This was how things were settled.
Yang Yang took the lead, and with both Winston Bogarde and the Wei Zhen brothers showing serious interest, the decision came together quickly.
Wei Zheng and Shen Yuzhu flew up to Beijing shortly afterward to meet with Yang Yang in person. After just a few discussions, the share structure was finalized.
Yang Yang, who contributed the majority of the capital and provided the use of his image rights, held a 55% stake—making him the clear majority shareholder. The remaining 45% was split evenly, with each of the other three partners holding 15%. Between shop rental, renovations, equipment, staffing, and setup costs, the estimated total investment would reach around 10 million yuan.
This figure reflected the ambition behind the project. The gym would target a high-end clientele from the very beginning. Facilities would be top-tier, with an emphasis on comfort and exclusivity—especially for female members. On Yang Yang's specific request, they would also include a small indoor basketball court and a compact indoor football pitch to accommodate more versatile training options.
Winston Bogarde had long wanted to run a gym of his own. Many of his friends were already involved in the business back in Europe, so he was no stranger to the logistics and challenges involved. His only weak point was the local market—but with the Wei Zhen brothers, two seasoned locals with deep networks, that gap would be covered.
Yang Yang's role was simple: he provided the money, lent his name, and left the rest to the team. Functionally, he was the financier and brand ambassador, but he made it clear he wouldn't be micromanaging anything. Once the investment was in, he returned to his personal routine and left operations to the others.
He had more pressing things to focus on.
With the World Cup fast approaching, Yang Yang dove headfirst back into his training regimen. Every day was structured, disciplined, and packed. And yet, in the spaces between, Su Ye was there.
Each morning, they ran side by side through the Summer Palace, the early light turning their laughter into something golden. Afterward, Yang Yang would drive her back to school before heading to the gym for his own training with Winston Bogarde. At midday, Su Ye would join him again for lunch, and in the late afternoon, he'd be back at her school gates to pick her up. They clung to every moment together.
Unfortunately for Yang Yang, Winston and Wei Zhen often stayed late into the evenings at his home, obsessing over floor plans, equipment suppliers, and membership tiers. That left him with precious little time alone with Su Ye.
Whenever she left and the door closed behind her, he'd groan, toss the day's reading onto the table in frustration, and rush back to his room—where he would disappear into the Dream training System.
It was there, away from all distractions, that he pushed himself the hardest.
And soon, Zax gave him the signal.
He could choose the fifth star skill.
...
...
Many times, even devoted fans tend to confuse certain concepts in football.
Take Yang Yang, for example — he was on the verge of selecting his fifth star skill: heading.
And in his mind, the name that immediately came to the forefront was Oliver Bierhoff.
To him, Bierhoff had always symbolized aerial dominance. If he wanted to master a header-based skill, then surely it made sense to learn from the very best, right?
But Zax wasn't convinced.
"Before anything else," Zax's calm voice echoed in the virtual training chamber, "you need to distinguish between two concepts: heading technique and heading ability. They are not interchangeable."
Yang Yang blinked, then nodded. "Like how first touch and finishing are completely different skills?"
"Exactly," Zax confirmed. "You're starting to grasp football at a deeper level."
Thanks to the refinement he'd undergone while developing his second and third star skills, Yang Yang was beginning to appreciate the intricacies of the game far more than before.
"Heading technique is, quite literally, how well you strike and control the ball with your head. It's form, timing, neck strength, and direction."
"But heading ability goes beyond that. It's a complete package — physicality, anticipation, body positioning, strength in aerial duels, and explosive leaping ability. All these physical metrics — height, timing, neck torque, balance, core control — form the foundation of effective aerial play."
"On top of that," Zax continued, "you have to read the trajectory, beat your marker to the space, and win the battle before the ball even arrives."
Yang Yang nodded again. It made sense.
Scoring a header wasn't as simple as making contact and hoping for the best. It was a multi-stage process — one small failure could ruin the entire execution.
