Chapter One: Where Dreams Begin

“Arise, you who refuse to be slaves!”
“Let our flesh and blood build a new Great Wall!”
“The Chinese nation has reached its most perilous moment!”
...
“Arise! Arise! Arise!”
“With hearts united, braving the enemy’s artillery!”
“Forward!”
“Braving the enemy’s artillery! Forward! Forward! Forward! Go!!——”

In 2034, the stirring notes of the “March of the Volunteers” resounded through Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina!
Tens of thousands of Chinese voices thundered and roared, shaking the stadium to its core.
The soaring melody rolled through the air, spreading outward, swirling over the Pampas like an eagle, its resonance undimmed even by the roar of Iguazu Falls.

“CCTV! CCTV! Coming up next is the third round of Group F in the 2034 Argentina World Cup, with China facing the formidable Uruguay national team!”
“After two rounds, the Chinese national team has become the wildest dark horse of this World Cup. Led by He Chaoyue, the golden generation of Chinese football has fought hard, once again bringing China to the World Cup stage. Their performance in the group matches has been remarkable—drawing with Mexico in the first round, defeating Cameroon in the second, now sharing the top spot in the group with the mighty Uruguay!”
“This match is crucial—it will determine if we can emerge as the group leaders! Let’s cheer for the Chinese warriors!!”

A tidal wave of cheers swept through the stadium.
Scarlet flags billowed and danced in the stands.
Tens of thousands of fans formed a wall of humanity, shoulder to shoulder, leaping with excitement.
The feverish, wild atmosphere spread in every direction...
Their eyes were fixed ahead, watching the eleven figures clad in bright red jerseys, standing tall and proud at the center of the field.
They hailed from the distant East!
They called themselves the descendants of the dragon!
Here, on South American soil, the Chinese dragon’s roar echoed for the first time.

...

The television screen flickered, mottled light dispelling the darkness of the rented room.
Wei Lai sat on the sofa, a cluster of empty bottles strewn across the coffee table in front of him, a delivery rider’s uniform draped over the sofa arm.
His hazy gaze was fixed on the eleven figures on the screen, standing upright, national flags emblazoned on their chests.
He tried to match those faces to the memories in his mind, but he could no longer manage it.
“He Chaoyue, Zhao Lei, Pei Le, Qianxi, Xiang Ming...”
As the camera panned over each player, Wei Lai’s lips murmured their names.
Finally, the lens locked onto the Chinese team captain, He Chaoyue—China’s top star, currently playing for the Spanish giants Barcelona Athletic, a true prodigy.

Football is a sport that worships talent.
Hard work plays a role, but only a minor one.
Especially on the grandest stage, talent determines a player’s ceiling.
“Hard work? ...” Wei Lai’s lips curled in a bitter smile. “Nonsense!”

When it came to effort, Wei Lai considered himself second to none.
He was always the most diligent and hardworking.

While others slept, he trained!
While others enjoyed fine food, he trained!
Day after day, year after year, and yet it brought him nothing.
Like practicing a thousand shots, barely mastering the falling-leaf ball,
Yet some prodigy could do it effortlessly with a casual kick.
Since his youth training days, the words he heard most were “no talent,” “wasting effort,” “this kid has no future.”
Faced with repeated criticism and ridicule, his only response was to bow his head, swallow his anger, and double his training.
As before, he could work hard for a hundred days, but it still couldn’t compare to someone else’s casual effort.

He Chaoyue was born gifted, always under the spotlight.
He was the one Wei Lai most wanted to catch up to.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even glimpse the other’s shadow, and the gap only widened.
Was it not enough effort?
No!
Wei Lai believed he worked harder than anyone.
He was even nicknamed “the stamina fool.”
Whether mocked for futile effort or ridiculed by others, he only wanted to catch up, only wanted to improve.

But his talent was poor!
As if fate had already set his limits—he could never surpass the brightest of his peers, let alone catch up; even chasing was a struggle.
Effort multiplied many times over!
Sweat poured day and night!
All he gained was mediocrity.
Those with talent shone like stars, basking in cheers and applause.
They stood on the World Cup stage, surrounded by thousands, the hope of a nation.
The untalented, unable to keep pace, fell further behind, eventually lost in the distance.
Curled up in a dilapidated room, bewildered by the endless future, steeped in the bitterness of memories...
This was the difference between genius and mediocrity.

He had screamed countless times—
Wasn’t he working hard enough?
No!
He simply lacked... talent!
“Damn this talent!”

The voice of the commentator rang out from the TV, brimming with excitement...
“He Chaoyue! He Chaoyue! There’s a chance! There’s a chance!”
Bang!!
Whoosh!!!!
The ball slammed into the net.
The commentator shouted with wild fervor:

“Goal! Goal! Goal!! He Chaoyue! He has brought China its first goal—against the mighty Uruguay national team, we have scored first!”
“What madness! He Chaoyue! China’s golden generation—their legendary story continues! It continues!!!——”

Wei Lai felt his vision blur, watching He Chaoyue’s confident face on the screen.
As dazzling as ever!
“He Chaoyue, perhaps you won’t remember, but once there was someone who gazed at your back, striving to chase you!”
“It’s just that you are a genius, and I am ordinary.”

The bitterness at Wei Lai’s lips deepened, his head grew heavy, his heart pounded violently.
“I wish I could know you, wish I could call you friend...wish I could stand beside you all...”
His breathing became labored, his chest tightened painfully.
Wei Lai gasped for air, but his pupils grew ever more unfocused...
“If only I had talent...”
“If only my efforts could be rewarded...”
“If only I could catch up to you...”

The screen showed He Chaoyue’s shot.
As stylish and decisive as ever!
“What a beautiful strike!”
Wei Lai lay back, one hand pressed to his heart, staring at the ceiling; “Congratulations! You’ve fulfilled your dream!”
But... what about my dream...

Darkness crept in, the only sound in the rented room the loud, jubilant cries from the TV.
Wei Lai lay quietly on the sofa.
No movement!
No breath!

...

“Number 3, Number 3, Number 3!!——”
The voice beside his ear rose from low to high, suddenly exploding in his head.
A blue coach’s tracksuit, a wiry figure, spiky short hair, narrowed phoenix eyes, a knife-sharp nose, and a heavy scent of cigarette smoke.
Suddenly!
Wei Lai sprang up from the bench, instinctively shouting:
“Coach!”
“If you don’t want to play, get out! Don’t stand here in my way!”
Wei Lai stared blankly at the scene before him, as if his memory was unfolding, yet soon interrupted.
This old man was Chen Guoqiang, nicknamed “Chen Bomb”—his temper as explosive as his name.
And this place—seemed to be his youth training days?
Before Wei Lai could figure out what was happening, Chen Guoqiang tossed a red vest at him.
“You’ve got one minute—put it on and get ready to play!”