Meanwhile, in a corner of the bar, Ling sat in a booth, taking a sip of orange juice.
The boss had given the team a day off
Instead of resting at home or training at the base, he decided to wander around Manchester.
Thoughts swirled in his mind.
The early morning in Manchester was quiet, a stark contrast to the electric atmosphere of the stadium, making it easy to settle down and reflect.
He drove to Old Trafford, passing through the familiar gates.
His gaze fell on the still clock and the statues of Matt Busby, Sir Alex Ferguson, and others, draped with scarves bearing the Manchester United crest.
Ling didn't feel particularly sentimental, after all, he hadn't lived through those eras himself.
As he passed by a park near Old Trafford, he saw a group of children, most of them wearing red Manchester United jerseys.
They shouted and clamored as they fought for the football, and whenever someone kicked the ball into the goal made of soda cans, that child would leap into the air and punch the sky.
Seeing this scene, Ling's lips curled upward, and he chuckled softly.
For some reason, it reminded him of his own childhood.
Back then, the football environment in the country wasn't great, and there weren't many usable pitches available.
They would use backpacks, bottles, or anything they could find as makeshift goals.
Ling remembered that among the group of kids who often played football, he seemed to be the only one who went on to become a professional.
He was deeply grateful to his parents for supporting his dream. But when he truly began systematic training, he always felt it wasn't as joyful as he had imagined.
So when that incident happened later, he gave up on football.
Looking back now, it really was quite childish. Ling felt the boss had a point with one of his sayings.
"Pressure? What is pressure—pressure is a poor person worrying about feeding their family, but football has no pressure at all!"
Whenever he occasionally became overly sentimental, he would remind himself with this quote.
Striving hard to win matches, letting his family live a good life, and enjoying the joy that football brings—if you treat matches as a burden, how can you possibly play good football?
Ling had been somewhat stuck in a rut before.
Perhaps, as the boss said, their group of young people had it too easy.
Ling parked the car nearby and muttered to himself, "It should be noon back home."
Thinking this, he gave his family a call.
Ring—ring—ring
"Hello, son, don't overthink yesterday's match. Losing is normal, and you guys aren't even eliminated yet! Also, I probably won't be able to make it to the weekend match because it coincides with the final exams I have to proctor…" Yan Lanxia's voice came through the receiver.
She knew her son was a stubborn person, which was why she worried he might be troubled by the defeat.
"Mom, I'm fine. It's just one match—we'll win it back," Ling said with a wry smile.
He hadn't even said a word yet, and his mom had already launched into a whole spiel.
"Son, I'll take time off to come cheer for you in person. I've been seriously thinking about the flaws of the 4-3-3 formation lately and was planning to discuss it with the in-laws again."
Hearing Ling Changzheng's booming voice, Ling couldn't help but hold the phone farther away.
But inwardly, he couldn't resist grumbling, 'With your half-baked—no, not even half-baked—level of understanding, even Guardiola would probably fall asleep listening to you.'
Before he knew it, they had chatted for half an hour.
...
After hanging up, Ling noticed the group of kids still hadn't left.
So he got out of the car and walked over.
"Can I join? I'm not very good at football."
The kids were about to refuse, but when they looked up, they all froze in place.
Who could understand the feeling when your idol appears right in front of you?
"Ling!!!"
Screams echoed through the park as Ling was instantly surrounded.
"I'm your biggest fan! Can I get an autograph?"
"Me too!"
"Mike said he had to study and couldn't come play—he'll regret it for the rest of his life!"
Listening to the voices of his young fans, Ling grinned from ear to ear.
Being admired felt amazing!
And since he had brought a marker with him when he got out of the car, he signed autographs for every little fan, took a group photo with them, and even taught them some basic skills for a while.
As he was about to leave, the children raised their heads and eagerly asked, "Next Wednesday's Champions League semi-final, we'll all be cheering for you at home. You can lead Manchester United to victory, right?"
"Of course! Don't you believe in me?" Ling replied with a smile.
