"Yang, let me introduce you."
Inside the spacious hotel suite near Beijing Capital International Airport, Mino Raiola stood at the head of the glass coffee table, gesturing amiably as he turned to the young star by his side.
"This is Mr. Rick Parry, CEO of Liverpool Football Club. He's been with the club for nearly a decade now."
With the introduction complete, Yang Yang immediately stepped forward, wearing a polite smile as he extended his hand.
"Hello, Mr. Parry. Welcome to Beijing."
"Pleasure to meet you, Yang," Parry replied with a cordial nod, his handshake firm.
Raiola didn't wait to keep the introductions moving. "And this," he continued, gesturing to the man next to Parry — slightly bald, moderately overweight, and instantly recognizable to anyone with even a passing interest in modern football — "this is Rafael Benítez, Liverpool's head coach."
Few names in European football commanded as much respect as Benítez in recent years.
His reputation was built on his time with Valencia, where he disrupted the Spanish duopoly of Real Madrid and Barcelona by capturing two La Liga titles in three seasons, along with a UEFA Cup triumph in 2004 — completing a remarkable double. From there, he had moved to Liverpool, where his tactical acumen produced an unforgettable miracle in his debut season: a Champions League final comeback in Istanbul that saw Liverpool defeat AC Milan on penalties after trailing 3–0 at halftime.
Though his European success was dazzling, Liverpool's domestic performances remained erratic, often criticized for inconsistency. The previous season had ended with only an FA Cup win to their name. Still, Benítez's stature in coaching circles was undeniable — frequently mentioned alongside José Mourinho of Chelsea and Carlo Ancelotti of AC Milan as part of Europe's tactical elite.
"Hello, very pleased to meet you, Rafael," Yang Yang said with a respectful nod, offering his hand.
"Likewise," Benítez replied calmly, his voice quiet but deliberate.
Though he had said little, Yang Yang was already aware of Benítez's reputation: a manager of few words but immense control, known for meticulous preparation and strict tactical discipline. Some players found him cold and unyielding, but no one questioned his intelligence or ambition.
Raiola motioned for them all to take their seats on the sofas surrounding the low table. The atmosphere was calm but charged — a crucial meeting that could shape Yang Yang's career trajectory.
This meeting had been weeks in the making. Over the past month, Raiola had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, navigating offers and gauging interest. Among English clubs, only a few could meet Yang Yang's valuation and offer a sporting project to match. Arsenal had withdrawn early due to financial constraints. Manchester United, Chelsea, and Liverpool remained in the mix — but it was Liverpool that had shown the most determination.
For Yang Yang, the appeal was mutual. Liverpool were ambitious, respected, and in need of a player with his profile. It wasn't the first time he had heard their name mentioned, but this was the first direct and serious engagement. Until now, Raiola had handled all discussions discreetly.
Rick Parry opened the conversation formally, reaffirming Liverpool's strong interest and their commitment.
"We're prepared to pay a transfer fee of €40 million," he stated clearly. "We can talk about your personal terms after, but from the club's side, we consider you one of our top priorities this summer."
He leaned slightly forward. "After last season, we've made the decision to reinforce our squad in key areas. Rafael believes you're central to that process. You've been on our radar for over a year."
Parry's words prompted Yang Yang to glance at Benítez, curious to see the coach's reaction.
The Spaniard remained impassive, his expression unreadable.
"I'll be honest," Yang Yang said, his tone sincere, "I've always admired Liverpool — especially that night in Istanbul. Watching that match… it made my blood boil with excitement. I think any player would be proud to wear that shirt."
Nods of agreement circled the room.
"But," Yang Yang added, shifting slightly in his seat, "I'd still like to hear directly from the coach."
It was a polite request, but one laced with deeper significance.
Yang Yang had no intention of becoming the next Shevchenko — a signing driven more by prestige than purpose. Everyone in football circles knew that Chelsea's owner Roman Abramovich had long courted the Ukrainian star, yet questions lingered about whether José Mourinho had truly wanted him. It was the kind of situation that raised alarms for any ambitious player. Yang Yang had no desire to join a club where the manager wasn't fully behind his arrival — not at his age, not at this stage of his career. Without the manager's trust, even the brightest talent could struggle to find its place.
Benítez, quiet until now, looked directly at Yang Yang, a flicker of approval flashing in his eyes.
Respectful. Ambitious. Focused on football, not money.
The coach leaned in slightly, his voice steady.
"You know, I coached in La Liga for several years. Even before that, I studied Italian football in depth. But I can tell you with absolute certainty: the Premier League is the most intense league in the world."
Yang Yang listened attentively. This wasn't the tactical breakdown he expected, but he didn't mind.
