Late into the night, across China, television screens glowed in living rooms, teahouses, and cafés.
The final round of Group D in the World Cup was underway.
Tension hung in the air. Millions of fans followed the match breath by breath, their emotions rising and falling with each passing phase of play. It wasn't just a game anymore — it had become a national moment.
For China, appearing in only their second-ever World Cup, the task was clear: defeat Angola, and hope for a result in the Portugal–Mexico match that could open the door to qualification. Angola, in their debut tournament, had already surprised many — losing narrowly to Portugal 1–0, then holding Mexico to a goalless draw.
And their biggest strength? Defense.
As the match approached the 70th minute in the second half, the scoreboard remained unchanged.
0–0.
China had controlled more of the ball — 57% possession so far — and their passing accuracy hovered above 70%, while Angola sat around 65%. Statistically, China had the edge. They had taken over a dozen shots. But conversion remained elusive.
The team had created chances, but not converted them.
Yang Yang, wearing the captain's armband for the national team for the first time, found himself under constant pressure. Angola had clearly made it a priority to limit his influence, and his space was suffocated at every turn. Yet even with the tight marking, he managed to create several good openings for teammates — threading passes into dangerous areas for Gao Lin, Chen Tao, Zhou Haibin, and Shao Jiayi.
But none had broken through.
Yang Yang himself had three efforts on goal — two that missed the target and one strong effort from outside the box that forced a flying save from Angola's goalkeeper Ricardo. That was in the 31st minute, after a brilliant solo move where Yang escaped his marker and struck a low, powerful shot.
Ricardo couldn't hold it. The ball rebounded perfectly into the six-yard box — Gao Lin arrived on cue, unmarked, with the goal gaping.
He skied it.
A moment that left fans clutching their heads in disbelief.
At halftime, Gao Lin looked as if he couldn't forgive himself. He'd muttered he wanted to screw his own head off for missing such a golden opportunity. Yang Yang, despite his own frustration, could only keep encouraging him. He knew that as captain, he had to steady the group, not sulk.
In the second half, the tempo shifted.
Angola grew bolder as China's energy levels dipped. The balance of play began to tilt. The Africans — physically strong, defensively compact, and tactically disciplined — started to mount dangerous counters as Chinese legs slowed.
Shot totals between the two teams began to even out, though Angola's attempts remained less precise. Still, they were growing in confidence.
Yang Yang's influence continued to wane under constant double marking. Every time he touched the ball, there were black shirts closing him down — sometimes two, sometimes three.
It became obvious: without space for Yang Yang to create or shoot, China's offensive edge was gone.
Around the 60th minute, Arie Haan made his move.
He began shifting the shape — no longer playing to dominate possession but to stay compact and strike on the break. He brought on Hao Junmin and Li Tie for fresh legs. Gao Lin, still shaken from his first-half miss, was taken off.
Yang Yang moved further forward, now as the focal point of the attack.
...
"The Chinese team is making their third substitution," the national broadcaster's voice came through the television.
On screen, the image cut to the sideline. Zhao Xuri stood beside the fourth official, waiting for the signal to come on. He replaced Zhou Haibin in midfield.
"This is a move aimed at reinforcing defensive stability in the middle of the park," the commentator continued. "Zhao Xuri brings fresh legs and more defensive presence. Arie Haan's approach is becoming clearer with each change — even if China can't find a goal, they must not concede."
"And now, with the current shape of the team, the entire attacking burden falls on Yang Yang."
He was alone up front.
Every transition, every hopeful ball forward, every flick, every sprint — all of it was his responsibility now.
Across the country, people watched in complete silence.
In Beijing's crowded bars, in quiet family living rooms in Chengdu, in late-night offices in Guangzhou where workers had stayed behind just to catch the second half — no one moved. Eyes were locked on the screen. Cups of tea and beer sat forgotten. This was more than football now. This was shared tension, a collective hope.
In the corner of the broadcast, a live score update appeared from the other match.
Portugal 1–1 Mexico.
"That result has held since halftime," the broadcaster explained. "Both goals came in the first 45 minutes. Since then, neither side has shown much urgency. The tempo has dropped, the risks have disappeared. It's not hard to guess why."
"They know a draw sends them both through."
The voice didn't sound angry — just resigned.
"Of course, it's disappointing from our perspective. But this is international football. This kind of match management has existed for decades. Everyone plays for their own interest."
"Still, for China and Angola, it makes this match even more decisive."
"If China doesn't win tonight, we can't even blame the others. We won't have done our part."
The camera panned across the Leipzig pitch, zooming in on Yang Yang — his back to goal, hands on his hips, catching his breath as play paused for a throw-in.
"Right now, it's up to him," the commentator said. "He's the last man forward, the one player Angola still hasn't fully contained. He's carried this team through the tournament — and now, it's down to whether he can conjure something one more time."
