Yang Yang finally returned to the squad.
On the morning of August 23, the news exploded across England — every major British newspaper carried the headline on its front page.
"Yang Yang Returns!"
It was the story of the day. The entire United Kingdom seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the long-anticipated debut of Liverpool's nineteen-year-old prodigy — the Chinese forward signed for a staggering €40 million.
What could this young genius bring to Anfield? That question rippled through every newsroom and every pub in the country.
The previous afternoon, at Liverpool's pre-match press conference, Rafael Benítez had announced it himself. The Spaniard's tone was firm, confident.
"Yang Yang has officially returned to the team," he said, before smiling and refusing to reveal whether the youngster would start or be on the bench. "The only thing I can say," Benítez added, "is that from training, his condition looks excellent. He's eager to play — and I believe he'll have an important role in tomorrow's match."
Those words set Liverpool's supporters ablaze with anticipation.
By the morning of match day, excitement had spread far beyond Merseyside. British media made Yang Yang the central story of the Premier League weekend, and even continental outlets were now running features about his potential debut. The eyes of Europe turned toward Anfield.
Football legend Alan Hansen, writing in his newspaper column, publicly backed the youngster.
He praised Yang Yang's technique and maturity but cautioned Liverpool fans not to heap too much pressure on him so early.
"What the boy needs," Hansen wrote, "is freedom. Give him a relaxed environment, and he'll find his rhythm in English football soon enough."
While Liverpool basked in the glow of optimism, Newcastle United arrived at Anfield with determination of their own.
At the turn of the millennium, the Magpies had fallen from their once-lofty heights, drifting into mid-table mediocrity. But under Sir Bobby Robson, they had experienced a remarkable revival. Between 2001 and 2003, Newcastle finished third, third, and fourth in successive Premier League seasons — a run that restored them to European competition and rekindled the city's passion.
Yet football is unforgiving. With the rise of Chelsea's new financial empire, Newcastle's fortunes dipped again.
In 2004–05, the club slumped to 14th place, leading to Robson's dismissal.
The following year, Graeme Souness — a former Liverpool great — was brought in to steady the ship. Instead, his tenure ended abruptly midway through the season. His assistant, Glenn Roeder, took charge as caretaker and miraculously guided the team to a seventh-place finish, earning himself the permanent job.
That summer, Newcastle spent boldly. They signed Damien Duff from Chelsea, Obafemi Martins from Inter Milan, and secured Giuseppe Rossi on loan from Manchester United. The new arrivals injected pace and flair into the squad, immediately lifting expectations on Tyneside.
Their confidence showed from the start of the new campaign — a 2–1 victory over Wigan Athletic in the opening round. Roeder's ambition only grew.
At his own pre-match press conference, held on the eve of the clash with Liverpool, Roeder spoke with fiery confidence.
"Liverpool are struggling with injuries," he told reporters. "Players like Yang Yang, Carragher, and Riise are just returning from layoffs. For us, this is a great opportunity. We'll be brave away from home — Liverpool should be careful."
His words spread through the press room like sparks. By evening, every headline framed it the same way — Roeder's challenge to Liverpool.
The stage was set. Anfield waited. Yang Yang was back.
...
...
The match was scheduled for the evening.
As dusk fell over Merseyside, Liverpool's team bus rolled slowly through the crowded approach to Anfield Stadium, headlights slicing through the misty air. It came to a stop at the entrance of the players' tunnel, surrounded by a sea of red.
Outside, thousands of Liverpool supporters had already gathered. Flags fluttered, scarves waved, and the chorus of "You'll Never Walk Alone" echoed through the narrow streets. The anthem rose from the throats of fans in full voice, blending with the rhythmic drumming and chants of names — Gerrard, Carragher, Alonso… and Yang Yang.
When Steven Gerrard, the captain, stepped off the bus first, the crowd erupted in cheers. His mere presence drew a roar of pride and applause, a sound that seemed to shake the concrete underfoot.
One by one, the players followed — each greeted warmly, each name shouted with love.
But when Yang Yang appeared at the door, the noise swelled to another level. The roar that met him rivaled even Gerrard's welcome. Red scarves lifted high, fans screamed his name, some waving Chinese flags and banners with his face printed on them.
It was a moment that told its own story — even before setting foot on the pitch, Yang Yang had already captured Anfield's heart.
Smiling, he raised his hand and waved in gratitude. The gesture only intensified the response.
Gerrard glanced back, amused, and patted his young teammate on the shoulder. "Welcome home," he said with a grin before leading the way into the tunnel.