"So here's a scenario," Zax proposed. "Imagine two players: one has immaculate heading technique but lacks strength, height, and positional awareness. The other has solid technique and strong physical attributes, with excellent timing and movement."
"Which of the two poses more of a threat in the air?"
"There's no debate," Yang Yang replied. "The second one. Easily."
"Correct," Zax said. "And that illustrates the problem with modeling yourself after Bierhoff. His dominance came not only from technique — but from physical advantages you simply don't have."
Yang Yang had already begun to understand.
Oliver Bierhoff stood at over 1.95 meters and weighed close to 87 kilograms during his prime. His sheer physicality allowed him to neutralize any defender. He didn't just compete in the air — he dominated it.
Yang Yang, in comparison, was 1.83 meters tall and weighed 75 kilograms. That's more than 10 centimeters shorter and nearly 12 kilograms lighter. It might not look extreme on paper, but in real match scenarios, it's a significant gap.
Zax continued, projecting a clip from a recent Eredivisie match.
"Take this example: Vermaelen defending Zlatan Ibrahimović. Now, Zlatan isn't even the best header of the ball — but his size, reach, and balance give him natural superiority. Vermaelen simply can't outmuscle or out-leap him."
Yang Yang watched as Zlatan leaned in, edged Vermaelen off balance, and timed his leap perfectly to head the ball on target.
"Imagine trying to win duels like that consistently," Zax added.
"Yeah," Yang Yang muttered. "You'd be wasting energy on battles you're destined to lose."
"Exactly."
But that didn't mean smaller players couldn't thrive in the air.
Zax flicked through a series of data overlays.
"Height is just one factor," Zax reminded. "Even physicality is only one aspect of heading ability. You can offset weaknesses in one area with strengths in others — positioning, movement, leap timing, neck control, and aggression."
Yang Yang nodded, impressed. "So if Bierhoff is the wrong model, who's the right one?"
"There are two positions in football where heading ability is vital," Zax explained. "Centre-back — for clearances. Centre-forward — for goals."
"And of the two," Zax continued, "the striker has a much tougher job. It's not enough to win the ball — you have to direct it past a goalkeeper, often under pressure, at tight angles, with very little room for error."
"Which means," Zax concluded, "you need to look for a striker who resembles your profile — not just in size, but in style of movement and game intelligence."
Yang Yang furrowed his brow, thinking carefully.
The problem was, he hadn't really studied other strikers' physical profiles in detail. As a forward, his focus was usually on defenders. But he could list plenty of great aerial forwards from recent memory.
Luca Toni. Alberto Gilardino. Bernardo Corradi. Amauri. Bonazzoli.
David Trezeguet. Martín Palermo. Hernán Crespo. Didier Drogba.
Every single one of them was strong in the air.
But there was a pattern — they were all traditional target men. Even Crespo, the shortest among them, was 1.85 meters.
More importantly, most of them lacked top-end pace and explosiveness.
Football was a game of trade-offs. You don't get a striker who's both physically dominant and lightning fast — unless you're Adriano.
The Brazilian was an outlier: towering, explosive, deadly with both feet. That rare combination of brute strength and blistering pace made him a force of nature.
But Yang Yang wasn't Adriano. Nor should he try to be.
His game was built around acceleration, agility, intelligent pressing, and rapid attacking transitions. To sacrifice that for raw aerial ability would be like trading a jet engine for a battering ram.
So imitation was off the table.
Instead, he needed to find his own model — someone whose game was balanced.
"Any suggestions?" Yang Yang asked.
"I have two."
The lights dimmed across the virtual pitch. All distractions faded.
And from the darkness, two figures slowly emerged — detailed, glowing, unmistakable.
Even before they were fully illuminated, Yang Yang knew who they were.
Jürgen Klinsmann — Der Bomber of Germany's golden generation.
And Miroslav Klose — the quietly deadly finisher of Werder Bremen and the national team.