"Matches here are played at a higher pace. There are more chances. Every player fights for every ball. The game is respected. Players here don't just play football — they live it. Foreign players often tell me the same thing: playing in the Premier League is a joy."
Yang Yang nodded faintly. He hadn't interacted with many Premier League players, but the message felt honest.
"Yes, the defending is fierce. The physicality is high. And some technical players struggle because of that. But look at it another way — every player in this league is hungry. Every club pushes you to your limit. You can't coast here. And that energy — that fire — it becomes part of you."
Benítez paused. "You will get fouled. Sometimes harshly. But next time, you'll get up. Even if injured, your instinct will be to come back. Because the crowd, the atmosphere, the respect — it makes you want to fight. To play."
Yang Yang found himself absorbing every word.
This wasn't just a tactical recruitment pitch. It was an invitation — to a battlefield, to a proving ground. A place where greatness was earned, not handed out.
Benítez shifted gears.
"Our current forward options include Morientes, Cissé, Crouch, and Robbie Fowler. This summer, we plan to sell Morientes and Cissé. Alongside you, we're also targeting Dirk Kuyt from Feyenoord. I believe you're familiar with him."
Yang Yang nodded. They had no personal relationship, but he knew Kuyt well — a hard-working forward with a tireless engine.
"And Robbie Fowler?" he asked.
"Still here," Benítez replied. "But he's thirty-one now. More of a rotational option."
"As for Crouch," the coach continued, "he's a unique striker. Tall, intelligent, good hold-up play. Guardiola once wrote that Crouch is a misunderstood player — one who needs the right partner to shine. I believe with someone like you beside him, we'll see his best version."
Pep Guardiola, once the iconic captain of Barcelona, had stepped away from football after his retirement. But during this year's World Cup, he re-emerged in the public eye—not on the touchline, but in print.
Throughout the tournament, he penned a series of insightful columns in El País, the Spanish national newspaper, where he began sharing his evolving philosophy of football. Among his many reflections, one article in particular caught Yang Yang's attention.
In it, Guardiola offered high praise for a rather unconventional choice: Peter Crouch.
"Rooney may influence the game more decisively and offer more aesthetic value," Guardiola wrote, "but in terms of overall contribution to a team's structure, no one offers more than Peter Crouch. If a team has Crouch, you must build around him—and the rewards will follow."
Yang Yang remembered the column clearly. Guardiola had gone on to explain:
"He knows exactly what he's doing on the pitch. He contributes both aerially and on the ground. Most importantly, he understands flow—he connects the midfield with the front line, doesn't just linger in the box waiting for service. He becomes a facilitator in the truest sense."
"He can receive a thousand high balls and distribute each one with intelligence and precision. What he does may look simple, but it's rare. Few forwards today understand how to move the ball and the game like he does."
That column had been widely reprinted across Europe and translated in numerous outlets. Naturally, it hadn't escaped Yang Yang's notice.
Back in the hotel room, Benitez gave a subtle nod to that piece but offered a measured counterbalance.
"Guardiola's assessment is insightful—and yes, it reflects his emphasis on passing, control, and positional balance. Crouch does make a team's movement smoother. But there's something Pep didn't touch on."
Benitez leaned slightly forward, eyes fixed on Yang Yang.
"Crouch's finishing rate isn't elite. Since arriving in the Premier League, his best return was 12 goals in the 2004–05 season with Southampton, and that was while they were battling relegation. That's his career peak to date."
"For a club like Liverpool—one aiming for the Premier League title and Champions League success—12 goals a season from a leading striker is not enough."
Benitez let that point settle before continuing, his voice more resolute.
"That's why we need you."
"Crouch helps us move. Kuyt, with his relentless pressing and intelligent runs, stretches the opposition and forces mistakes. But it's you, Yang, who can finish. You have that edge, the killer instinct. You complete the picture."
He paused again, then added with sincerity that caught Yang Yang slightly off guard.
"Your determination, your hunger, your refusal to give up—it aligns perfectly with Liverpool's spirit. That's why I want you here."
Benitez didn't embellish. His tone was steady, professional—but genuine.
"Liverpool is the best stage for you to grow, to fight, and to win."
...
...
"Liverpool is the best stage for you to grow, to fight, and to win."
That sentence, spoken with quiet conviction by Rafael Benítez the previous afternoon, still echoed in Yang Yang's mind the following morning.
He stood alone on the western embankment of the Summer Palace, gazing out over the tranquil waters of Kunming Lake. The soft ripples reflected the morning sun, but his thoughts were anything but calm—they drifted, scattered, and swirled like the wind brushing across the surface of the lake.
Raiola had revealed everything.