Yang Yang followed close behind.
Liverpool's dressing room was modest — almost startlingly so for a club of such stature. It wasn't grand or luxurious, but compact, functional, and filled with history.
In the centre stood a long, rectangular table, scuffed from years of use. Along the walls ran simple wooden benches, above which hung a row of hooks, each carrying a neatly folded set of red kits.
Among them hung Yang Yang's number 11 jersey — the vivid red fabric gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
To anyone else, it was just another shirt.
To Yang Yang, it was a symbol — of faith, of expectation, and of the journey that had brought him here.
He scanned the room quietly, eyes landing on a framed photograph mounted on the opposite wall — Bill Shankly standing proudly with his players, a reminder of Liverpool's immortal past.
In that instant, Yang Yang felt it — the club's spirit, the weight of tradition pressing gently on every shoulder.
It was as if the room itself whispered, "Nothing has changed here in a hundred years."
The facilities might have been simple, even cramped, but that was part of Liverpool's soul — the humility, the continuity, the heartbeat of the club.
Yang Yang found his seat between Xabi Alonso and Dirk Kuyt. Both men greeted him warmly; they weren't strangers.
He exchanged a brief high-five with Alonso, nodded to Kuyt, then sat down, leaning back against the bench.
Closing his eyes, he took a slow breath.
The crowd's roars faded in his mind, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The smell of grass, the muffled thump of boots, the soft murmur of teammates preparing beside him — all of it surrounded him in quiet harmony.
Now, he needed only one thing — to steady his emotions before stepping into the storm.
...
Newcastle had arrived at Anfield well before Liverpool.
As a result, their pre-match warm-up finished earlier too.
The reason was simple — Glenn Roeder's strategy for this match was built around offense.
"I don't know whether Yang Yang will play tonight, nor how close he is to his best," Roeder told his squad, pacing slowly in front of them. "I'm not Benítez, so I can't know that. But what I do know is this — it doesn't matter!"
The players around him nodded, their faces lit with quiet confidence. Roeder had earned their respect after last season's remarkable rescue job, when he took over mid-season and led Newcastle to a strong finish. His authority now carried weight.
"Liverpool will definitely attack at home," he continued, voice firm. "They'll try to dominate possession and press forward. But we all know their weakness — they lack pace and cutting edge in the final third."
It wasn't just Roeder's opinion; it was a widely held belief across the Premier League.
The previous season, Liverpool's attack had been heavily criticised. Despite lifting the FA Cup, their league form was inconsistent. Time and again, they struggled to break down opponents who defended deep. The team lacked genuine speed — that sharp, explosive threat that could split defenses apart.
"Yang Yang has just come back from injury," Roeder said, turning toward the tactics board. "I doubt Benítez will risk starting him. Even if he does, he's unlikely to change much. What matters for us is to play our own game."
His words met with murmurs of agreement.
For Newcastle, the plan was simple — score first.
If they could take the lead, they would force Liverpool to push higher up the pitch, opening space for counterattacks.
And that was where Newcastle were most dangerous.
With the blistering pace of Obafemi Martins and the intelligent movement of Damien Duff, they could turn defence into attack in seconds. If Liverpool truly overcommitted, they could be punished.
"Of course," Roeder added, "we can't underestimate anyone. Yang Yang cost Liverpool forty million euros. That kind of money isn't spent on a simple player. From what I've seen in pre-season, he's shifted positions — Ajax used him on the right wing, but Benítez seems to prefer him on the left."
He looked toward the right side of the room, eyes landing on his veteran full-back.
"Stephen," Roeder called, "you'll be responsible for him."
Stephen Carr, the Irish right-back, clapped his hands together, grinning.
"Relax, boss. I'll handle him. Let this nineteen-year-old see what the Premier League really feels like."
Laughter rippled through the dressing room.
Truthfully, few among them were convinced that Yang Yang was worth the fortune Liverpool had paid.
They all remembered other so-called "Eredivisie sensations" who had failed to adapt in England.
"How much did Rooney cost when he went to United?" one muttered. "And this kid cost more?"
Someone else mentioned Mateja Kežman, once a prolific scorer in the Netherlands but a disappointment after moving to Chelsea. The example lingered in everyone's mind.
Besides, Yang Yang's Liverpool debut had been unfortunate — injured barely ten minutes after coming on. The image stuck with people: a slender teenager overwhelmed by England's rugged pace.
Carr certainly believed it.
"Be careful," Roeder reminded quietly. "He's fast."