Yang Yang felt his heart skip.
He didn't remember much of Klinsmann's career — he'd been too young. But Klose? That was different.
He remembered the name vividly from the 2002 World Cup in Korea and Japan. Klose had exploded onto the scene — scoring headers with such frequency and precision that it seemed almost scripted.
Yang Yang had idolized him during his teenage years.
What stood out about Klose wasn't just his heading. It was how he made it work.
At just 1.82 meters, Klose wasn't tall by modern centre-forward standards. But he had an elite sense of timing. He moved early, jumped late, and always arrived in the right pocket of space.
It was less about brute force — more about coordination and calculated movement.
Yang Yang recalled Klose's stats from last season: 26 Bundesliga appearances, 25 goals, 14 assists. World-class numbers.
And yet, because the Bundesliga had lost some of its international luster in recent years, Klose didn't always get the recognition he deserved.
But Yang Yang didn't care about media perception. He cared about effectiveness.
What intrigued him most was that Klose, like him, had started out raw. His early footwork was clumsy. His dribbling was average. But he had worked, improved, polished. With each season, his technique evolved — built on his engine, intelligence, and tenacity.
Those were the same foundations Yang Yang had built his own game on.
No wonder Klose was still Germany's No. 1.
Zax clearly understood that Klinsmann might still feel a bit too distant for Yang Yang in terms of era and personal familiarity, so he took the initiative to explain further.
"Klinsmann stood at 1.81 meters and weighed 76 kilograms. He had excellent pace and explosiveness, polished technique with both feet, and a strong ability to attack space. While he didn't score astronomical numbers, that was largely due to the tactical tendencies of European football during his time."
"His heading, however, was outstanding—on par with Bierhoff in both skill and effectiveness. His counter-attacking was sharp, his finishing clinical, and his ability to anticipate and time his movements in the box made him especially dangerous."
As Zax finished speaking, he began projecting sequences from both players' careers.
Because both were chosen for their aerial skills, the highlights featured an array of headed goals—many of them spectacular. Yang Yang couldn't help but watch in awe.
One moment that particularly struck him was Klinsmann's diving header from a tight angle during his first World Cup appearance. It became a signature moment of his career, etched into tournament history.
Then came Klose's header hat-trick against Saudi Arabia in the 2002 Korea-Japan World Cup. Yang Yang was stunned by the second goal—Klose had only taken two strides before leaping cleanly into the air to meet the ball with textbook form.
Both men demonstrated supreme aerial ability—different in approach but elite in execution.
And now, Yang Yang faced a dilemma.
Which one should he choose for his fifth star skill?
When he turned to Zax for guidance, the system's advanced analytical capacity kicked into gear.
"Both players are excellent choices," Zax replied. "But my recommendation is Klinsmann."
"Why him?"
"Because your physical profiles and playstyles align more closely. Both of you are strong on either foot, highly mobile, and rely on intelligent movement rather than sheer size or strength. You'd be able to integrate his aerial approach more naturally."
Yang Yang hesitated for a moment. His personal memory and admiration leaned toward Klose—who had impressed him since 2002—but he couldn't ignore Klinsmann's status or reputation.
As he advanced in his career, Yang Yang had gradually come to understand something Van Basten once told him: that titles and accolades were just the baseline.
To be remembered in football's collective memory, a player had to produce unforgettable moments on the pitch—moments that left a mark beyond statistics.
He understood now why people still talked about Maradona's Hand of God, Klinsmann's diving header, or Bergkamp's sublime control and turn at the 1998 World Cup.
Trophies come and go. But a truly iconic moment lives forever.
Yang Yang also realized that the greats who had carved their names into history—like Van Basten—were never just lucky. They had mastery, vision, and courage.
"The ignorant are fearless," Yang Yang thought. "But the more I learn, the more respect I have."
He took a deep breath and made his choice.
"Then I'll go with Klinsmann."
