Chapter 80: Yang Cheng, Name Your Price! My Premier League Journey Starts with Chelsea!
"Hey, bro."
Back in her cozy little apartment—softly lit and full of her personal touches—Xia Qing had just taken a hot, fragrant shower. Now lying on her bed, gently biting her lower lip, she picked up her phone and called her older brother Xia Xi back in China.
"Wow, little sis, why are you calling me at this hour?"
He paused, then quickly added, "Wait, it should be the middle of the night in London, right?"
"It's nothing. I heard you moved out again and got your own place?"
"Yeah, Mom was driving me nuts—always bringing her female students home. I couldn't take it anymore."
Xia Qing pictured her brother's disgusted and helpless expression and couldn't help but giggle.
"You're the lucky one, sis—so much freedom. Me? I've never even known what it feels like to have any authority at home."
"Mom just wants what's best for you. You're not getting any younger—it's time to settle down." Xia Qing mimicked their mother's nagging tone.
"Oh, you want to play that game? I'll give you one last chance to take that back. If you don't, I'm only going to answer every question from here on out with one word—'No.'"
Xia Qing laughed again.
This was a childhood game the two of them had played for years.
"How'd you know I was calling for a favor?"
"Please. You, calling me in the middle of the night and skipping beauty sleep? I'd have to be an idiot not to know."
"Alright, I'll keep it short. I'm pressed for time, and I've got to head out to the field again in a few days."
Xia Qing knew her brother's job was demanding, so she didn't beat around the bush. She explained that Adam Crozier was planning a trip to China and asked for help setting up some contacts.
"Bro, you've got a lot of friends in the capital, and didn't you say you're close with someone at China Central Television? Think you could help us out?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end. When he spoke again, his tone had changed a bit.
"Xia Qing, if I remember correctly, this is the first time you've ever asked the family for help with someone else's business."
"You didn't even tell anyone when you quit Goldman Sachs and jumped to work at a football club. And now you're asking me to help that same club…"
"Bro, I swear, I'm just helping a friend. Don't get the wrong idea."
"I'm not misunderstanding anything."
"But I think you are."
"I'm really not misunderstanding anything."
Xia Qing rolled her eyes. Arguing with her brother over this was clearly a waste of time.
"Just tell me—will you help or not?"
"Of course I will!"
Xia Qing never asked for favors lightly. The fact that she was doing so now meant it mattered. No matter how difficult the task, Xia Xi would give it his all.
"But, sis... Can I let Dad know about this? He's way more persuasive than I am."
"No way! Please don't say a word to anyone at home."
"Got it. But the next time I ask you for a favor…"
"I'll walk through fire for you—no questions asked!"
"Now that's the spirit! Miss Xia, I've got this handled."
"Great. And remember to help promote it too."
"Understood."
"And don't mention me."
"Relax. I like football too."
After hanging up, Xia Qing finally allowed herself a relieved smile.
Since coming to Bayswater Chinese FC, she had realized just how much her junior, Yang Cheng, had been through.
In just two years, he'd dragged a club teetering on bankruptcy all the way into the Premier League.
And he'd taken on a mountain of debt to do it.
No matter what, if she could help even a little—she would.
...
After attending the club's summer training camp opening ceremony, Adam Crozier headed off to Asia with a team.
Yang Cheng, meanwhile, buried himself in physical conditioning training with the players at Bayswater Stadium.
The actual drills were handled by his assistants—Yang Cheng's role was more observational. He also chatted with players constantly.
That was one of his strengths.
Training camp was grueling, and Bayswater Chinese FC's summer camp was even more intense.
Yang Cheng used these chats to motivate the players, helping them understand the value of all their hard work.
In just two years, only five players remained from the squad that had played in League Two: Laurent Koscielny, Roger Johnson, Luka Modrić, Franck Ribéry, and Rickie Lambert.
All five had undergone dramatic transformations over the past two seasons.
And in training, they used their own personal stories to show newer teammates what was possible through dedication.
Their leadership, combined with the holdovers from last season, made it easier for the club's new signings to integrate.
Especially José Fonte.
Yang Cheng finally understood why so many teams and players had liked him in his previous life.
He even found himself thinking—if one day Fonte wasn't even good enough for the first-team bench, he'd still want to keep him around.
Having someone like that in the locker room was just too useful.
