Chapter 50: Yang Cheng's Golden Finger
He was panicking!
Roman Abramovich was truly panicking!
Yang Cheng sat calmly across from Pini Zahavi and Cash Harris, his smile unshakable. In his mind, though, he couldn't help but recall how smug and confident they had looked last year when he had just arrived in this world.
Back then, they had thrown £5 million at him with an air of charity, as if doing him a favor.
Now?
They were offering £30 million—six times that amount.
Even Lin Zhongqiu, sitting beside him, looked completely stunned by this surreal development.
The veteran accountant who had spent most of his life navigating China's business world simply couldn't make sense of European football anymore.
"Mr. Yang, you must understand, this is already a very, very high offer," said Pini Zahavi, clearly frustrated by the unshakable calm on Yang Cheng's face.
This kid always wore that harmless, innocent expression, but the more harmless he looked, the harder it was to read him.
Was he really only 24?
"That's right, Mr. Yang," added Cash Harris, hoping to help nudge things along. "Think it through. In this economic climate, only Chelsea would put up this kind of money. £30 million—it could clear all your debts and leave you with a big surplus."
"You're renting Loftus Road right now. Why not sell this land and focus on the training base? With your momentum, promotion to the Premier League is not out of reach."
"And in time, you could buy another site elsewhere in London to build a stadium."
Yang Cheng nodded slightly, still smiling. He looked like he was listening—maybe agreeing, maybe not.
His only reply: Keep talking, I'm listening.
Cash Harris glanced at Pini Zahavi, sighing silently.
Pini cleared his throat, leaned in slightly over the desk, trying to build rapport.
"Mr. Yang, let me tell you a multi-million-pound secret."
He paused dramatically.
He expected Yang Cheng to take the bait—ask, "What secret?"
But Yang Cheng didn't move a muscle. Just kept smiling at him.
It made Harris irritated.
You think I'm a fool? I'm giving you insider info and you're still acting cool?
But recalling the lunch conversation with Pini, he held his temper.
Negotiation was a skill—and knowing who to lean on was an art.
"Fine, I'll be upfront with you," Harris said at last, clearing his throat again.
Drama king.
"You must know London is bidding to host the Olympics, right?"
Still no reaction from Yang Cheng.
Harris cursed inwardly.
Damn, this kid really knows how to play it cool.
"I'll tell you the truth. The British government didn't support the bid. It's London Mayor Ken Livingstone who's been pushing it forward."
"The main reason? Money."
Lin Zhongqiu looked confused. He hadn't followed English news and didn't know this detail.
From his perspective, if the government didn't support it, how could London host it?
But Xia Qing, seated beside Yang Cheng, finally spoke for the first time since the meeting started.
"That's not exactly a secret. The Observer, Evening Standard, The Times, The Guardian—they all reported on this back in 2002."
"The UK government denied involvement."
Zahavi and Harris had both assumed Xia Qing was just a secretary or assistant.
But hearing her cool, precise tone—and the way she name-dropped so many respected media outlets—left them stunned.
Who is this woman?
Harris coughed awkwardly. "That's not what I meant."
Yang Cheng was struggling not to laugh, keeping his composure only on the surface.
Under the table, he gave Xia Qing a sneaky thumbs-up.
Queen move, Senior.
Harris tried again. "What I mean is, London kept pushing, and eventually the government gave in. But there's still a big issue—who pays to build the venues? And who covers the maintenance costs afterward?"
A simple economic reality.
Venue maintenance was a huge expense.
Yang Cheng remembered clearly—in his past life, after the Olympics, the London Stadium was leased to West Ham United for a ridiculously low price.
Why? Because if it wasn't rented out, the government would've had to fork out millions each year just for upkeep.
Same with Manchester's City of Manchester Stadium—now the Etihad.
That facility was built for the Commonwealth Games, then converted (with even more public funds) into a football-specific venue and leased to Manchester City.
That's why City moved from Maine Road.
Suddenly, Yang Cheng understood what Harris was getting at.
He was hinting that once Bayswater Chinese reached the Premier League, they could approach the government to lease the Olympic stadium.
And honestly, that was a golden deal.
Sure enough, Harris finally dropped the punchline.
"I have sources telling me that both Tottenham Hotspur and West Ham United are very interested in the stadium."
"They've been in talks with the city government, hoping to lease it long-term after the Olympics."
"The city's open to it, but they want the clubs to contribute some funds toward the initial construction and post-Games renovation."
"Spurs and West Ham don't want to pay, so the talks have stalled."