As soon as he spoke, the spotlight on Klose's projection dimmed and flickered out. The one on Klinsmann pulsed brighter, then condensed into a beam of light and shot directly into Yang Yang's forehead.
Suddenly, a flood of information—technique breakdowns, match scenarios, body mechanics—all based on Klinsmann's heading mastery—surged through Yang Yang's consciousness.
It was overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time.
He could see each of Klinsmann's movements in slow motion—his approach, leap, angle of attack, body control, and timing.
And immediately, Yang Yang understood something he had never fully grasped before.
Heading isn't just about meeting the ball with your forehead—it's a full-body motion, demanding precise synchronization of strength, timing, and posture.
Most critically, it depends on how you apply force.
The neck alone can't generate significant power. It's the body's coordinated motion that creates the real impact.
Through the vision of Klinsmann's headers, Yang Yang finally realized how vital core strength was.
The abdominal muscles weren't just there to hold posture—they were the link between the explosive push-off from the legs and the final motion of the head.
From the moment the knees bend and the take-off begins, the entire body arches backward like a drawn bow, and then—at the right moment—snaps forward into the ball.
The head is the arrow. The torso, the arms, the legs—all contribute to launching it.
A powerful header, Yang Yang now understood, is the result of unified kinetic force, not just contact.
And this power wasn't just for finishing—it was critical for redirecting crosses that came in fast and spinning, often under defensive pressure.
Live TV often doesn't capture just how fast the ball moves during a match, or how violently it can spin. To alter its path with your head requires not only technique, but raw physical strength through the core.
Fail to generate enough force, and the ball glances off you or drags your body off balance—especially if you're challenged mid-air.
Yang Yang nodded inwardly.
What looked simple was in fact complex. What seemed instinctive was deeply trained.
He had the blueprint now. All that remained was repetition—realistic practice based on match conditions.
Because in real play, jumping, timing, tracking the flight of the ball, and steering it through defenders is never as easy as it looks.
Without practice, even a perfect theory is useless.
And so, Yang Yang began preparing to master his fifth star skill: Klinsmann's Header.
After digesting everything he had just learned, Yang Yang slowly exhaled.
The breath came deep from his diaphragm, as if releasing not only air but the pressure of revelation.
Football.
On the surface, it was a game. A contest of goals, tactics, and moments.
But beneath it all—it was a science. A complex, intricate system of principles layered on top of each other: biomechanics, timing, spatial awareness, technique, and physical coordination.
Even a seemingly simple action like heading the ball was, in reality, a finely tuned art form. Each detail mattered. Each angle had purpose. Each muscle had a role.
And this was only one part of the game.
How deep, then, did the rabbit hole go?
How immense was the full architecture of football?
Rather than intimidate him, this realization had the opposite effect. It lit a fire within him.
It awakened the explorer in him—the part that loved discovery, loved learning, loved mastering what others took for granted.
He clenched his fists slowly at his sides, his eyes narrowing, sharp with conviction.
'If even a header can hold this much depth, then I want to master it all.'
He had no illusions. There would be no shortcuts, no quick achievements. But that only made the road ahead more compelling.
This wasn't just training anymore. This was self-transcendence.
He looked toward the shadow-lit training ground around him, which had returned to its normal simulated form—pitch markings, stadium outline, controlled wind resistance, calibrated lighting. A silent arena waiting to be awakened.
Then he turned to the invisible presence always beside him in this world.
"Since this can only be honed through simulated real matches..." Yang Yang paused, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders loose, "then Zax—let's begin!"
...
...
In the days that followed, Yang Yang settled back into the steady rhythm of daily training.
Outside of his routine of picking up Su Ye each day, his life revolved around just three places: home, the Summer Palace, and the gym.
After the official transfer of ownership was completed, the old gym—now undergoing full renovation—was temporarily closed. With construction underway, Winston Bogarde practically lived in the building, supervising everything. Yang Yang also spent most of his time there, using the space to carry out his personalized strength training program.