During Yang Cheng's time at training camp, the club also launched its new season ticket sales as scheduled on July 11.
Just like other London clubs, Bayswater Chinese FC offered no discounts on season tickets.
Arsenal's cheapest season ticket was £885—but those included some cup matches.
Chelsea's lowest tier was £650, which worked out to £34.20 per match.
Bayswater's lowest season ticket? £570—or £30 per match.
Because the club had promoted the sales beforehand and had built up solid attendance numbers over the past two seasons, demand was strong.
In just one morning, they sold 7,000 season tickets.
Yang Cheng was stunned—even Adam Crozier, all the way over in China, was shocked.
The club had only projected 5,000 sales.
After all, Loftus Road only held 18,300 fans.
To move 7,000 in one morning was incredible.
Even more surprising was that it wasn't just the cheaper end-zone seats that sold out—plenty of sideline season tickets sold too.
That proved Bayswater's fans weren't shy about spending money.
According to estimates from their third-party sales partner, they raised their sales forecast to 10,000 season tickets.
Of course, that couldn't compare with the big clubs like Arsenal, Spurs, or Chelsea—and probably still trailed Fulham.
But compared to the past, it was a massive improvement.
If they really did sell 10,000, that would mean several million pounds in revenue.
And believe it or not, many Premier League clubs relied on season ticket sales to fund transfers.
In recent years, the Premier League had even developed what some called the "Bolton Model."
As the name suggests, Bolton started it.
In simple terms, the model meant signing aging players from big clubs—often for free or very low fees.
Take Fernando Hierro, for example.
The benefit of this model was obvious.
These veterans weren't good enough for top clubs anymore but could still perform well for a team like Bolton.
That's why Bolton's performance had steadily improved—last season they even finished sixth.
What's more, these big-name veterans gave Bolton more appeal for overseas commercial matches.
But in Yang Cheng's view, the so-called Bolton Model was ultimately short-sighted.
Sure, they offered immediate strength, and while the players came cheap or free, their weekly wages were sky-high.
The club might save on transfer fees—but payroll expenses soared.
It might work for two or three years... but then what?
These veterans couldn't be sold for any money.
Some even retired after just two or three seasons.
The so-called "Bolton model" might be successful in the short term, but it borrowed heavily from the future.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, Bolton spent a few years in the Premier League, but soon fell to the Championship, then to League One and League Two. By the time Yang Cheng had been reborn, they still hadn't made it back.
Yang Cheng never believed in the Bolton model. He believed in building a solid foundation before unleashing strength.
Over the past two years, every goal Yang Cheng had set for the team was not only achieved—it was exceeded.
That kind of track record had earned him complete respect within the club.
And through that process of continuously setting goals and overachieving, the team had grown stronger and stronger.
Even in his transfer strategy, Yang Cheng placed great emphasis on the passing down of spirit and mentality.
Now, as he spent time chatting with players, he made sure to reinforce that very ethos.
He wanted every single player to believe that Bayswater Chinese FC had not come to the Premier League just to survive.
They were here to overturn the hierarchy!
To break the system!
But just as Yang Cheng was immersed in the club's tight and fulfilling preseason grind, a call from Kesh Harris broke the rhythm.
Roman Abramovich had invited him to dinner.
The venue: the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, South Gate of Hyde Park.
…
Yang Cheng was no stranger to Roman Abramovich.
In his previous life, he'd coached Chelsea, met the Russian countless times.
In public, the Russian billionaire always seemed like the perfect gentleman.
Always smiling. Always polite.
Just like now, when he welcomed Yang Cheng warmly and started showering him with praise.
He praised Yang Cheng's success managing and coaching Bayswater Chinese FC.
He expressed confidence in the team's prospects in the Premier League.
But Yang Cheng had no patience for this sugar-coated small talk. He bluntly pierced the pleasantries.
"We're playing Chelsea in the opening match of the season. Thanks for the kind words, Roman. I'll be sure to pass your well wishes along to my players."
Abramovich's smile froze.
Was that what I meant?
Pini Zahavi, Kesh Harris, and Marina Granovskaia—who was accompanying as Abramovich's personal assistant—exchanged puzzled glances.
Is this guy serious? Does he have to tear down the atmosphere like this?
Yang Cheng saw their expressions—and he was enjoying every second of it.