In that moment, the television studio seemed to take on the voice of the nation itself.
"Let's go, China."
"Let's go, Yang Yang."
...
...
Yang Yang couldn't hear the voices of the fans back home — but he could feel them.
He knew what this moment meant. He had been one of them four years ago, watching the national team at the 2002 World Cup. Back then, he was just a teenager, shouting at the television, dreaming.
Now, he was living it.
The match was slipping toward its final minutes. More than 80 had already passed, and the score was still 0–0. Angola had grown more aggressive in the final third, pushing forward with intent, but still kept two or three players deep whenever China recovered possession.
Their message was clear: Yang Yang would not be given an inch.
Still, he kept running.
Every time China regained the ball, he scanned for space and broke into open lanes. And every time the pass came — or didn't — he sprinted with all he had.
Then came the pain. The burning lungs, the tightening legs, the body screaming to stop.
But each time, he forced himself to go again.
He had done this before, many times — with Ajax, with China, even in training. The feeling of hitting a wall, of thinking you couldn't run one more time — only to push through. He knew the sensation intimately.
Now, with minutes left, it was happening again.
Behind him, his teammates were fighting just as hard.
This was the World Cup. No one on that pitch was going to leave anything behind.
Li Tie, Zhao Junzhe, and Zhao Xuri held the midfield line with discipline and grit. Angola kept testing the 30-meter area, swinging balls into dangerous spaces, but time and again, China stood firm.
In the 83rd minute, Angola tried again.
A long diagonal ball came in from the left toward the Chinese box, but Zhao Junzhe anticipated it. He slid in sharply, winning the ball cleanly and poking it forward.
Zhao Xuri reacted first, stepping in to control the loose ball and immediately releasing it wide.
Hao Junmin received on the left. His first touch took him into space, and he lifted his head.
In the center, Yang Yang pointed to a gap between two retreating defenders, gesturing diagonally to the right flank.
Hao Junmin didn't hesitate. His pass sliced through the midfield, low and fast, bending slightly inside. At that very instant, Yang Yang had already taken off, splitting between two Angola midfielders and sprinting hard toward the channel.
"The Chinese team breaks quickly on the counter!"
"Hao Junmin finds Yang Yang with a diagonal pass!"
"No whistle — no offside! Yang Yang is onside and running free!"
Yang Yang chased the ball down with everything he had left. Drawing on instinct, fatigue forgotten, he reached the ball just ahead of the defenders and flicked it forward with his head — pushing it into open space beyond Angola's back line.
He kept going.
The two central defenders — Kali and Jamba — were fast, but they were chasing.
Yang Yang led.
He reached the top of the penalty area with both defenders converging, yet still a yard behind. He took another touch, shifting slightly to the right, and slowed just enough to draw the center-backs into position.
That gave him options.
He could break vertically with his right foot — or cut inside to his left.
He waited.
The defenders paused, uncertain — caught between staying compact and pushing him wide. They were betting on goalkeeper Ricardo to cover whatever Yang Yang chose.
But Yang Yang didn't hesitate.
As he reached the edge of the box, Angola's No. 5, Kali, stepped in. Yang Yang dropped a quick step-over — fast, sharp, no theatrics — and then cut left with perfect timing.
Kali bit.
He shifted his weight to block the inside lane, expecting a shot on the left.
Yang Yang had already cut inside, leaving Kali off balance and out of position. But Angola's goalkeeper Ricardo had read the danger and rushed off his line to close the angle. There was no time to slow down or compose a shot.
So Yang Yang reacted instinctively.
With Ricardo diving toward his feet, Yang Yang stretched and stabbed the ball forward with the tip of his right boot. It wasn't a shot — more of a soft prod to guide the ball past the keeper's reach and into the narrow space behind him.
Ricardo missed it by inches.
But the ball was still in play, rolling toward the byline at an awkward angle.
Yang Yang didn't stop.
He accelerated, swinging wide around the grounded keeper, reaching the ball again just before it could cross out of bounds. At full stretch, he hooked his right foot around it and whipped it back across the face of goal.
Angola's recovering defender tried to clear it — but it was too late.
The ball went into the net with him.
...
"Goal!!!"
The roar shattered the air inside Leipzig Central Stadium.
"Unbelievable! Yang Yang scores in the 83rd minute — and China leads, one-nil!"
"What a goal! What a moment! This could be historic!"
The eruption that followed was seismic.
In the stands, Chinese fans leapt to their feet. Flags were raised. Flares lit up. Chants of "Yang Yang! Yang Yang!" poured from every corner. Across the country, from Shanghai apartments to Beijing bars, the same name was echoing through the night.
On the pitch, Yang Yang was just pulling himself up from the advertising board when he was mobbed.