The gym's swimming pool became part of his daily routine, allowing him to train in the morning, swim, eat, and return home in the evening without needing to venture anywhere else.
Every day at noon, Su Ye would come by the gym to have lunch with them.
Since officially becoming a couple, Yang Yang and Su Ye had barely spent any time apart. Even when not together, they were glued to their phones, chatting endlessly over QQ. And now that their days were filled with time spent in each other's company, their bond deepened rapidly—so much so that the two single men around them, Winston Bogarde and Wei Zhen, found themselves alternately amused, annoyed, and hopelessly envious.
But neither Yang Yang nor Su Ye paid them any mind.
"If you're jealous," Yang Yang replied with a perfectly calm face, "then bring your girlfriend next time."
That shut them both up on the spot.
There was another amusing little detail that accompanied Yang Yang's daily school runs: every morning and evening when he dropped Su Ye off or picked her up, he'd spot a chubby but charming student from the Central Academy of Drama—round-faced, slightly awkward, but with an honest sort of grin. His name was Qiao Shan, and Su Ye introduced him as a friend.
The odd thing was, the moment Su Ye got out of the car, Qiao Shan would suddenly take off running toward the building. God knows why he sprinted like that every single time. It became something of a ritual, one that Yang Yang couldn't help finding endearing.
And so, this simple, self-contained rhythm of training, meals, and companionship continued steadily from mid-May through the end of the month.
Toward the end of that period, Su Ye's long-awaited auditions were finally scheduled.
Thanks to a recommendation from one of her professors at the Central Academy of Drama, she was offered the opportunity to audition for two different film projects.
Because both productions were in early development and maintained strict confidentiality, she wasn't told the titles or even the central themes. What little she did know came from wardrobe fittings and minimal script excerpts.
The first film seemed to be a war drama. She was dressed in a military uniform, asked to portray a female soldier disguised as a man. Her role required her to embody a kind of quiet determination—stoic, restrained, without any trace of vanity or overt femininity.
The second audition was even more of a mystery. Makeup alone took over an hour. They covered her face in grime, had her wear a heavy black cotton jacket, and deliberately gave her a weathered, peasant-like appearance—almost like a rural aunt from decades ago.
"Honestly, when I saw myself in the mirror," Su Ye recounted with mock horror, "I thought I was going to break down."
Yang Yang and Wei Zhen burst out laughing.
"Relax," Yang Yang said, reaching for her hand with a grin. "Even if you're playing a peasant, you'll be the most beautiful one ever cast."
Wei Zhen, standing to the side, nodded in full agreement.
Su Ye's elegance wasn't just about appearance—it was a kind of natural poise that radiated even when she was dressed down or made up to look plain. Her beauty, though gentle and restrained, stood out in any crowd.
Even back in Amsterdam, Ajax players who weren't familiar with Chinese aesthetics had no trouble recognizing how stunning she was.
For Yang Yang, Su Ye's auditions were something to support wholeheartedly. He never tried to influence her decisions, never imposed his own opinions. He simply encouraged her to pursue her dreams on her own terms. Whether she succeeded or not, what mattered to him was that she was walking the path she chose.
Once the auditions were done, the matter quietly slipped to the back of his mind. He refocused on his primary concern—his preparation.
Winston Bogarde had carefully constructed a specialized training program aimed at gradually tuning Yang Yang's form, condition, and mental focus. The ultimate goal: to ensure he arrived at the upcoming World Cup in peak shape.
As May came to a close, the Chinese Super League went on pause, and the national team gathered in Beijing to begin its final preparations. This would be only the second time in history that China participated in a FIFA World Cup — and expectations were quietly rising.
After two days of training in the capital, the squad departed for Germany.
For Yang Yang, the moment was deeply personal.
He was about to step onto football's grandest stage — for the very first time in his professional career.