Carr smirked.
"So was Robben, wasn't he?"
The room erupted in laughter again.
When Arjen Robben had first joined Chelsea, he'd been hailed as the Flying Dutchman. But between his dazzling runs came constant injuries, long spells on the treatment table.
"Maybe Yang Yang will be the next Robben," someone joked.
Roeder let the laughter fade before speaking again, his tone serious now.
"Alright, that's enough. Remember — don't get carried away. Respect your opponent, but make them respect you more."
He clapped his hands once, sharp and loud.
"We played well in the first round, and now we build on it. Get a strong start, set the tempo early, and make Liverpool chase us!"
A unified shout answered him as the players rose to their feet, energy surging through the room.
Newcastle were ready — confident, ambitious, and utterly certain that the night ahead would be theirs.
...
...
When the two teams, led by referee Mark Halsey, emerged from the tunnel onto the Anfield pitch, the entire stadium erupted into thunderous applause.
The stands were a sea of red. Flags rippled under the floodlights, scarves stretched high above heads, and the anthem of You'll Never Walk Alone rolled like a wave across the terraces, fading only when the stadium announcer began reading out the lineups.
"Our captain — Steven Gerrard!"
A deafening roar answered him.
"Gerrard! Gerrard!"
"Our goalkeeper — Pepe Reina!"
"Reina! Reina!"
"And our defenders — Daniel Agger, Steve Finnan, Fabio Aurelio, Sami Hyypiä!"
Each name drew another chorus of cheers, the noise cresting higher with every mention.
"In midfield — Xabi Alonso and Mohamed Sissoko!"
The chant of "Xabi! Xabi!" rolled through the Kop like thunder.
"And up front — Dirk Kuyt on the right, Peter Crouch in the centre…"
A beat of anticipation followed, and then came the moment everyone had been waiting for.
"And of course — just recovered from injury — our young Chinese star, Yang Yang!"
The reaction was immediate and overwhelming.
The stadium exploded.
"Yang Yang! Yang Yang! Yang Yang!"
Tens of thousands of voices merged into a single, unified chant. The roar shook the rafters of Anfield, echoing like a storm through the Merseyside night. Flares of red light flickered in the stands as scarves waved and fans jumped in unison.
It was a welcome fit for a hero.
On the pitch, Yang Yang lifted his head, eyes sweeping the roaring crowd. He raised his hand in gratitude, his expression calm yet resolute. For a brief moment, under the glare of the floodlights, he seemed completely composed — untouched by the immense pressure that surrounded him.
Up in the stands, Su Ye and Winston Bogarde watched intently.
Bogarde, dressed in a dark coat, leaned forward slightly, his eyes following Yang Yang's every step as the players lined up for kickoff.
"Good," he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. "Still calm. He's ready."
Su Ye nodded quickly, her eyes glistening with nervous pride.
She knew how much the past ten days had weighed on him. Since that injury on his debut, Yang Yang had been tormented by guilt — feeling that he had let down the club and its supporters. Even in training, that shadow lingered behind his quiet determination.
But tonight, something was different.
There was fire in his eyes again — not the anxiety of someone afraid to fail, but the focus of a man intent on redemption.
He wanted to give something back to these fans — not with promises, but with action.
Through his performance. Through his goals. Through everything he had.
Tonight, under the floodlights of Anfield, Yang Yang would answer every doubt with football.
...
"Newcastle have started the match brightly — pressing high and creating several early chances," the commentator's voice rang through Anfield's PA.
"Once again, Scott Parker tries to thread the ball into the penalty area—"
But before the attack could develop, Xabi Alonso stepped in.
The Spaniard read the play perfectly, cutting off the pass just outside the box.
"Interception from Alonso! And now Liverpool look to break!"
A murmur of excitement swept through the stands as Liverpool transitioned from defence to attack in an instant.
Steven Gerrard surged forward, received Alonso's pass, and in a single motion spun on his heel. His right boot launched a long, raking ball toward the left side of Newcastle's half.
"A brilliant switch from Gerrard!"
There — bursting through the inside-left channel — was Yang Yang.
He had seen it coming a heartbeat earlier than everyone else. Timing his run to perfection, he slipped diagonally between Stephen Carr and Peter Ramage, the two Newcastle defenders caught flat-footed.
By the time Carr reacted, Yang Yang was already gone — a blur of red streaking toward goal.
"Yang Yang's in! What acceleration from the young Chinese forward!"