First it was Li Tie and Zhao Junzhe, then the whole squad swarmed him, piling on one after another. He could barely stand, but he didn't need to. Arms wrapped around him, bodies slammed into him, but all anyone felt was elation.
On the sidelines, Arie Haan was roaring — fists clenched, eyes wide, shouting toward the sky as if he could lift the whole stadium with his voice. He turned to his bench and pointed at the scoreboard, overcome with emotion.
This wasn't just any goal.
This was China's first-ever World Cup victory, within reach.
A goal that could carry a nation across the finish line — or at the very least, give them something real, something lasting. A win on the world's biggest stage.
Even if qualification was still uncertain, this moment was undeniable.
This wasn't survival. This was conquest.
This was history.
...
With Yang Yang's late goal, China defeated Angola 1–0 and recorded the first World Cup victory in its history.
The final whistle in Leipzig confirmed what would soon become one of the defining stories of the tournament: a nation, long maligned on the global footballing stage, had earned its first three points on the biggest platform of all. And they had done it through the boot of a 19-year-old wonderkid now known around the world.
By the time night fell in Europe and dawn broke across Asia, the headlines were unanimous — from Marca to L'Équipe, from Bild to The Times:
"Yang Yang Writes Chinese Football Into the History Books"
"Historic Victory in Leipzig"
"China 1–0 Angola: One Nation's First Step"
Even FIFA's official website joined the chorus, publishing a front-page tribute titled "A Memorable Day for Chinese Football." In the article, the federation called the victory "a gratifying achievement that marks a new era" for the nation.
FIFA President Sepp Blatter offered high praise in a post-match interview, stating:
"What Yang Yang has done at this World Cup will be recorded in football history. His performances, composure, and leadership at just 19 are truly outstanding. We look forward to watching his continued development, not only for China and Asia, but for the global game."
Indeed, Yang Yang's four goals in the tournament brought him level with Germany's Miroslav Klose atop the Golden Boot race. But unlike Klose — who would continue into the knockout stages — Yang Yang's World Cup journey ended with the group stage. China were officially eliminated, finishing third in Group D after Portugal and Mexico played out a 1–1 draw in Gelsenkirchen — a result that sent both nations through.
The draw, seen by many as a classic case of a "tacit ball" — a match played without much competitive spirit once a mutually beneficial result becomes apparent — sparked debate in the media. But Yang Yang himself remained composed when asked.
"Complain about the draw? No. It's within the rules," he said after the game. "They did what made sense for their own interests. If we want to change our destiny, we must be stronger — strong enough that no one else's result can define ours."
His maturity, even in disappointment, was widely praised. And his assessment of China's performance remained grounded.
"This World Cup has been incredibly valuable for us. Portugal, Mexico, Angola — these are strong sides, and playing against them is an education," he told CCTV. "We didn't always play our best, especially in the first match. That was a game we shouldn't have lost. But there's no rewind button in football. No medicine for regret."
Standing under the night sky, wearing the captain's armband and flanked by his exhausted teammates, Yang Yang addressed his supporters with dignity:
"Chinese football is still growing. There are gaps, problems — we know that. But I want to thank every fan who believed in us. Every time we fight on the pitch, it's to make sure a billion people don't leave disappointed."
"To the fans back home — you are the hope of Chinese football."
And with that, the curtain fell on China's World Cup campaign.
...
Yang Yang's remarks quickly spread back to China, stirring immense enthusiasm among domestic fans and igniting heated discussion across the internet.
At the same time, international media outlets scrambled to report on his performance.
As one of European football's brightest emerging talents, every move Yang Yang made had already been under a global spotlight. But now, with the added suspense of his upcoming transfer and his four goals in three World Cup group stage matches—tying him with Miroslav Klose at the top of the scoring charts—he stunned not only casual viewers but seasoned analysts around the world.
What surprised many even more was the manner in which he scored.
Cristiano Ronaldo, Portugal's golden boy and self-declared rival, had managed just one goal—a penalty gifted to him by Luís Figo. Yang Yang, on the other hand, had scored all four of his goals from open play, without relying on set-pieces or spot-kicks.
Even Lionel Messi, Barcelona's young genius, had only netted once—during Argentina's 6–0 demolition of Serbia.
When comparing not only the goal tally but the quality and difficulty of those goals, Yang Yang stood apart. Unlike Messi and Ronaldo, he wasn't playing for a footballing powerhouse. China's national team lagged far behind Portugal and Argentina in squad quality, yet Yang Yang still delivered on the biggest stage.
As the media frenzy reached fever pitch, the World Cup group stage came to a close.
The day after China's 1–0 win over Angola, the team departed Germany and returned home.
With news of their flight spreading quickly, thousands of fans flooded Beijing Capital International Airport to welcome the national team like returning heroes.
