Chapter Ninety-Five: World Record

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Center Forward – No Ads

Ding Yu had truly put in tremendous effort for this match. Not only did he spend the two days before the game giving detailed instructions to every player about the technical characteristics of their opponents, but he also worked behind the scenes—not by bribing referees or anything of that sort, but by bringing the entire women’s soccer team to the game upon learning they had no match that day.

A fiercely intense match was underway, and on the sidelines, forty to fifty girls aged between ten and seventeen chattered excitedly, intermittently shouting sharp cheers of “Go Yun Jia Tian Yu!” Although such a scale might not have seemed extraordinary to nearby university students, within the scope of a soccer school, this was indeed a rare sight.

In the past, the soccer school was like a monk’s temple—solemn and quiet. Though a girls’ soccer class had been established in recent years, it never saw the kind of scene common in regular schools where a crowd of girls would gather to watch and cheer whenever the boys’ teams played. Now, with Ding Yu’s move, though the college students watching found it trivial, the players on the field from both sides were utterly stunned.

What made it even more distracting was that summer was drawing to a close, and the girls were dressed lightly. Although the female players might not be especially beautiful, there’s no such thing as an ugly eighteen-year-old, especially among a group of young girls. The players from Dalian were stunned, and even the Yun Jia Tian Yu players were somewhat dazed.

“How’s that? Pretty effective, right?” Ding Yu grinned at Coach Zhao. “With these girls here, our boys will be full of energy, while most of Dalian’s players will be distracted. That tips the odds greatly in our favor.”

Coach Zhao gave Ding Yu a helpless glance. “You’re getting more and more sneaky... Who taught you this? None of the three previous head coaches at our club acted like this. Wenger was calm and experienced, Benítez was good with surprise tactics, Mourinho was unpredictable in his strategies. But you? You resort to all these strange off-the-field tricks. You’re embarrassing our club’s reputation.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a white cat or a black cat; a cat that catches mice is a good cat,” Ding Yu quoted Deng Xiaoping without a hint of embarrassment. “Don’t underestimate these tactics—they work. Besides, when you go up against a coach like Chi Shangbing, who’s as experienced as an old demon from the Black Mountains, you have to use some novel tricks to catch him off guard.”

“I don’t think your tricks are of much use,” Coach Zhao said expressionlessly, pointing toward the Dalian soccer school. Chi Shangbing was speaking to his players with a poker face and a faint, almost mocking smile.

“That’s fine. Even if they don’t fall for it, we haven’t lost anything,” Ding Yu said, noticing Chi Shangbing’s calm demeanor and realizing his scheme hadn’t unsettled the Dalian coach. After all, Dalian’s first-team players are known for their strong mental fortitude, and their youth squads would likely share that trait.

Though disappointed, Ding Yu pressed on, “At the very least, it gets our players fired up. Don’t think I don’t know a few of the boys have a little crush on some of those girls. With such beauty around, they’ll explode with power like Popeye after eating spinach, all for their beloved.”

Hearing this, Coach Zhao stared at Ding Yu silently, sizing him up.

Ding Yu felt a bit uneasy under the gaze. “Never seen a handsome guy before? Old Zhao, why are you staring like that?”

Coach Zhao stroked his chin. “I think I should report to the higher-ups that Coach Ding is a lecherous, unseemly man, unsuitable to coach at a school with girls. Otherwise, it might cause moral issues and seriously damage the school’s reputation.”

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Jokes aside, after the players finished warming up, Ding Yu began issuing final reminders—not about tactics, which had been thoroughly covered during training, and Long Bisheng already knew he could attack any way he wanted in this match—but about maintaining focus during the game.

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Since bringing the girls to cheer hadn’t visibly affected the Dalian players, Ding Yu decided to focus on preventing his own players from being distracted. This was a spur-of-the-moment idea; even Yun Jia Tian Yu’s players didn’t know the school’s girls would be cheering for them today. During warm-ups, Ding Yu noticed several players seemed somewhat distracted, including key players Long Bisheng and Zhou Wei.