Ramage gave desperate chase, pumping his legs to close the gap, but Yang Yang's stride was smoother, faster. The pass from Gerrard arced beautifully through the air, descending toward the penalty area.
Yang Yang met it in stride. His first touch — delicate, controlled — cushioned the ball perfectly to the turf. Without breaking rhythm, he carried it forward, the crowd rising with every step.
Fifteen metres from goal.
Steve Harper, Newcastle's veteran goalkeeper, darted off his line. Ramage lunged from behind, both closing in to smother the shot.
But Yang Yang was already one step ahead.
As Harper spread himself, Yang Yang flicked his left foot with effortless precision — a deft, composed chip.
"Oh, that's clever! He's lifted it—"
The ball sailed gracefully over Harper's outstretched hands, spinning softly as it dipped toward goal. For a split second, time seemed to freeze. Then —
Swish!
The ball dropped beneath the crossbar and nestled into the empty net.
Anfield erupted.
Yang Yang didn't even need to look. The moment the ball left his foot, he already knew. His arms spread wide, face alight with fierce relief and joy.
It was more than just a goal — it was a declaration.
His first Premier League goal of the season.
The prodigy had returned.
...
"Oh, my God!"
"Liverpool's counterattack—"
"Yang Yang… GOAL!!!"
The commentary dissolved into pure astonishment as Anfield erupted in a storm of red and white.
"Unbelievable! That was lightning quick!"
"Newcastle's defence had no time to react — a textbook counterattack from Liverpool!"
"This is incredible!"
The stands trembled under the roar. From the Kop to the Main Stand, every fan was on their feet, fists raised, voices breaking as they screamed Yang Yang's name.
Down on the pitch, the nineteen-year-old didn't stop running. He sprinted straight toward the chairman's stand, the emotion spilling out of him like a flood. As he reached the edge of the touchline, he dropped into a knee slide, grass flying beneath him, before pressing a kiss to the colourful woven bracelet on his left wrist.
It was the one Su Ye had made for him before the match — a small charm of luck and affection.
Rising to his feet, he thrust both arms high toward the roaring crowd, every muscle in his body trembling with release.
Days of frustration — of self-doubt, of guilt for watching from the sidelines — burst out of him all at once.
He had waited ten long days to return.
Now, with one strike, he had erased all hesitation, all noise.
Yang Yang knelt on the turf, head tilted back, and let out a primal roar that pierced through the chaos around him. His teammates came rushing over — Gerrard first, then Kuyt, Alonso, and Sissoko — all piling on in wild celebration.
The joy was pure, infectious. The red shirts converged in a single wave of triumph.
Even they couldn't quite believe it. The move had unfolded so quickly that it felt like instinct — Alonso's interception, Gerrard's perfect long pass, Yang Yang's burst of speed and ice-cold finish.
"Liverpool lead! And it's Yang Yang — with his first goal of the season!"
For a moment, even Newcastle stood frozen, stunned by the suddenness of it all.
A single flash of brilliance had turned defence into goal — and Anfield was alive again.
...
"What a lightning-fast, clinical counterattack from Liverpool!"
The commentator's voice rose over the thunder of the stands.
"This is something we've hardly seen from Liverpool in the past two or three seasons — a direct, incisive attack from back to front in just seconds!"
Replays flashed across the broadcast screen: Alonso's interception, Gerrard's pinpoint long pass, and Yang Yang's blistering run slicing through the heart of Newcastle's defence.
"You can clearly see the difference Yang Yang brings to this Liverpool side," the co-commentator added. "His arrival has given Benítez's attack a new dimension — more pace, more unpredictability, and far greater threat."
The analysis continued as the cameras zoomed in on Yang Yang, still surrounded by his celebrating teammates.
"From Alonso's steal to Gerrard's through ball — the entire move was executed at incredible speed. Yang Yang's movement into space was perfect, timed to the split second. It's really astonishing for a player so young."
The slow-motion replay showed it in exquisite detail: the moment Gerrard released the pass, Yang Yang was already in full sprint, body angled, reading the flight perfectly. His first touch cushioned the ball as if it were tied to his boot.
"Look at that touch," the commentator exclaimed. "Silky control! Even after bringing the ball down, Peter Ramage had absolutely no chance to intervene — Yang Yang's acceleration just left him behind."
The replay cut again to Stephen Carr's perspective, struggling to recover ground on the flank.
"And here's Carr," the analyst continued, "who's actually been one of Newcastle's more reliable performers this season. He looked solid in their opening match, but tonight he's up against something entirely different. Yang Yang's pace and rhythm are on another level."
