Chapter Forty-Eight: The National Football Team Has Won

The night view of Lujiazui was captivating, and Hua Sheng had never seen it from atop the Oriental Pearl Tower before. Though autumn had arrived, the wind at such heights brought not chill but a refreshing coolness.

Beside the Oriental Pearl stood two golden office towers, and a ten-minute walk away were Shanghai’s trio of iconic skyscrapers: the Jin Mao Tower, Shanghai World Financial Center, and Shanghai Tower. Gazing from above, a wave of nostalgia for the mortal world surged in Hua Sheng’s heart. Saint Pingning had its myriad virtues, but he still found himself longing for the bustle of the human realm from time to time.

The mortal world—perhaps it was simply to be among mortals.

Countless nights in Saint Pingning, he had dreamed of returning to these cities. The scenes in his dreams shone as brilliantly as now, vibrant and full of life. Looking out over the Huangpu River by the Oriental Pearl, the water flowed eastward in calm waves. Boats adorned with dazzling lights weaved through the river, and from this lofty vantage, the spectacle bore a certain poetic elegance.

Across the river lay the Bund, known as the “Museum of World Architecture,” its north and south ends flanked by new commercial districts. Old and new cultures stood side by side, as if together telling the century-long tale of this city’s change and prosperity.

What surprised the two, however, was the serene and orderly city beneath their feet. Looking down from the television tower, the traffic and people moved in well-ordered streams. On the Lujiazui pedestrian bridge, tourists posed for photos. There was no sign of panic from a serpent’s attack.

“Shanghai doesn’t look any different,” Hua Sheng said. “Should we find a computer or a TV to check the news and see if we can track down the Black Tortoise Spirit Serpent?”

“Indeed. It’s nothing like we expected. We need to look for clues.”

Disguised in ordinary clothes, they entered an electronics store. The shop was nearly empty; the staff looked weary, having stood all day, and seemed eager for closing time. Seeing two teenagers enter, they could tell these weren’t customers likely to buy anything and didn’t bother to greet them.

Hua Sheng walked over to a television already playing, picked up the remote, and started flipping through channels in search of information. The news was the usual fare: “So-and-so is busy, so-and-so is happy, people overseas are suffering terribly.”

Yawning, Hua Sheng switched through the channels, stopping suddenly at a particular broadcast.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are now watching the final match of the Asian qualifiers for the Men’s World Cup. China is challenging Asia’s powerhouse, South Korea! This is a do-or-die match for China. Even before the kickoff, China had no way out—they must not only beat South Korea, but, as South Korea’s goal difference is eight more than China’s, the Chinese men’s team must win by an incredible score of 9–0 to have any hope of reaching next year’s World Cup finals.

“But sadly, as always, time is running out for China. We’re already 80 minutes into the second half, and China is trailing South Korea 0–4. To make matters worse, a player was just sent off for impatience, so we’re now a man down and trailing by a large margin. Frankly, my commentary with Coach Liu is probably pointless—most fans have already gone to bed in disappointment.”

Watching the football broadcast, Tai Shang Little Lord asked, “What, do you like football? Is this really the time for a match?”

“I recognize that stadium.”

“Oh?”

“It’s in Shanghai.”

“So? You want to go see it in person? What’s so interesting about that? Haven’t you watched football before?”

“I have. Not only that, I’ve seen this scene too many times—at least a hundred. That’s enough!” Hua Sheng’s voice sounded strangely dull.

“Then why are you still watching?”

“Because I don’t want to see it anymore!” Suddenly, Hua Sheng grabbed Tai Shang Little Lord’s sleeve. “Just give me ten minutes, and do something with me!”

It was a vast football stadium, capable of holding nearly a hundred thousand when full, and this night it was ablaze with light.

The roar of the fans was deafening, yet many of the men wept openly. Men rarely cry, but every four years, they had to wait again—four years, and another four years, countless cycles. Yet they never gave up, always coming to cheer for the national team they loved.

Even if this team had broken their hearts a thousand times, they still came. For they were the world’s most passionate, most knowledgeable, most loyal fans.

They deserved to be called the best fans in the world.

The announcer in the live studio glanced at his watch; his work was almost done. He planned to grab a hotpot supper with colleagues and complain about the team’s poor performance this year.

Coach Liu beside him was clearly distracted, barely glancing at the field as he scrolled through his phone.

But the match still had eight minutes left, or about four if you counted stoppage time. No, with this score and being a man down, the referee probably wouldn’t add the full four minutes—maybe just two before blowing the final whistle.

The announcer sighed inwardly. After all, it was the home field; he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. But work was work, and he repeated his lines—those dispirited phrases. He felt nothing but scorn for the team’s performance, angry at their lack of resolve.

“The forwards, finding no way through, pass back to midfield. The midfielders, pressed by opponents, send it to the defenders. The defenders, afraid to lose it, pass to the goalkeeper. The keeper boots it long—what’s this? The keeper’s kicked it out of play! South Korea gets a throw-in.

“Wait, the referee signals a substitution for China. Yes, they should have two changes left. Will the coaching staff send on two strikers for a final gamble? What’s the plan here?

“Coming on are…wait, who are these two? Number 99 and number 100? Do we even have these numbers? Let me check the director’s notes.

“I just checked—there’s nothing on these two players. I don’t recall seeing them as substitutes. Let’s see what the referee decides. Wait, it seems the referee has their details. Odd—our broadcast team wasn’t given this info before the match. Maybe our prep was insufficient…

“Our floor director just told me through the headset that the officials do have records of these substitutes. The names have been sent to us—number 99 is called Hua Sheng. Odd…never heard of him in the top two leagues. Looks very young, maybe from the third division.

