When Yang Yang appeared confidently in front of Liverpool's official television camera and declared his goal target for the new season, his words spread like wildfire — across England, through Europe, and eventually around the world.
The clip reached as far as Manchester, fifty kilometers away.
At Manchester United's Carrington training base, inside the modern gym facility, Cristiano Ronaldo was in the middle of another relentless strength session. As he lifted weights in perfect rhythm, the morning broadcast replayed itself in his mind — the image of Yang Yang, calm and self-assured, setting a 25-goal target despite being injured.
That confidence — that audacity — irritated him deeply.
Even injured, that guy still has to show off!
Nearby, Mike Clegg, Manchester United's strength and conditioning coach, watched the Portuguese forward grind through his sets. Clegg was a well-known figure at the club. Before joining United, he had run a private gym in Manchester, but after his two sons entered United's youth academy, he was invited to oversee strength development for the first team.
Over the past year, Cristiano Ronaldo had become his most dedicated pupil — the one who trained longer, harder, and with more obsession than anyone else.
When Ronaldo finally dropped the barbell back onto the rack, his shirt clinging with sweat, Clegg glanced at the clock and nodded.
"Alright, that's enough for today. Take a break. It's time to head back for the main session."
But Ronaldo shook his head stubbornly. "No — one more set."
Clegg turned back and placed a firm hand on the young man's shoulder.
"I said that's enough. Overdoing it isn't discipline, it's danger. Unless you want to end up injured like him."
There was no need to explain who him was. Everyone at the club had heard about Yang Yang's strain.
Ronaldo's jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, but he swallowed the words and reluctantly obeyed, stepping aside to cool down. As he stretched, he could feel his muscles thrum with power — the familiar burn that both satisfied and fueled him.
After a pause, he asked quietly,
"Mike… I heard that kid's a training addict too. You think maybe he overdid it?"
Clegg shrugged. "Could be. There's always that risk. You push too far, the body bites back. You should remember that yourself."
He meant it sincerely, but he knew this young Portuguese had the same obsessive streak. For more than a year, Ronaldo had spent nearly every free moment in the gym, often late into the night. To Clegg, it was obvious: Yang Yang had become the invisible rival driving his every rep.
Ronaldo clenched his fist. "Better to overtrain than get lazy and sit out injured every week!"
Clegg raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
The Portuguese's eyes gleamed with determination.
"Because the reason I stayed at Manchester United," he said slowly, "was to beat him."
There was a sharpness in his voice — a competitive fire that could almost be felt in the air.
At the World Cup, he had been outshone. Portugal had failed to beat China, led by Yang Yang, and that humiliation had burned in his memory ever since. Now, in the Premier League, he saw a chance for redemption.
He wanted to face Liverpool.
He wanted to face him.
To prove that he — Cristiano Ronaldo — was the better player.
That's why, as he stretched and prepared to leave the gym, he whispered almost to himself,
"If he keeps getting injured, that would ruin everything."
Because for Ronaldo, beating Yang Yang wasn't about hatred — it was about validation. And a rival who disappeared through injury could never satisfy that hunger.
...
...
Winston Bogarde arrived in Liverpool soon after.
The moment the news broke that Yang Yang had personally invited his long-time fitness coach to oversee his recovery, the media seized upon it immediately. Headlines painted it as "another act of special treatment," fueling yet another wave of speculation and hype.
But football, like a charging locomotive, never stops for long. The new season had already begun to roll forward.
After the first leg of the UEFA Champions League third qualifying round, Liverpool were set to contest the Community Shield — facing none other than Chelsea, the reigning Premier League champions.
Since Wembley Stadium was still under reconstruction, the match was held at Cardiff's Millennium Stadium in South Wales.
Yang Yang, still recovering from his muscle strain, didn't travel with the squad. Instead, he stayed home with Su Ye, watching the broadcast from his living room.
In the ninth minute, Liverpool took the lead through John Arne Riise, whose thundering left-footed strike from distance crashed into the top corner. Anfield's traveling supporters erupted with joy.
But before the half-time whistle, Chelsea equalized. A perfectly timed through ball split Liverpool's defense, catching the back line high. Andriy Shevchenko broke free, gliding past the offside trap before calmly slotting the ball into the left corner — 1–1.