The crowd saved its loudest cheers for Yang Yang.
He had scored four goals and led China to its first-ever World Cup victory—cementing his place as a national icon. The reception was overwhelming, even causing brief chaos at the arrivals hall, but security soon restored order.
After a short return to Xianghe Football Training Base, the national team officially disbanded.
Yang Yang quietly slipped away from Beijing the following day, flying to his hometown of Quanzhou alongside Su Ye.
...
...
When Yang Yang boarded his flight home, on the other side of the world—at Nike's headquarters in Beaverton, Oregon—an emergency global video conference was underway.
The meeting, convened at short notice, was led by Mark Parker, who had taken over as Nike's CEO in January. Also present were several top executives from Nike's global divisions, including senior leadership from Europe, Asia-Pacific, and brand marketing.
The sole focus of the emergency meeting: Yang Yang.
"I'll admit, we made a serious miscalculation before the World Cup," said Charles Danson, Nike's Global Brand Marketing President, his expression tense. "And it's already cost us dearly."
"At the time, our European division reported progress in negotiations, but we concluded that Yang Yang hadn't yet reached the level of a top-tier athlete. Even considering his marketing potential in China, we felt the most we could offer was eight million euros—comparable to Beckham, and far beyond what we pay Kaka, Cristiano Ronaldo, or Messi."
He paused before continuing grimly.
"But Raiola came back demanding fifteen million euros. That's astronomical—more than most NBA stars are earning from endorsements. We flat-out rejected it."
The executives in attendance nodded. Despite Nike's financial strength, no one wanted to overspend on a single, unproven talent—especially one from a market they still considered emerging.
"What we didn't foresee," Danson continued, "was Adidas' aggressive pursuit. After prying Messi from us, they've shifted full force toward Yang Yang. They're increasing investment in football marketing, and this year's Liverpool sponsorship cost them ten million pounds annually."
"Adidas also sponsors Ajax, and to prevent Yang Yang from slipping away, they've actively involved their top partner clubs—Chelsea, Liverpool, Real Madrid, and Bayern Munich—in trying to secure him. There's even talk they're willing to subsidize part of his salary through sponsorship."
He looked around the room grimly. "They've also had legitimate access during the World Cup—they sponsor the Chinese national team. And their representatives have been in close contact with Raiola. From what we've gathered, those talks have accelerated fast."
Nike's strategy had been to play hardball—to let Raiola come crawling back.
It had backfired.
"Even though China were knocked out in the group stage, Yang Yang's four goals made him one of the tournament's breakout stars," Danson added. "In China, he's become a national icon. His influence is massive. And our current deal with him expires in a year."
That short window was now Nike's biggest vulnerability. With Adidas backing, Yang Yang could terminate the contract early by covering the financial penalty—essentially a cost Adidas would shoulder, not the player.
CEO Mark Parker turned toward one of the screens. "Euna , what's your view?"
Eunan McLaughlin, a respected Irish executive, had climbed the ranks from sales director in Africa to become VP for the Asia-Pacific region. Now overseeing Europe, the Middle East, and Africa, he was widely regarded as a future Nike president—and a key voice in any discussion involving Asian markets.
"In China," Eunan began calmly, "we suffered a hard lesson."
Heads nodded silently.
Everyone in the room remembered what he meant: Nike had lost Yao Ming to Reebok. That failure had cost Nike a firm grip on China's basketball market—a mistake they had never fully recovered from.
Worse, Yao Ming had since joined Adidas through Reebok's acquisition, strengthening Nike's biggest rival even further.
"We've repeated the same mistake," Eunan continued. "We should have secured Yang Yang and kept lines open with Raiola. Instead, we took a cold stance—and Adidas moved in swiftly. From what I've heard, Yang Yang may already be leaning toward joining their brand stable."
Faces around the room grew tense.
Adidas, a long-established powerhouse in global football, maintained deep ties with FIFA and many top-tier clubs. Nike had made major inroads over the past decade—but this moment could define who pulled ahead.
"Market data shows Yang Yang's popularity is off the charts—not just in China, but also in Japan, South Korea, Southeast Asia, and even segments of Europe and the U.S. His market potential is enormous."
Eunan concluded in a quiet but unmistakably firm tone: "He could be the key to meeting—and surpassing—our growth targets in Asia for the next several years. Whether we go back to the table is your decision. But I believe we're not just negotiating with a player. We're competing for control of the future Asian market."
Everyone in the meeting now understood: this wasn't just about Yang Yang.
It was about Nike versus Adidas. About who would win Asia. About who would define football's next frontier.
There was only one Yang Yang—and whoever signed him would shape the battlefield for years to come.
Mark Parker leaned forward, his face grim.
He had been CEO for barely six months.
Now, he was faced with a decision that could define his leadership—and possibly, Nike's next decade.