competing for fractions of the prize money gifted to their male colleagues.

Thousands of Chinese military personnel perform drills at the Shenzhen Bay Sports Centre in August. Photograph: STR/AFP/Getty Images

Just before the 1970 US Open, the tennis promoter Jack Kramer offered the men prize money of $12,500 and the women $1,500 for the Pacific Southwest Championships in California. Women who failed to reach the quarter-finals would earn nothing but he implored them to play for the love of the game.

It was an insult too far. As Kramer threatened to banish them from his US Lawn Tennis Association and their status in other major events came under fire, a group of players led by King risked everything by choosing to boycott his event in favour of forming their own tour.

Inoff the court, the WTA has proven capable of generating transcendent superstars and delivering profound cultural moments.

None of those moments have been more pivotal to recent WTA history than the rise of Li Na, the charismatic Chinese player who broke away from the centralised tennis system and became a champion. Her triumphs at the French Open in 2011 and the Australian Open in 2014 made small ripples in the west but in China she reshaped the sporting scene in her image.

The WTA has since spent more than half a decade pushing hard into China. It now has offices in Beijing and holds nine tournaments in the country, while eight remain in the United States. One day at a Chinese tournament makes it clear why. Their Chinese partners do