Back when he coached Chelsea, he'd been too nice. That's how his assistant ended up stealing half a Champions League title right out of his hands.
"No problem," Abramovich replied, regaining composure. "I truly hope your team performs at its best and delivers an exciting spectacle for fans all over the world on opening day."
At its best, huh?
The implication being that Bayswater would still fall short of Chelsea.
"With the experience of our last two matches, we're feeling confident," Yang Cheng said, driving the knife even deeper—with a smile.
God, that felt satisfying.
This time, Abramovich's expression visibly changed. He turned and looked at Kesh Harris.
Harris instantly got the cue, gave a small cough, and turned to Yang Cheng to shift the subject.
"Mr. Yang, let's save match talk for the pitch. Let's focus on the club itself."
Yang Cheng maintained his polite smile. Finally, he thought. Let's get to the real reason I'm here.
"We all know Bayswater Chinese FC has invested heavily in its training base. But you're still renting Queen's Park Rangers' stadium for home games. That's not sustainable in the long run."
"With the club's current situation, we believe it's highly unlikely that your previous goal of building the best football stadium in the world will happen anytime soon."
"Whether you rush into construction using the current framework, or keep it as a training ground, it would still be a massive waste."
Yang Cheng nodded. He agreed.
It was a waste.
If he had the money, he'd have demolished and rebuilt long ago.
But his nod, to everyone else at the table, seemed to carry a different meaning.
"Roman has invested heavily for three consecutive seasons. He has the means and he genuinely loves football. He truly wants to be friends with you. So, let's write off all the misunderstandings from before."
"Now, Chelsea would like to present a new proposal."
"There are two options. First, Chelsea proposes to trade Stamford Bridge for Bayswater's stadium and land. During Chelsea's stadium reconstruction, both clubs would share Stamford Bridge as their home ground."
Yang Cheng was genuinely stunned by that.
Trading Stamford Bridge for his modest site?
That was... serious.
"A second option," Kesh Harris continued. "You name your price."
…
In his previous life, Yang Cheng had often asked himself—
Why did things get so bad between him and Abramovich? So bad that he was fired on the return flight after an away game?
Because the more they worked together, the more they disliked each other.
And the more successful Chelsea became under Yang Cheng, the worse that dislike grew—into disgust.
What Abramovich thought, Yang Cheng could never be sure.
But as for himself, what he hated most was Abramovich's I'm rich, therefore you all exist to serve me attitude—that lofty, entitled arrogance that looked down on everyone else.
That was the real reason he got fired.
But now?
Now they were equals.
After hearing Kesh Harris's proposal, Yang Cheng didn't respond immediately. He turned to Abramovich, gave a little chuckle, and smiled.
"Roman, have you ever been to China?"
Abramovich, thinking he had an opening, smiled back. "Not yet. But I'd love to."
"Many foreigners find it hard to adjust when they first arrive."
"Sure, the climate, food, culture, and language…" Abramovich nodded.
"No, no. Those are just surface-level differences," Yang Cheng interrupted.
"There was once an Indian noblewoman from a high caste who traveled to China and criticized it as worthless."
"I believe many Westerners feel uncomfortable in China for a similar reason."
"Because in China, they don't receive the same level of reverence they're used to in Southeast Asia, South America—even Japan and South Korea."
The others at the table were confused.
Where was he going with this?
"In my homeland, yes, there are impoverished people, people in shady professions. Yes, wealthy families have maids and servants…"
"But in my homeland, there is no such thing as an inherently inferior class of people."
"If you have money, that's your business. I may work for you, earn your wage, and provide my labor. That's all. It doesn't mean I am beneath you as a person."
"Even if we don't rebel on the surface, deep down inside, we never let go of one core belief."
'Are kings and nobles born of different blood than I?'
"When I'm poor, I can endure hunger and hardship. I'll take whatever work I can find. But it's all so that one day, when I've mastered my craft, I'll rise, make my name, and live in glory!"
Yang Cheng's tone was calm and measured, but to Abramovich, Zahavi, and the others, it was like a thunderclap on a clear day.
They couldn't even imagine living in a country with that kind of mindset.
In his Knightsbridge mansion, Abramovich had three butlers and over a dozen servants on call 24/7—providing him with the most professional, aristocratic lifestyle money could buy in the UK.
At home, he lived like a king from Kensington Palace or Buckingham Palace.