Liverpool pushed hard after the restart, dominating possession and creating several clear chances, but their finishing lacked bite. Time ticked away, frustration grew, and then came the fatal blow.
Two minutes into stoppage time, Chelsea launched a swift counterattack. Michael Ballack intercepted a loose ball in midfield and instantly sent a long diagonal pass into space. Arjen Robben exploded forward down the flank, outrunning Steve Finnan with ease. As Jamie Carragher moved across to cover, Robben cut inside sharply and curled a beautiful shot into the top-left corner.
A perfect counter. A perfect finish.
Chelsea 2, Liverpool 1.
Liverpool had played well — perhaps even better for long stretches — but without a clinical edge, their dominance meant little. As the final whistle sounded, many fans couldn't help but think of the man missing from the squad. Yang Yang had been signed to bring precisely the kind of ruthlessness they lacked.
In the post-match interview, Rafael Benítez kept his composure.
"Yang Yang's absence does have some impact on our attack," he admitted, "but we have other capable players — Crouch, Kuyt, Gerrard — all of them can score. We played very well in the second half, dominated the game, but made mistakes defensively that cost us the result."
He also downplayed the significance of the loss.
"The Community Shield is not our priority. We're focused on the league opener next weekend. That's why players like Gerrard and Alonso were on limited minutes."
But few journalists bought that explanation. If Liverpool hadn't gone all out, why had Chelsea fielded their strongest lineup?
A week later came the Premier League opener — Sheffield United vs. Liverpool.
It was a match that Chinese fans had eagerly anticipated. The newly promoted side had just signed midfielder Li Tie, formerly of Everton, and supporters had been dreaming of the first-ever "Chinese Derby" in Premier League history: Yang Yang vs. Li Tie.
But fate had other plans. Li Tie wasn't named in the squad, and Yang Yang was still recovering.
From his living room once again, Yang Yang watched helplessly as his team struggled.
Liverpool dominated possession but couldn't find their rhythm. Then, just 52 seconds into the second half, Sheffield United stunned them. An indirect free kick was whipped into the box, and striker Rob Hulse rose above the defense to head home — 1–0.
Liverpool pressed desperately for an equalizer and were finally handed a lifeline in the 70th minute — a controversial penalty, converted calmly by Robbie Fowler.
Final score: 1–1.
Yang Yang leaned back on the sofa, his expression mixed with frustration and helplessness.
He had heard stories about how difficult away games were in the Premier League — but seeing it unfold was another matter entirely. Sheffield United, newly promoted and fiercely determined, had turned their home ground into a fortress.
Across the league, the results only proved how unforgiving away games in the Premier League could be. Liverpool's 1–1 draw with Sheffield United was not an exception but part of a pattern. Arsenal, another title contender, had also been held 1–1 by Aston Villa. Elsewhere, Fulham were crushed 1–5 by Manchester United, Manchester City fell 0–3 to Chelsea, Blackburn were dismantled 0–3 by Portsmouth, and Charlton suffered a 1–3 defeat to West Ham.
Only the giants playing at home managed to win comfortably, while most who traveled struggled to assert themselves.
Even with that perspective, Yang Yang couldn't shake his guilt. He still felt responsible for not being out there helping his teammates.
Benítez had assured him repeatedly that the injury wasn't his fault — it had been a coaching error in the training setup — but watching Gerrard and the others fight while he could only sit by filled him with unease.
Liverpool's long-standing issue, their lack of sharpness in attack, was once again exposed. The press wasted no time in pouncing, criticizing the team's blunt offense and emphasizing the absence of their record signing.
Inside, Yang Yang burned. He wanted to return, to silence every voice that questioned him, to bring victory to the fans who waited for him.
But recovery came first.
Under the joint supervision of Pako Ayestarán and Winston Bogarde, he trained relentlessly but carefully. Every movement was measured, every session designed to strengthen without risk. They reminded him constantly of Messi's misfortune the previous season — returning too early and suffering reinjury soon after.
Even so, Yang Yang could feel it — that fire inside him growing stronger by the day, a flame that no restraint could smother.
He wanted to prove himself to everyone — to the reporters who mocked him, to the supporters who believed in him, and to the teammates still fighting without him.
But all of that depended on one thing: complete recovery.
He channeled his hunger into focus, attacking each rehabilitation drill with fierce concentration. Everyone at Melwood could see it — the quiet determination in his eyes, the way he drove himself every session. Gerrard, Carragher, and others often stopped by to remind him not to rush, insisting that Liverpool needed him fully fit, not just available.
