“No politics at the Olympics! Bye! Thank you!” To be fair to the group of Chinese fans outside the table tennis arena at Porte de Versailles, this is undoubtedly the most sensible answer to any question about the tectonic ripples, the ping‑ping diplomacy angle of a meeting across the pink and black Olympic table of China and the entity called Chinese Taipei, also known, outside of Olympic unreality, as Taiwan.

These are not matters to be taken lightly. In May this year the Chinese government announced it would consider applying the death penalty to those promoting the cause of Taiwanese separatism, a complex proposition given Taiwan is, on the face of it, already separate; but just another note in the drip-drip of manoeuvres and pre-invasion chat being enacted across the Straits. So yes, probably best to keep shtum on all that for now.

The Olympic Games do insist on throwing up these moments. Session two, Sunday afternoon, South Paris Arena, third quarter‑final of the mixed doubles. China, the draw decided, would play its most coveted neighbour.

This is an occasion that should be treasured for its rarity value if US intelligence is correct, a fixture that will no longer be possible at the next Games in Los Angeles, given 2027 is expected to be ready for China’s full‑scale military invasion. A couple of months ago China ran an exercise codenamed Joint Sword‑2024A, which included releasing a simulation video of itself literally invading Taiwan from the sea. Ever get the feeling someone’s trying to tell you something?

For now, on a soft sunny day in south-west Paris, we had sport against the enemy, paddles across the divide, wiff-waff instead of war‑war. Or something like that anyway.

The table tennis arena is a fun, clanky jolly place, like a super-sized school gymnasium. The stands were packed, the roars and shrieks echoing around its cage-like roof, with a crackle of genuine sporting nationalism in the air.

China is by some distance the dominant ping-pong superpower, not just on the table but off it, with Beijing selected to host the next five editions of the World Table Tennis Grand Smash. There were Chinese flags in almost every tier, not just held aloft but rippled and waved, some with huge stylised prints of the mixed doubles pair on them, like a rock‑and‑roll wedding shot, like Kurt and Courtney, but in ping‑pong and Chinese.

And China do have a dream‑team mixed-doubles unit, comprising here Sun Yingsha, the world No 1 in women’s singles, and Wang Chuqin, nicknamed Lionheart, and the world No 1 and current golden boy in the men.

Chinese Taipei were represented by the startlingly youthful looking Lin Yun-ju, known as the Silent Assassin, and Chen Szu-yu, 30 years old and No 60 on the WTT list. They started as significant underdogs. But then everything about the Taiwanese Olympic team is a compromise. Every part of its staging from the made-up name to the lack of flag and anthem is an act of erasure, of Chinese sporting cultural imperialism.

These are two entities who both historically see the other as errant secessionists, a situation that grew out of the Chinese civil war and the flight of the old republican government to the islands. Right up until the 1970s Taiwan’s stated military goal was to “retake” the mainland, absurd as that might sound now.

In return China has always viewed Taiwan as its own province, doesn’t see it as capable of having a sports team, or indeed being invaded. Come back into the bosom of the motherland little brother, with your incidentally vital microchip production capacities. In this context even the label Made In Taiwan, once the world’s most common sticker, is a pointed political statement.

The Olympics have always struggled with this. Eventually the “Lausanne agreement” demanded Taiwan compete as Chinese Taipei (a subtle semantic compromise) and drop its national symbols. Since then these two nations have met at previous Games. Wins for CTP over China in badminton in Tokyo were greeted with performative joy on the Taiwanese side.

Relations have become more heated since. There is open enmity towards the new president, Lai Ching-te, branded as a “dangerous separatist”. China has refused to rule out the imminent use of force. President Biden has implied, equally vaguely, that the United States would intervene.

As a discipline ping-pong is a fitting forum for this kind of wrangle, all intricate buried violence, a shadow dance of controlled aggression. In Paris the Chinese Taipei pairing walked out in black, all business, to a polite but hostile semi-silence. The Chinese drew a huge cheer, Wang wearing a red headband and red leg strapping, gold spangles on his shirt glittering, a kind of 1980s power-pop look.

But it was CTP who began in a rush, storming into a 5-1 lead to disbelieving roars and squeals from the crowd. Doubles is an odd game generally. A lot of it is based around getting out of the way, leaping in and out of range as the ball plinks back and forth. It feels like watching a pair of married couples fussing passive‑aggressively over the washing-up, all stifled yells and sighs – no, yes, after you – while the umpire sits weirdly close behind a screen, prim and stately like a tolerant parent.

CTP held on to take the opening set with some tight little fist bumps, a stunning opening. From there the Chinese pair rallied, Wang unleashing some huge booming forehands, hopping in on his tip-toes like pelvis-era Elvis, and sprinting through the second set.

CTP had enough to take the third, an upset still on the cards. At which point Wang raised the revs again. At times we got the full sustained hell-for-leather rallies, arms flying, shoulders open, ball curling down against the table lip. Taiwan were reeled in by a greater force, the final set in China’s 4-2 win sliding away in a rush.

At the end it was touching to see fond nods and hand-clasps and a tender moment between players and opposition coaches. As Wang walked off, electrifying the crowd as he passed, it was impossible not to be drawn into the glamour of someone else’s mega-event, another star system.

China will now go on to play South Korea and then either North Korea or Hong Kong in the final, so no potential complications there. But this was still a nice, and unavoidably peaceable, moment. Whatever happens from here, whatever the merits of that hawkish talk, the video simulations, the armada rumours, we’ll always have Paris.