Top Premier League clubs were circling. Interest was undeniable. But the details—ah, that's where things got clearer.
Arsenal liked him, but couldn't match Ajax's €40 million asking price. Chelsea had turned their full attention toward securing Shevchenko—a move driven by Abramovich, not Mourinho. Manchester United and Liverpool, meanwhile, had been the most aggressive. They had kept constant contact with Raiola, their interest consistent and pressing.
But it was Liverpool that stood out—not just in ambition, but in sincerity.
They hadn't just called or sent scouts. They sent CEO Rick Parry. They sent Benítez himself. They flew halfway across the world to sit with Yang Yang face-to-face in Beijing, to show him—not just tell him—that they saw him as a cornerstone of their future.
That personal touch, that level of commitment, had struck Yang Yang deeply.
Their meeting was long and thoughtful. Tactical details, role expectations, development plans—everything was laid bare. Benítez had spoken less like a recruiter and more like a mentor who had already envisioned Yang Yang in his squad, understood his qualities, and had a precise idea of how to sharpen them.
And for Yang Yang, that mattered.
Last summer, he had turned down the possibility of a transfer. It hadn't been out of fear, but rather awareness—he wasn't ready then. Not for a new league, a new country, a higher level of scrutiny.
But now?
Now he felt it.
The Eredivisie no longer presented a challenge. He had broken records, lifted trophies, silenced doubts. He knew that if he stayed another season, he risked stagnation—worse, complacency.
And that terrified him.
He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to lose his edge now. Remaining in the Netherlands would be the safe choice, yes—but also the soft one. And that wasn't him.
He didn't want to lose his edge.
He knew he needed change.
And right now, among all the options, Liverpool was undoubtedly the one that felt closest.
...
Su Ye hugged Yang Yang from behind.
Yang Yang turned around and pulled her gently into his arms.
It was a hot day, and both of them were dressed lightly. After spending the past few nights sleeping in the same bed, Su Ye had been forced to return to her home the night before, now that they were back in Beijing. The separation only made their reunion more emotionally charged. Their closeness, their touch—it all carried weight.
"People might see us," Su Ye mumbled in embarrassment, burying her face into his chest.
Even as she said it, she hugged him tighter.
"Let them," Yang Yang chuckled. "Let them be jealous."
But in truth, there was no one else around.
"What were you thinking about just now?" Su Ye asked, lifting her gaze with concern.
Yang Yang frowned slightly. "I was thinking... whether I should go to Liverpool."
Su Ye's expression shifted in an instant—bright and carefree moments ago, now suddenly serious.
This was no small decision. It could define Yang Yang's entire career.
She remembered well how he'd spoken before about Van der Vaart and Van der Meyde—both hailed as bright stars at Ajax, both full of promise and confidence before their transfers. Real Madrid and Inter Milan had pursued them with sincerity, no doubt. But after the move, things didn't go as planned.
It wasn't always the fault of the club, she knew. Success or failure in football was often more complex than fans or media imagined.
Van Basten had once told Yang Yang that adapting to the team's environment and life off the pitch was just as crucial. Without comfort off the field, a player could never fully devote himself to training and performance.
Even that alone could be difficult.
The British climate was similar enough to the Netherlands, so Yang Yang believed he could adapt. But everything else? The culture, the media, the pressure—those remained unknowns.
And football clubs weren't in the business of charity. No matter how expensive the transfer, if a player couldn't deliver and became a drag on the team's results, the club would show no mercy. They would sideline him, freeze him out—relegating him to irrelevance.
That was the brutal reality of professional football.
No one, no club, would bend the rules for anyone.
At best, a bigger price tag or reputation might buy a little more patience. But never immunity.
Su Ye understood that Yang Yang needed to make this move. That much was clear. But she also understood why he hesitated—because this decision could elevate him to a whole new level, or bring everything crashing down.
It was that kind of moment.
She gently stepped out of his arms and stood in front of him, facing him with a quiet smile.
"I believe in you," she said. "Because the Yang Yang I fell in love with has never been afraid of any challenge. From the very first moment I saw you, your determination, your persistence, and your drive—they left a mark I could never forget."
As she spoke, she lifted her hands and held his face tenderly.
"You should go chase your dream, just like you've always supported me chasing mine. I'll always be behind you, quietly supporting you, and I won't leave. Any time you turn around, you'll find me there."
Yang Yang was deeply moved. He nodded firmly, a soft smile forming on his face.
"…Then what do you say we have our honeymoon in England?"
...
...
They weren't even married yet, and here they were talking about a honeymoon?
It was a bit ridiculous when you thought about it.
Still, Yang Yang packed his things with Su Ye and boarded a flight from Beijing to England.
