldly pursue their goals. I think this is a very selfless act.”

Her determination to do things her own way has given her a somewhat rebellious image, although she has always rejected the label. Indeed, she remains a beloved figure as much for her personality as her play: her tendency to speak her mind, with the universally loved Li sense of humour. Cracking jokes in interviews and charming crowds with her victory speeches, she has often stood out as particularly relatable in the modern world of media-trained athletes giving identikit answers.

Particularly hilarious are her deadpan gags at the expense of her husband, former teammate and, for a while, coach Jiang Shan, aka Dennis. Among other things, she has publicly berated him in a post-match interview for keeping her awake before the match with his snoring. When she hired a different coach, Carlos Rodriguez, in 2012, she joked that “He saved my marriage.”

Li finally retired a decade ago, less than eight months after winning the second of her Grand Slam titles, in Melbourne, when her knee injuries became too much. Much like the first time she left the sport, she has since taken the opportunity to further her education, studying for a two-year programme for senior management executives from 2017 at Cheung Kong Graduate School of Business in Beijing.

“Apart from tennis, any field is very attractive to me,” she says, laughing. “After all, other industries are very unfamiliar to me. Currently, I’m most interested in the business field. I’m completely a novice, so I chose to study, hoping to improve myself and master some skills.”

She has also involved herself extensively in philanthropic work. Early in the pandemic, she donated 3 million yuan to her hometown to help with the fight against it. And she has long served as a global ambassador for the Special Olympics, which is open to competitors with intellectual disabilities.

“Charity is not limited to specific groups; every member of society can help others to the best of their ability,” she says. “What touches me the most is my years of cooperation with the Special Olympics. Through contact with the children of the Special Olympics, I feel the happiness they gain from sports activities. This may seem insignificant in others’ eyes, but when they become happier, their self-confidence will also improve, allowing them to walk out of the cage that troubles them.

“Social recognition of special groups is still not high. When chatting with these children, I learnt that they are sometimes very afraid to leave home and face others’ strange looks. To eliminate these prejudices, we still have a lot to do. In recent years, I have continued to cooperate with the Special Olympics and will actively watch their competitions, doing my best to help them strive for better training conditions.”

And there’s Li Na for you—all these years after doing it for herself, she’s still fighting for better conditions for other athletes of every rank and background.

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