In Yang Cheng's past life, West Ham ended up winning the bid—supposedly by agreeing to cover £15 million or more of the renovation costs. He couldn't remember the exact number, but they definitely paid.
Spurs' CEO Daniel Levy was notoriously stingy.
So, Harris was implying: why not Bayswater Chinese?
If they joined the race, they could land the stadium deal.
Compared to spending hundreds of millions building in Hyde Park, this was a steal.
"Mr. Yang," Harris said, now sounding sincere, "I'll be blunt—your club's current financial state makes it impossible to build a stadium on your own. That's a fantasy."
"A 10,000-seat stadium? What's the point? How many years will it take to earn that back?"
"It's a terrible investment."
"In a place like Hyde Park, you don't build just any stadium. You build the world's most luxurious, most iconic venue—and that's not something Bayswater Chinese can afford."
You had to admit—he had a point.
Even Lin Zhongqiu and Xia Qing looked thoughtful.
Why not rent? Why not go after Wembley or the future Olympic Stadium?
Building your own, in central London, was absurd.
Yang Cheng saw their reactions but wasn't surprised.
Looking at it from a 2004 perspective, buying or renting made way more sense than building.
"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Harris," Yang Cheng finally said.
Zahavi and Harris exchanged glances—they thought they'd finally made progress.
But Yang Cheng's next words caught them completely off guard.
"You're right. If we're going to build in Hyde Park, it has to be the most luxurious, iconic stadium in the world."
"That's my dream. My goal."
"And yes—Bayswater Chinese may not be able to afford that today… but we will one day."
Zahavi and Harris stared at him, stunned—then both laughed and shook their heads.
"Mr. Yang, you really have a sense of humor," Zahavi said, assuming he was joking.
Because if something sounds so wildly unrealistic that it defies logic, people don't call it delusional—they call it a joke.
Harris chuckled too. "Jokes aside, I hope you'll give this offer serious consideration."
Which British club, without a major foreign backer, had ever successfully built a stadium?
Even Arsenal needed help.
They had to scrimp and save for years, bring in foreign investors, and sell off Highbury to fund their new stadium.
It was a massive financial maneuver.
Bayswater Chinese?
Not a chance.
…
When Zahavi and Harris left, they were still looking at Yang Cheng like he'd lost his mind.
To them, Yang Cheng wanting to build a stadium in Hyde Park wasn't just a fantasy—it was waiting on a miracle.
Lin Zhongqiu couldn't figure him out at all.
But he didn't dare doubt him anymore.
Xia Qing, on the other hand, had a hunch after meeting Adam Crozier. But even she hadn't realized how far Yang Cheng's thinking went.
Then Yang Cheng dropped the real bomb:
"Forget £30 million. Even if Chelsea offered £300 million, I wouldn't sell that land!"
They were both stunned.
£300 million?! Was he serious?
"Remember what Crozier told us—about Wembley and Arsenal's stadium. The VIP boxes will make up the bulk of future matchday revenue. It's the 80/20 rule."
20% of the seats bring in 80% of the income.
In his past life, Yang Cheng had seen data showing that, for many top clubs, luxury boxes accounted for half or more of matchday revenue.
Crozier had nailed it.
But that wasn't all.
Why had Spurs spent over a billion pounds on their new stadium?
Why had Real Madrid dumped a fortune into renovating the Bernabéu?
Inflation? Materials?
Don't be naïve.
Those stadiums weren't just built for football.
Especially Bernabéu.
Florentino was building an urban entertainment hub—shopping, dining, events—a mini Disney World for Real Madrid fans.
"Think about it. South of Hyde Park is Knightsbridge and Harrods—London's most valuable commercial zone."
"We've got Kensington Palace nearby, Notting Hill, six underground lines—we're the most connected spot in London."
"If I build a shopping mall right here, how much do you think it's worth?"
Yang Cheng had a theory: Abramovich wanted that land not just for a stadium, but for the potential real estate goldmine.
Maybe he hadn't figured it out yet—but his instincts were spot-on.
Knightsbridge was worth more than its weight in gold.
If Yang Cheng was right, the land wasn't just worth £300 million—it could be worth far more.
Xia Qing was the first to realize the scope of his vision.
Her eyes lit up.
She hadn't expected him to have such depth of foresight—and such insane ambition.
"But seriously," she asked, "do you really believe you can build something like that with Bayswater Chinese?"
That kind of project wasn't tens of millions—it was hundreds of millions.
Yang Cheng just smiled.
And in that smile—there was a confidence that defied logic.
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