He couldn't imagine—how could those butlers and servants offer true service if they secretly harbored such ambition?
No. It was completely different.
Those butlers took pride in providing professional service to nobles.
Only when someone genuinely embraced that mindset, and was proud of it, could they serve their "master" with meticulous dedication.
Abramovich was an exceptionally clever man.
The moment this thought crossed his mind, he immediately understood what Yang Cheng meant.
In China, there was no such thing as being born inferior.
Everyone was striving to rise!
Wasn't that the same spirit behind Bayswater Chinese FC?
Was this Chinese-run club also unwilling to stay beneath others? Were they aiming to rise, to one day step over Chelsea, over every elite club?
And the land beneath Bayswater Stadium—that was his opportunity!
…
Yang Cheng left.
He didn't give any answer—just smiled and walked away.
Leaving behind a baffled table and a story no one fully understood.
But Abramovich was furious!
With a violent sweep, he knocked all the dishes and silverware off the table, glaring in the direction Yang Cheng had gone, his teeth clenched in rage.
He'd made what he believed was his most sincere offer.
But Yang Cheng wasn't just unmoved—he had trampled on his dignity!
That was something Abramovich could never tolerate.
Pini Zahavi and Kesh Harris stood frozen. Neither dared to make a sound.
They had never seen Abramovich this angry before.
But what just happened? What was it about that story?
Was there some hidden meaning they missed?
"It looks like… he's not going to sell no matter what," Marina Granovskaia said with a sigh.
She understood.
"So what? Who does he think he is?" Abramovich snapped.
"I think that kid's got ambition. And to be fair, he really is a capable coach. We'd better be careful," Marina replied.
Abramovich snorted coldly. "But this is Britain, not China. That kind of talk won't get him anywhere here!"
Marina hesitated. She wanted to say, Are you sure the British buy into our way of doing things either?
Because if what worked in Russia worked just as well in the UK, that land would've been Chelsea's long ago.
Would Yang Cheng even have had a chance to stand in front of Abramovich and tell his little story?
After a long, deep exhale, Abramovich finally calmed down.
"Pini."
"Yes, boss." Zahavi immediately approached, grinning as always.
But for some reason, looking at that eager-to-please face, Abramovich was reminded of Yang Cheng's story again.
He began to wonder—was Pini Zahavi really as loyal as he acted?
Or was his loyalty simply tied to conditions?
"Keep pushing the government," Abramovich said, brushing aside the distracting thoughts. "Find a way to put pressure on them. Ideally, find an opening and reclaim the land outright."
He spoke in a low, heavy tone.
"Marina."
His assistant nodded steadily, neither humble nor servile.
"Tell the team—I'll be attending the opening match in person. No matter what, we must win!"
No matter what the future held. No matter how hard you try to rise.
Right now, I will trample you under my feet.
You're nothing but mud!
…
The moment Yang Cheng left the Mandarin Oriental, he knew—he had completely offended Abramovich.
But so what?
After today's meeting, Chelsea likely wouldn't bother him again anytime soon.
More importantly, from that short conversation, Yang Cheng had picked up on something.
There was more to Westminster City Council's letter than met the eye.
If Abramovich's people weren't behind it, then how would they have known about it?
"Looks like we really do need to take government relations seriously," Yang Cheng muttered.
The first person who came to mind was Adam Crozier.
That man was like a brick—put him wherever he was needed.
And with his network in the UK, he was the perfect person to handle this.
What, you thought earning a million-pound salary was easy?
As for the new Premier League season, Yang Cheng was more excited than ever.
Even though training had only been underway for a short time, he already had a clear read on Yaya Touré's level.
At 23, Yaya Touré had come to Europe in 2001, joining Belgian side Beveren.
In the summer of 2003, he trialed with Arsenal and even played a friendly against Barnet in an Arsenal shirt—but he was terrible.
Wenger didn't keep him.
Despite the fact that his brother, Kolo Touré, was one of Wenger's most trusted defenders.
In January 2004, Yaya moved to Ukrainian club Metalurh Donetsk, where he continued to hone his game.
Before signing him, Yang Cheng had been a bit hesitant.
Not because he doubted the Ivorian's potential, but because he wasn't sure about his current readiness.
But after watching him train, Yang Cheng was convinced.
The midfield was about to get very interesting.
Modrić was a master of ball control and passing—especially long passes.