The little ones shouted in unison, "Of course we believe in you, you're the strongest! Go beat Liverpool, then defeat Manchester City in the final, so we can brag about it at school!"
Ling waved over his shoulder as he walked away.
...
Whoosh!!!
A sudden burst of cheers from the bar snapped Ling out of his reverie, and he instinctively looked up at the TV screen.
It turned out, it was the scene where Manchester United had just equalized for the first time against real madrid in UCL final.
Even now, when Ling recalls that match, he still finds it unbelievable—they truly toppled the Galactic Battleship.
If that was possible, then setting a new record... How could it be impossible?
Ling pulled his baseball cap low and walked up to Mike, whispering, "Tonight's drinks are on me. Thank you all so much for your support."
Mike's sleepy eyes instantly widened, and he perked up.
"How can we let you pay?"
"As a player, what I can give back to the fans isn't just trophies and honors... a round of beers should count too, right?" Ling pulled out his bank card.
Noticing Mike's jaw drop, he quickly waved his hand and whispered, "Please don't tell anyone, or I might not make it out of the bar alive! We're heading to West Yorkshire the day after tomorrow—the last two matches will decide the Premier League Title."
Mike fell silent for a moment, then swiped the card.
Finally, as if remembering something, he pulled out a Manchester United jersey.
"My grandson idolizes you. He was doing his homework at noon today when he suddenly burst into tears, saying he missed his chance to play football with you. Could you sign this for him?"
Ling nodded with a smile, carefully glancing around to make sure no one was watching.
Only then did he sign the jersey.
After he drove away, the bar erupted in excitement.
...
May 5, 2019 John Smith's Stadium, Premier League Matchday 37 Huddersfield Town vs. Manchester United
A light drizzle fell from the sky, pattering softly onto the pitch.
In the away team locker room.
"Ling, I heard you went to play football with some kids," Rashford joked. "What's the matter? Wanting to dominate weaker opponents? You could've just asked Harry you know!"
Maguire retorted irritably, "Get lost, am I that bad?"
Mahrez chimed in, "Look at Van Dijk—organizing defense, intercepting tackles, pushing forward in attack... now that's what I call not being bad!"
"If you're going to say that, then look at Ling—dribbling, organizing, aerial duels, holding up play... if you had even an eighth of his ability, we'd have already won the title by now!" Maguire had been sharpening his wit lately and wasn't as clumsy with words as before.
"Jokes are jokes, but no one gets angry, alright?" Ling cut off their banter. "Remember last season's English League Cup? We lost to Huddersfield in the end. I don't want to put too much pressure on you, but remember, our opponents aren't weak."
"Only two matches left until the Premier League Title. Manchester City is just one point behind us, and Liverpool is only three points back. They're all waiting for us to slip up."
It wasn't that Ling was trying to dampen their spirits.
But the more critical the moment, the more one must remain calm.
Because Manchester United had no room for error.
"Ling, don't worry. The day before yesterday, when I passed by the Etihad, I saw Manchester City fans celebrating—not celebrating City's victory over Ajax, but celebrating our loss to Liverpool. Some even said we lost the League Title along with it."
As a product of the Red Devils, McTominay naturally felt quite uncomfortable.
"That's right. Many people are waiting for us to make a wrong move, but I hope that after today's match, we can use the result to make those people stuff their champagne back into the fridge!" Ling suddenly stood up.
Those people wanted to see Manchester United become a laughingstock, and Ling wanted to slap them in the face.
Now, Manchester United had clearly become the public enemy of the Premier League.
Apart from Manchester United fans, no one wanted them to win—including their opponents, Huddersfield.
The Huddersfield players wanted to stop Manchester United.
There was no past grudge or feud; it was because they didn't want to see Manchester United win the championship.
Moreover, if they could knock Manchester United off the throne, they would gain a great sense of achievement.
Destruction is a desire deeply rooted in human nature.
After all preparations were complete, the boss stood in the center of the dressing room.
"In three days, it will be the second leg of the Champions League Semi-final, so don't waste too much time today. Start with a fierce attack and kill the suspense of the match early. We need to conserve our strength to conquer Anfield!"
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