But patience was the hardest opponent he had ever faced.
After only one round of league football, Liverpool had already slipped to tenth in the standings. It was early, yet the media wasted no time in reviving their familiar chorus of doubt.
That night, Yang Yang sat silently before the television, watching the pundits' chatter, then switched it off. He exhaled slowly, lowered himself back to the mat, and began his stretching routine.
The road back had only just begun — and deep down, he swore that when he returned, the fire within him would set Anfield ablaze.
...
...
After the first round of the league, Liverpool traveled to Kiev, Ukraine, for the second leg of their Champions League third qualifying round against Maccabi Haifa.
Because of the ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel, UEFA had approved Liverpool's request to move the match to a neutral venue. The Millennium Stadium had hosted the Community Shield, but now the Reds found themselves far from home again, this time in Eastern Europe.
The result was another disappointment — a 1–1 draw.
Peter Crouch opened the scoring in the second half, heading home from close range after a rare moment of cohesion in attack. Yet Liverpool's lead lasted only nine minutes before Maccabi Haifa equalized.
By the time the final whistle blew, the problem was obvious to everyone.
From the preseason friendlies to the Community Shield and now the league and Europe, Liverpool's offensive rhythm had been flat. Crouch was doing his best, playing a key tactical role up front — winning duels, linking play, pressing defenders — but without Yang Yang, the team's cutting edge had vanished.
The statistics from the match in Kiev were alarming. In the entire first half, Liverpool failed to register a single shot on target. Their only genuine chance — a close-range effort by Kuyt — was disallowed for offside.
The lack of creativity in the final third left them exposed. Unable to threaten consistently, Liverpool's attack became predictable, and their defense eventually broke under pressure. The equalizer came as no surprise.
Though the Reds advanced to the Champions League group stage with an aggregate score of 4–2, few in the club were celebrating. The relief of qualification was overshadowed by the growing realization that Liverpool's offensive structure was crumbling without their young talisman.
The media around Merseyside began voicing what the fans were already shouting in pubs, forums, and phone-ins: Liverpool need Yang Yang back.
Whether on the wings or cutting through the middle, his absence was now felt in every slow, hesitant build-up. He had been brought in to inject pace, precision, and unpredictability — the very things the team now lacked.
And so, even as the players boarded their flight home from Kiev, the same message echoed from the stands, the pages, and the airwaves alike:
Once Yang Yang returns, Liverpool's attack will finally breathe again.
...
Early in the morning, Sefton Park was almost deserted. A thin mist from the nearby ocean clung to the air, dampening the clean roadways. Drops of water fell rhythmically from the tall trees that lined both sides of the path, the sound of each drop echoing faintly in the stillness. The park, usually full of joggers and families, felt suspended in time — quiet, calm, and untouched by the noise of the waking city.
Yang Yang stepped out before sunrise, accompanied by Su Ye and Winston Bogarde, for his first outdoor jog since the injury. His pace was light, measured. After weeks of structured rehabilitation, it was the first time he truly tested himself outside the controlled environment of Melwood.
Winston Bogarde jogged beside him, attentive as ever, occasionally asking about his right leg — how it felt, whether there was tightness or fatigue, whether his stride felt even. Yang Yang answered calmly, focused on the rhythm of his breathing, his body adjusting to the early chill.
After circling the park once, they reached the final stretch of the route. Winston pointed ahead.
"Alright," he called, clapping his hands for emphasis. "From here to the gate — one kilometer. Let's finish with a sprint."
Yang Yang nodded, inhaled deeply, and then exploded forward. His strides were long and powerful, his movements fluid. Su Ye followed behind but quickly fell back, watching him push through the mist ahead. Only Winston managed to keep a close enough distance to time his sprint.
By the time Yang Yang crossed the imaginary finish line, he slowed down gradually, breathing hard. His chest rose and fell sharply as he walked back toward Winston.
"How was it?" he asked between breaths.
The tall Dutchman grinned broadly, raising a thumbs-up.
"Excellent. Not quite at your peak yet — but very close. You're almost there."
Still catching his breath, Yang Yang smiled. The light drizzle made his hair cling to his forehead, but the satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable.