The camera lingered on the Irish full-back, hands on his knees, exhaling heavily.
"Remember, Carr had surgery for a hernia just a few months ago. His sharpness isn't quite back yet, and against a player like Yang Yang — who accelerates explosively over the first ten yards — that's a nightmare matchup."
"Newcastle's early pressure has completely collapsed," the main commentator concluded, voice steady now but still brimming with excitement. "One moment they were attacking, and within seconds, Liverpool struck back through Yang Yang — a perfect counterpunch. Newcastle's opening momentum is gone!"
Anfield continued to tremble with joy. On the touchline, Benítez stood with arms folded, a rare smile flickering across his face.
Liverpool had drawn first blood — and their young Chinese star had just announced himself to the Premier League.
...
In the stands, Su Ye sat motionless amid the thunderous celebration, her hands clasped tightly before her chest. The entire stadium roared around her, a sea of red joy and waving scarves, but her eyes shimmered with tears she struggled to hold back.
For everyone else, this was just a goal — a brilliant strike, a debut moment to remember.
But for her, it was something far deeper.
She had been by Yang Yang's side from the day he arrived in Liverpool — through every bruise, every late-night training session, every headline questioning his worth. She had seen him limp off injured, teeth clenched in pain, then force himself back into relentless practice when others would have rested. She had seen him bear the weight of doubt and the crushing silence of frustration when he couldn't play.
And now, tonight, under Anfield's lights, she saw him rise above it all.
The emotions swirling inside her were far more complex than simple happiness. There was pride — fierce, glowing pride — but also a deep ache.
If she could have chosen, she thought bitterly, she would rather he not have to push himself so far. She would rather he play without that constant burden — without the need to prove, to fight, to endure.
But she knew that was impossible.
Because a Yang Yang who didn't give everything, who didn't chase every ball or battle for every inch, wasn't Yang Yang at all. His strength and stubbornness were what defined him — the very traits that made her heart swell with both pride and worry.
She brushed at the corner of her eye, smiling faintly through the blur of tears.
"You did it," she whispered, too softly for anyone to hear.
Proud.
Afraid.
Moved beyond words.
Whatever came next, she would stand by him — not just as a supporter in the crowd, but as someone who believed in him completely, no matter how high the climb or how fierce the fight.
...
Yang Yang sprang up from the turf, his face alight with unrestrained joy. As the crowd's roar still thundered around him, he turned immediately toward his rushing teammates.
Gerrard reached him first, arms open, grinning wide. Yang Yang wrapped him in a tight embrace, both laughing breathlessly amid the chaos.
"That pass was perfect!" Yang Yang shouted over the noise, still smiling. "Right where I wanted it."
He hadn't expected it — the precision, the weight, the timing. Gerrard's long ball had been inch-perfect, dropping into space like it had been measured by hand. It allowed him to sprint through without breaking stride, his control seamless, his finish unstoppable.
If the pass had been a fraction too heavy, or even slightly behind him, the chance would have died before it began.
"Thanks for the assist!" Yang Yang said, patting Gerrard on the shoulder, his grin wide.
Gerrard waved it off immediately, still chuckling.
"No, no — that finish was brilliant! You did all the work."
He meant it. In that moment, he wasn't just complimenting a teammate — he was acknowledging something special. The way Yang Yang had used his speed to rip through Newcastle's back line, the calmness he showed when two defenders and the keeper closed him down — it was the mark of a top player.
Yang Yang's eyes gleamed with determination.
"Then let's keep going," he said, his voice brimming with energy. "I feel like I could run forever right now!"
The words sent a spark through the players around him — Kuyt, Alonso, Sissoko, all laughing, clapping him on the back.
That was Liverpool's spirit.
It wasn't arrogance or empty bravado; it was the contagious fire that burned through every man in red.
Yang Yang's enthusiasm didn't make anyone uncomfortable — it lifted them. His passion resonated with them all, echoing the same thought running through each of their minds.
They wanted to fight, to press, to overwhelm their opponents.
To crush Newcastle with pure, unrelenting passion.
...
...
For the first ten minutes, Newcastle were the better side.
They pressed high, moved the ball quickly, and pinned Liverpool deep in their own half. The Magpies' aggressive start created waves of danger around Pepe Reina's goal, their midfield pressing relentlessly through Scott Parker and Emre.
But then came the thirteenth minute — and with it, a brutal reminder of how quickly football can turn.
From one interception and one long pass, Yang Yang tore Newcastle apart on the counter and buried the opener. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over the visitors' heads, jolting them back to reality.
