Feng Gang, 33, who came with four friends from the city of Chongqing to see Liu compete, called the injury “a pity,” but added: “In the end, it really matters only to himself. We are just the audience. I am sure he is the one that regrets this the most, not anyone else. We feel disappointed, of course, but we still like him as a person.”  It is always dangerous to put faith in one person, be it dictator or elected official, singer or actor. Everybody is flawed, particularly athletes, whose Achilles’ tendons or hamstrings can go at any time.  China had personified its hopes for the 2008 Summer Games in Liu, a 25-year-old hurdler, who by definition was fragile. All athletes are fragile. Witness the way Yao Ming hobbled off the court while playing for the faraway Houston Rockets last winter. Witness the way Mickey Mantle, the great Yankees hitter, blew a hamstring running to first base one night in the early ’60s — like a deer being shot in midstride, somebody wrote.  But Liu is different. He is even more central to the Chinese persona than Yao, who at 7 feet 6 inches is beyond imagination. Liu was the outer possibility of the Chinese psyche, the chance that a 6-2 hurdler could compete with athletes from around the world.  That prospect intrigued Liu. Chinese athletes are trained to keep a low profile and not become grandiose, but Liu once speculated on the impact of his 110-meter hurdles world record of 12.91 seconds in the Athens Games in 2004.  “It is kind of a miracle,” Liu said. “It is unbelievable — a Chinese, an Asian, has won this event. It is a proud moment not only for China but for Asia and all people who share the same yellow skin color.”  Please note these are not the ravings of a Western journalist. These are the words of Liu — reasonable enough, since he had just become the first Chinese male ever to win a gold medal in Olympic track and field.  “Please pay attention to Chinese track and field,” he said. “I think we Chinese can unleash a yellow tornado on the world.”  This was not some foolish boast of racial superiority, just an assertion of standing tall against the world. Liu was suggesting that a Chinese man could reach the level of Rafael Nadal of tennis or Kobe Bryant of basketball or Ronaldinho of soccer or Catherine Ndereba of the marathon, who sprang from other continents.  Liu touched a nerve in the Chinese people. Huge corporations that are lighting up the Beijing night with their neon advertisements put their money on him. Not allowed to have a driver’s license, Liu endorses Cadillac. He was the new Chinese man, their Tiger, their Federer, their Jordan, their Beckham.  With Liu as the example, China beefed up its sports system after 2004, bringing more prospects into isolated training camps. “Let a Hundred Flowers Bloom” was one transient slogan of Chairman Mao. China dreamed of a hundred Lius.  Many other great athletes have aged between Olympics, lost their muscle tone. Sometime this spring, Liu stopped competing and went behind the screen. On June 12, Dayron Robles from Cuba, one of the last national true believers, set a world record of 12.87 seconds.  It happens that fast in sports. China was caught with its gigantic investment in Liu. Tickets for Thursday’s hurdles final were going at 10 or 20 times the original price.  That final will take place as scheduled, but the market price has fallen a trifle. Welcome to the capitalism of scalping. More important, China is left without the athlete who was expected to take on the world.  It’s all right. The new hotels are comfortable. The new subway lines are splendid. Your children are talented. Traffic is moving. The air is not as bad as we feared. Yao has advanced to the next round. The gold medals continue. It’s all right.  A version of this article appears in print on , on Page D1 of the New York edition with the headline: Pain Travels Far Beyond a National Hero’s Leg. Order Reprints| Today's Paper|Subscribe
National mourning began in China after Liu Xiang pulled out of the 100-meter hurdle event due to an injury.