Thus, Ding Yu emphasized the importance of concentration during the match, stressing that with so many girls watching, losing would bring universal scorn—a terrifying prospect for these youngsters.

Seeing the players grow serious, Ding Yu nodded in satisfaction. However, Zhou Wei still seemed a bit indifferent, but that was typical—he usually transformed into a different person once on the field, so Ding Yu wasn’t worried. It was Long Bisheng who looked restless, which angered Ding Yu.

“Long Bisheng! What are you thinking about? This match is important, you know? Your performance largely influences our victory! Don’t mess up!” Ding Yu swallowed a curse before speaking.

He was genuinely irritated. Long Bisheng was an excellent kid, diligent and earnest in training, which impressed everyone. Yet during matches, he sometimes faltered—like last year in the game against Meixian, when his inexperience showed. Now, this again. How could Ding Yu not be angry, having pinned high hopes on him?

Such lapses could be forgiven once, since nobody’s born adept at handling match pressure. Ding Yu had easily forgiven Long Bisheng then. But to repeat this a year later? Ding Yu could only think: this brat deserved a good scolding.

After the reprimand, Long Bisheng snapped back to reality, blushing deeply, then lowered his head, saying, “I understand. I’ll focus during the match.”

Seeing this, Ding Yu ceased further admonishments. His reminder had done its job. For someone as honest and reserved as Long Bisheng, excessive criticism wouldn’t help—those who feel inferior often protect their pride fiercely.

Actually, Ding Yu was mistaken about Long Bisheng’s distraction. The boy was indeed absent-minded, but it wasn’t because of the girls. Although seeing Ning Xi cheering excited Long Bisheng, his distraction stemmed from seeing another person.

Dalian’s number eleven forward, Fan Pengfei—someone Long Bisheng had known since childhood.

Since their selection match, Long Bisheng hadn’t seen Fan Pengfei. After joining the Bayi youth team, Fan Pengfei never returned home. Instructor Fan Yuhan was wistful, saying that after Bayi’s youth team dissolved, Fan Pengfei had visited Xinjiang once, but at that time Long Bisheng was at the Xi’an Hope Soccer School, so they missed each other.

Eight years, from ages five to thirteen, through the hardships of wartime, these two boys finally met again in this match. No wonder Long Bisheng was somewhat stunned.

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“The players from both sides are on the field!” The referee waved them forward. Ding Yu and Chi Shangbing nodded in unison. After giving a final instruction, they waved the players onto the pitch.

“Xiao Fei, hello! It’s been a long time,” Long Bisheng said excitedly as he shook Fan Pengfei’s hand.

Fan Pengfei, however, was not as enthused. He said flatly, “A Long, you’re really impressive to make it to Yun Jia… But today, Dalian will definitely win!”

“Maybe,” Long Bisheng chuckled happily.

After taking the field, the captains flipped a coin. Yun Jia Tian Yu’s captain Hu Gandang lost to Dalian Dongfang’s captain Jiang Qi, granting Dalian the kickoff.

Players scattered across the field, with Zhou Wei and Long Bisheng standing in the center circle, ready to start.

Zhou Wei dribbled the ball, glancing toward the stands. Quietly, he said to Long Bisheng, “Hey, A Long, looks like Ning Xi really supports you—she’s shouting your name the loudest.”

“Stop it,” Long Bisheng blushed. “Focus on the game. This isn’t the time for that.”

“Alright, alright,” Zhou Wei smiled knowingly, not intending to expose him, and kept scanning the sideline cheerfully.

After a moment, he was about to say something else when the referee suddenly puffed his cheeks and blew the whistle sharply to start the match!

Completely unprepared, Zhou Wei jumped in fright, his heart pounding wildly. Instinctively, he cursed loudly, “Shit! Damn loud!”

His voice echoed across the field. Only then did Zhou Wei realize what he’d said. Turning, he saw the referee’s face darken as he approached, hand reaching into his pocket—and then a red card was shown to Zhou Wei!

“Wow, that has to be a world record, right?” a university student on the sideline exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Definitely,” another nodded in agreement.

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