“The other, number 100—Tai Shang Little Lord? What kind of name is that? Never heard of him either. Are they naturalized players? Judging by their appearance and names, they’re surely Chinese. Maybe the coach had these young reserves in mind, planning to give them experience for the next World Cup.

“I didn’t see them warm up, but since the referee and coaching staff think it’s fine, these two young debutants are about to enter—and on the international stage, no less. That’s quite a start. Let’s hope they get on quickly, so as not to waste precious time.

“The substituted players are the number 9 striker and a central forward—let me check which number… What! A goal already!! Yes! China scores!!! It’s the new number 99, on the field for just three seconds—Hua Sheng! The score is now 1–4!

“It happened so fast—most viewers, myself included, didn’t even see how the goal was scored. Let’s watch the replay: South Korea throws in, and as soon as the ball enters, Hua Sheng leaps high and volleys with his left foot. The Korean keeper catches the ball—but both keeper and ball are sent flying into the net! The net is torn apart! The keeper lands nearly twenty meters behind the goal line!

“The Korean medical team is on the field—looks like the keeper won’t stand up again. The backup is warming up. In the meantime, staff are quickly repairing the net.

“Seven minutes left. If we include stoppage time, maybe four more minutes. If they score every three minutes, there’s hope for a draw! Can we do it? Can China’s team salvage some pride in this last qualifier and leave with dignity?”

Seven minutes later.

“Incredible! Unbelievable! The stadium is erupting! Am I dreaming? What’s this score? What’s this score!!

“Holy—! 100 to 4! Holy—! Holy—!

“This is madness! Absolute madness!

“The scoreboard can’t even display this many goals! It’s stuck at 99–4—because there’s no triple-digit display! This is a historic moment! In seven minutes, these two young players have a 100% shot conversion rate! The South Koreans are dumbfounded, barely touching the ball! Each time after conceding, they restart, only for Hua Sheng and Tai Shang Little Lord to score instantly! In seven minutes, Korea has kicked off over a hundred times!

“More news—three minutes ago, Coach Liu had a heart attack from overexcitement—wait! Another goal!! It’s a double bicycle kick from Hua Sheng and Tai Shang Little Lord! Magnificent! Ole~ Ole~ Ole~ Ole~

“Apologies, back to the update: three minutes ago, Coach Liu suffered a sudden heart attack, but thanks to emergency CPR by studio staff, his vital signs are stable! Viewers, rest assured!

“I doubt the referee will add even a second. He must end this football disaster quickly! But the rules demand the match last at least 90 minutes. No referee can end a game early! The South Korean players are utterly shattered, standing in stunned silence! The stadium, filled with 80,000 Chinese fans, is on the verge of collapsing from their shouts!

“A friend just messaged me—he can hear the stadium from ten kilometers away! This is a moment for our football history—no, for world football history! Such a score has never been seen before, and may never be again!

“We can finally hold our heads high! After more than a decade broadcasting Chinese football, I’ve endured enough—just for this moment! I’ve waited! To hell with the Korean curse! To hell with endless back-passing! Shoot, shoot, shoot! This is real football! China, rise! Rise! Rise!!

“For those viewers who went to bed earlier, you missed it! For the fans here tonight—your lives are fulfilled!

“According to the stats, as of now, China’s team leads all World Cup qualifiers in both goals scored and conceded!

“We’re headed to the World Cup finals! No—with these two miracle strikers, this forward duo is unstoppable! World Cup champions—here we come!”

The announcer leaped onto the broadcast desk, hoarse with rage and jubilation!

The cheers from the stadium spread throughout the city.

A city of twenty-four million was ablaze with excitement that night. It would be a sleepless night.

A cool night breeze drifted by, refreshing in its clarity.

“So you learned all these immortal arts just to play football?” Tai Shang Little Lord brushed his sleeve as if to sweep away mud, and his jersey transformed back into Daoist robes.

“If that’s how you see it, so be it. In any case, I’m delighted right now!”

Hua Sheng rubbed his stomach, which rumbled with hunger. On the way back to the locker room, he’d had to regretfully tell the head coach that he and Tai Shang Little Lord might retire. Then, as everyone celebrated victory, the two slipped away down the corridor.

Recalling how they’d run around endlessly all day without a meal, and having just sprinted on the field, Hua Sheng’s hunger was overwhelming—he longed to devour a feast at once.

“There’s a small problem—we have no money to buy food. What should we do?”

Unfazed, Tai Shang Little Lord replied, “As the saying goes, ‘In the world’s wilds, food is like a mountain; with bowl and robe, you’ll never starve.’ Cultivators in the mortal world need never worry about hunger. Missing a meal or two is just a bit of fasting.”

“I can’t fast today. I’m starving—if I fast any longer, I’ll collapse from low blood sugar.” At the mention of hunger, Hua Sheng felt dizzy, his steps faltering.

Suddenly, Tai Shang Little Lord seemed to remember something. “I have it! There’s a place here where we might find clues about the Black Tortoise Spirit Serpent!”

“You mean in the mortal world?” Hua Sheng was doubtful. “Are there such experts among mortals?”

“We’re not asking mortals.”

“Then who?”

“A dragon!” Tai Shang Little Lord said. “In the heart of the city lives an ancient earth-dragon. I’ve heard it once had dealings with the Black Tortoise Spirit Serpent. If we find it, we’re sure to break this impasse!”