On the touchline, Glenn Roeder froze. On the pitch, Stephen Carr clenched his fists, the truth dawning on him.
They had underestimated the boy.
Yes, Yang Yang had been injured shortly after joining the Premier League. But that didn't make him fragile.
And he certainly wasn't another Robben waiting to shatter again.
With the breakthrough goal, Liverpool suddenly found their rhythm. The tension that had weighed on them early on vanished, replaced by controlled aggression. They began to dictate the tempo, winning second balls, stringing passes together with confidence.
Benítez had deployed his strongest midfield trio — Xabi Alonso, Mohamed Sissoko, and Steven Gerrard — and it showed. With Alonso orchestrating deep, Sissoko harrying opponents, and Gerrard driving forward, Newcastle were gradually pushed back into their own half.
Once Liverpool settled, they began to dominate.
And Yang Yang became the heartbeat of every attack.
In the 24th minute, he was fouled on the left flank by Stephen Carr, who was already struggling to contain him. From the resulting free kick, Fabio Aurelio whipped in a clever delivery that found Yang Yang inside the box, fifteen metres out.
He struck it cleanly on the half-volley — but the shot flew too centrally, allowing Steve Harper to gather it safely.
Yang Yang raised both hands in frustration, shaking his head. He wanted more.
Just three minutes later, he was at it again. Receiving the ball near the left channel, he feinted with his shoulders, sending Carr the wrong way before slicing a low diagonal pass across the box. Dirk Kuyt raced in, met it first time, but his low shot was smothered by Harper once more.
Anfield groaned — close again.
But the warning signs for Newcastle were obvious.
28th minute.
Liverpool attacked down the left. Xabi Alonso, spotting Yang Yang in space, slid a perfect through ball down the wing.
Yang Yang took off like a flash, Carr turning desperately in pursuit. This time, the Chinese winger didn't hesitate — he knocked the ball ahead with a single touch, powered down the flank, and beat Carr to the byline with ease.
From almost on the line, he wrapped his left foot around the ball and whipped a curling cross into the six-yard box.
His weaker foot or not — the delivery was deadly.
Peter Crouch, towering above everyone in the centre, met it cleanly with a header. The ball thudded past Harper and into the far corner of the net.
2–0!
Anfield exploded again.
Crouch pointed straight at Yang Yang, shouting his name as he sprinted toward him. The lanky striker's long strides closed in quickly, and Yang Yang instinctively backed away, laughing and holding his hands up in mock surrender, afraid of being crushed in Crouch's celebratory bear hug.
The whole team joined in, surrounding them, red shirts pulsing with adrenaline.
Liverpool were flying.
Their rhythm was relentless now. Every attack flowed with cohesion and confidence. The front line moved in harmony; the passes clicked; the pressing suffocated Newcastle's rhythm completely.
It was clear to everyone — Yang Yang had transformed Liverpool's left flank.
Benítez might have placed him nominally on the left wing, but Yang Yang roamed freely, drifting between lines, cutting inside, or sprinting beyond Crouch, whose tendency to drop deep opened gaps behind Newcastle's centre-backs.
Whether slicing inward from the left or darting diagonally behind defenders, Yang Yang's off-ball runs were a constant nightmare.
And his vision — his ability to coordinate play — was just as impressive as his finishing.
In the 36th minute, he received the ball wide on the left and switched play instantly with a long, arcing crossfield pass to the right. Steve Finnan galloped forward, controlled it beautifully, and delivered another cross that nearly found Crouch for a second header. The move drew loud applause from the stands.
Minutes later, Yang Yang again burst down the wing, forcing a corner. The resulting set piece led to more danger — Newcastle were barely hanging on.
Then came the 44th minute.
Another storming run from Yang Yang down the left earned Liverpool yet another corner. Gerrard jogged over to take it, placed the ball carefully, and swung it toward the near post.
Daniel Agger rose first, flicking it across the box toward the left edge of the six-yard area.
And there was Yang Yang, lurking just outside the penalty spot.
He darted forward, timing it perfectly, and unleashed a thunderous strike on the bounce.
The shot rocketed past Harper before he could even move.
3–0!
The roar from Anfield was deafening.
Yang Yang spread his arms wide like a glider, racing along the touchline with pure joy written across his face as red confetti fluttered down from the Kop.
All around him, the stands shook with a single name chanted in unison —
"Yang Yang! Yang Yang! Yang Yang!"
The prodigy had arrived — and Anfield was his stage.