Winston continued his assessment, asking again about the leg. "How did it hold up in the sprint? Any stiffness? Any pulling?"
Yang Yang shook his head. "Feels fine. Really good, actually."
That answer — and the conviction in his tone — made Winston nod approvingly. Experience told him that Yang Yang's body was responding well. Physically, he was ready. Now he just needed a match to awaken the instincts that only real competition could sharpen.
"Remember," Winston cautioned, his tone firm but caring, "you can't ease up now. The Premier League's intensity is a different beast. You dominated easily in the Eredivisie, but here, you'll face defenders built like walls. Every game will test your limits."
Yang Yang listened intently as Winston went on.
"When we get back, I'll talk to Pako Ayestarán. We'll design a new conditioning plan — something to push your strength higher without losing speed or flexibility. If you want to thrive here, we can't afford any weakness."
Yang Yang nodded heavily. He understood perfectly. In the Eredivisie, his physicality had often been enough. In the Premier League, it was a different world — harder, faster, and far more demanding.
"Don't worry," he said with a grin. "No matter how tough it gets, I can handle it."
Winston laughed, satisfied with the answer.
Yang Yang turned to Su Ye, who was still catching her breath a few steps behind. With a playful smile, he extended his hand to her.
"Come on," he said warmly. "Let's go home."
Su Ye took his hand without a word, and the three of them began walking back through the misty park. The morning sun was just beginning to pierce through the fog — soft, golden light spreading over the wet paths ahead of them.
For the first time in weeks, Yang Yang's steps felt light again. The pain was gone, the uncertainty fading. What remained was resolve — and the burning anticipation of the moment he would return to the pitch.
…
"Good news!"
Pako Ayestarán pushed open the door of Benítez's office, waving a folder in his hand — a medical report. His expression alone gave it away before he even spoke.
"The results are better than we expected," he said excitedly. "He can come back."
Benítez immediately rose from behind his desk, exhaling in relief as the tension he had been carrying for weeks finally loosened.
"Thank God," he muttered. "This spell has been suffocating. Finally, some good news."
He walked around the desk, took the report from Ayestarán, and scanned through it carefully. The corners of his mouth lifted.
"Yes, it looks solid. Winston Bogarde really knows what he's doing."
Ayestarán nodded.
"Apparently so. I did some checking — he studied at the University of Turin, one of the top programs for sports science in Europe. After that, he worked with Juventus for a time and specialized in physiotherapy and rehabilitation. From what I hear, he's one of the best in that field."
Benítez raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. He hadn't realized Yang Yang's personal trainer was such a qualified expert.
"We've had far too many injuries these past few years," Benítez said after a moment, his tone turning thoughtful. "Gerrard, Carragher, Xabi Alonso — all with lingering issues. And Agger… that lad's had problems since Denmark. Plus Aurelio — in Valencia he was injured constantly. We'll have to be careful with him too."
Both players were crucial to Benítez's long-term plans. Daniel Agger, the young Danish center-back, was widely regarded as Sami Hyypiä's natural successor. Fabio Aurelio, the Brazilian left-back, had been brought in as Riise's future replacement — steadier in defense, technically gifted, and with an exceptional left foot for crossing and set pieces.
Benítez tapped his finger against the report, thinking aloud.
"You know, maybe we should try to keep Winston Bogarde here. Make him part of our staff — design individual conditioning programs for these players. It'd solve a lot of problems."
Ayestarán smiled. "I had the same thought." Then, shaking his head, he sighed. "But I already asked. He refused."
Benítez looked surprised. "Why? Didn't he already leave Ajax?"
"He did," Pako confirmed. "But he runs a gym in China now — in Beijing. That's been his dream since he was young. He only came here because Yang Yang asked him personally. Otherwise, he never would've left."
Benítez leaned back, rubbing his temples. It was frustrating. Since taking over Liverpool, he had struggled to find a reliable fitness coach — now, finally, he'd seen one in action, and the man wanted nothing more than to go home to his gym.
Still, Benítez understood. For someone who had built his own path and achieved his lifelong goal, such attachment was difficult to break.
Ayestarán thought for a moment, then said,
"Maybe Yang Yang can help. If anyone can persuade him, it's him. They clearly have a strong bond."
Benítez's eyes brightened. "That's true. He managed to bring him all the way here — perhaps he can convince him to stay, too."
Just as they were discussing it, a knock came at the door.