This trip had been suggested by Liverpool's CEO Rick Parry and head coach Rafael Benítez. They had formally invited Yang Yang to visit Anfield and the Melwood Training Centre—a gesture aimed at strengthening the connection between the club and the player.
After landing in London, Yang Yang and Su Ye spent two days sightseeing. Then, under the careful arrangement of Raiola, they travelled to Liverpool, where they began their visit with a quiet car ride past both Anfield and Goodison Park.
British fans had a deep and abiding attachment to their clubs, and in Liverpool—a city where football defined neighbourhood identity—that loyalty could be felt everywhere. With the new season approaching, the streets were alive with supporters and tourists visiting stadiums and club stores.
Although Yang Yang had made his intentions known privately, the transfer had yet to be finalized, so it wasn't appropriate for him to appear in public.
So he remained in the car, observing silently as they passed by the southern road flanking Anfield.
Anfield's capacity was similar to that of the Amsterdam Arena, but in terms of visual impact, it felt less grand. The Amsterdam Arena, with its modern design and a highway running beneath it, exuded a contemporary presence.
Anfield, on the other hand, possessed a very different kind of charm.
What struck Yang Yang immediately was the red brick façade.
From the fences to the stadium walls, everything was constructed in traditional red brick, exuding a timeless, historic character. It wasn't just a stadium—it was a symbol of legacy.
Huge posters adorned the outer wall, showcasing Liverpool's key players: Steven Gerrard, Jamie Carragher, Xabi Alonso, and Peter Crouch. Their images towered above the street, guardians of the club's present and future.
Their driver, arranged by the club specifically for Yang Yang's visit, had a rather familiar name—Owen. But he was not that Owen. Not Michael. This was George Owen, who bore no relation to the former Ballon d'Or winner.
"The club has already started preparations," George said cheerfully, pointing at the giant posters. "If you join, the banners will be updated. Next season, you and Gerrard would feature side by side—two key faces on either side of the entrance."
Flanking both sides of the mural was the Liverpool crest, and beneath it, the word The Kop was boldly displayed. Below that sat the club's fan store, which was buzzing with supporters buying the new season's merchandise.
As Liverpool had switched kit manufacturers from Reebok to Adidas, the kits were brand new for the 2006–07 season, and business was brisk.
"In the UK, club stores always do well," George noted proudly. Then he turned back to glance at the couple in the rear seat. "And if you sign, your jersey will be the club's best-seller. You have my word."
Yang Yang smiled faintly but didn't reply.
They continued their journey east, leaving the heart of Liverpool behind, and soon reached West Derby, a quiet suburb. A narrow two-lane road led them to the entrance of the Melwood Training Ground.
To be honest, Yang Yang was slightly underwhelmed by his first impression.
The facility itself was spacious, but it sat openly beside the road, separated only by a modest two-meter iron fence.
It wasn't until they reached the main gate that he saw the familiar red brick wall. A green metal sliding gate occupied the center, flanked by a pedestrian entrance. There wasn't even a guardhouse. If not for the Liverpool crest mounted next to the gate, one might have mistaken the place for a warehouse entrance.
Still, that red brick—it was everywhere in Liverpool. Anfield, Melwood, even the surrounding residential homes all carried that same rustic, earthy tone. And to Yang Yang, who came from Fujian in southern China, it felt oddly comforting.
Red brick walls were a distinct feature of architecture in Fujian.
But still, the exterior of Melwood was… plain.
George Owen seemed to pick up on Yang Yang's reaction and smiled knowingly.
"Melwood was renovated not too long ago. It may look modest from the outside, but it's fully equipped inside—on par with most top clubs in Europe," he explained. "Actually, you'd be surprised. Many Premier League clubs have it worse."
He chuckled. "Arsenal's training ground at London Colney is one of the best. United's Carrington is impressive, too. But Chelsea? They're still training out of a repurposed depot near Heathrow, with the noise of planes overhead and green trains rumbling past."
Yang Yang laughed softly. He'd heard that joke before. Even in the hyper-professional world of the Premier League, some clubs were lagging behind when it came to infrastructure.
There were even fans who mocked Chelsea for signing Shevchenko, only to have him train in what looked like a glorified storage shed. It was the kind of thing that made headlines in Italy.
If even clubs like Chelsea had these issues, one could only imagine what the lower-tier teams dealt with.
Melwood was buzzing with activity as the new season neared. Staff moved back and forth preparing the grounds and facilities.
What surprised Yang Yang most was seeing Benítez himself already present, along with his full coaching staff.
And even more impressive: team captain Steven Gerrard and vice-captain Jamie Carragher were also there—days ahead of schedule.