Yang Yang entered, a wide smile on his face, his energy radiating confidence. It had been weeks since Benítez had seen him look this alive.
"Coach," Yang Yang said eagerly, clenching a fist in excitement. "I've been holding back for too long — I'm ready to play again!"
Benítez chuckled. "And we're ready for you to come back. Believe me, the team needs you now more than ever."
They exchanged a knowing look — both men aware of how desperate Liverpool's attack had become.
As they discussed his return schedule, the conversation naturally turned to Winston Bogarde. Benítez explained the situation: how the staff hoped Yang Yang could convince his personal coach to stay on longer.
Yang Yang hesitated for a moment, visibly torn. It wasn't a matter of doubting Bogarde's professionalism — quite the opposite. He trusted him completely. But he also knew what that gym in Beijing meant to him.
"That gym is his dream," Yang Yang said softly. "He's worked toward it since he was a teenager. To ask him to leave it behind… it wouldn't feel right."
He paused, thoughtful. "Still, I'll talk to him. Maybe there's a way to convince him to stay — at least for a little while."
Benítez nodded gratefully. "That's all we can ask."
For a brief moment, the three of them shared the same feeling — relief, anticipation, and renewed belief. The waiting was over.
Yang Yang was coming back.
...
Yang Yang is back.
The news spread through Melwood like wildfire. Within minutes, the training ground was buzzing. In the locker room, players whispered excitedly, smiles appeared everywhere, and then, almost spontaneously, the sound of applause broke out.
Some players were overjoyed. Others, naturally, felt a flicker of unease.
During Yang Yang's absence, men like Luis García and Jermaine Pennant had filled his position. They both knew what his return meant — fewer minutes, less spotlight. Yet even they accepted it quickly. From the day Liverpool had spent forty million euros to bring him from Ajax, it had been clear what their roles would be. Yang Yang wasn't a rival. He was the man the club had bet its future on.
Now, their star was walking back through the door.
The moment Yang Yang entered the dressing room, the atmosphere lifted completely. Every player stood and clapped in unison, greeting him like a returning hero.
"Yang, welcome back!" Gerrard called out first, stepping forward with a grin.
"Good things are waiting for you!" Carragher added, clapping him on the shoulder.
With the captain and vice-captain leading the way, the others followed — Kuyt, Alonso, Sissoko, Reina — even Luis García and Pennant, the two who had most to lose, came over to shake his hand and congratulate him sincerely.
It was more than courtesy. It was Liverpool's tradition — unity above all.
As the noise died down, Gerrard chuckled and leaned toward Carragher.
"Glenn Roeder's miserable now. He won't be sleeping for the next two nights."
The locker room burst into laughter. Everyone knew he was talking about Newcastle's manager. The Magpies were Liverpool's next opponent — and the match was at Anfield.
Home games were sacred in the Premier League. Away points were hard to earn, so every team protected their home turf fiercely. A 1-1 draw away to Sheffield United had drawn little criticism, but anything less than three points at Anfield would be unacceptable.
Liverpool, aiming for the title, needed this win — and the return of their record signing was the best morale boost imaginable.
Yang Yang smiled calmly at Gerrard's remark. "Is it only Glenn Roeder who should be losing sleep?" he asked lightly.
The locker room went quiet for a second.
Then Yang Yang's expression sharpened, his tone confident and unwavering.
"No. I think all of them will — Ferguson, Wenger, Mourinho… none of them will rest easy."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then Gerrard broke it with a laugh. Carragher followed. Soon, the whole room was roaring again.
"Well said!"
"Make them sleepless!"
"That's Liverpool spirit — we don't fear anyone!"
Yang Yang raised his chin slightly, his eyes burning with quiet determination.
"Twenty-five goals. That's my target for the season," he said firmly. "There are still many league rounds left. That's more than enough."
The statement echoed through the room.
Gerrard nodded in approval, while Carragher smirked. Around them, teammates shouted their support, feeding off his confidence.
It had been years since Liverpool had a forward capable of scoring twenty or more goals in a single league campaign. Henry had set that benchmark — twenty-five goals in each of the past two seasons — and the Frenchman's consistency had made him untouchable.
Now, Yang Yang was setting his sights on that same mark.
The wheel of fortune was turning again.
This time, it was Liverpool's turn.
And Yang Yang's.