Now that Huddlestone was gone, Modrić would inherit that mantle.
Lassana Diarra was excellent at pressing and covering ground.
And Yaya Touré?
He was the most complete midfielder Yang Cheng had ever seen.
Maybe even the best—eventually.
Because his other favorite midfielder, Paul Pogba, didn't defend well and couldn't play as a holding midfielder.
But Yaya Touré could. And not only that—he had to.
He was at his best making those devastating runs from deep.
At 1.91 meters tall, weighing 90 kg, with African speed and power, and superb technique...
When a player like that surged forward with the ball from midfield—who could stop him?
That's why Yaya couldn't be positioned too far forward. He needed to play deeper, where he had more space and freedom.
This was also why he eventually lost out to Busquets at Barcelona.
In Guardiola's Barça, neither Xavi nor Iniesta could protect Yaya when he pushed forward.
And a high-pressing Barça didn't need Yaya's deep runs.
But this Bayswater Chinese FC?
With Lassana Diarra covering the ground, Yaya could make those runs.
Of course, it meant Yang Cheng would need to fine-tune Diarra's positioning even further.
Judging from last season, the French midfielder had calmed down significantly and improved a great deal.
Diarra and Modrić in the center, with Yaya Touré behind them...
Yang Cheng had every confidence that this midfield trio would shock the Premier League.
My Premier League begins with Chelsea on opening day!
…
After two weeks of training camp, the team played their first friendly.
The result? A dull 0–0 draw away at Brentford.
Yang Cheng wasn't bothered in the slightest.
He never cared about friendly results.
Four days later, they traveled to St. Mary's Stadium and drew 1–1 with Southampton.
In that match, Yang Cheng had a little fun—he subbed on Gareth Bale and Theo Walcott. With Lambert starting, all three were former Saints in Yang Cheng's past life.
After those two draws, the team returned to London for a brief rest.
On July 21, they departed again—off to mainland Europe for their preseason tour.
The team first traveled to Rotterdam, Netherlands, and lost 0–1 to Feyenoord.
Dutch striker Dirk Kuyt scored the only goal of the match.
Yang Cheng felt a twinge of regret for Kuyt.
Once such an efficient scorer, but when he got to Liverpool, Benítez turned him into a workhorse.
After facing Feyenoord, the team flew to Dortmund, Germany.
On the 25th, Bayswater Chinese FC lost again, 1–2 to Borussia Dortmund—back-to-back defeats.
From two draws to two losses, the team had gone four friendlies without a win.
Several British media outlets, in their previews of the upcoming Premier League season, expressed disappointment over Bayswater Chinese FC, who had gone through significant changes.
Yang Cheng, however, kept testing and refining his team.
On the 28th, in Lille, northern France, the team finally got a win—2–1 against Lille. A breath of fresh air at last.
But upon returning to London, they were immediately faced with a tough home friendly: a clash against Serie A giants Inter Milan.
Travel-weary and fatigued, Bayswater Chinese FC were broken down twice by Adriano.
A 0–2 loss at home.
Still, on August 3rd, against QPR, Yang Cheng's squad finally delivered with a clean and decisive 3–0 win.
That match made it abundantly clear—QPR could no longer pretend the gap between the two clubs was close. It had become a gulf.
After playing seven friendlies, Bayswater had recorded 2 wins, 2 draws, and 3 losses—not great, but not terrible either.
While the results weren't spectacular, the club's season ticket sales were nothing short of amazing.
They had expected to sell 5,000. But on the very first morning of sales, they'd already moved 7,000.
A month later, that number had climbed to 13,000.
This far exceeded the expectations of Yang Cheng and his team.
Even the third-party ticketing company was stunned.
Their final analysis? Bayswater's ticket prices were relatively low, and their home form over the past two seasons had been excellent.
Yang Cheng paid no attention to any of that.
He locked himself in at Bayswater Stadium with his squad, grinding through final preparations for the season opener.
He had a big surprise in store for Mourinho and Chelsea!
…
As August arrived, the Premier League season drew closer.
The transfer window was nearing its end, and clubs across the league were wrapping up business.
Once again, Chelsea was the biggest headline-maker in the transfer market.
Michael Essien and Shaun Wright-Phillips—those two signings stole the show.
Especially Essien.
£24.4 million—making him the most expensive signing of the Premier League summer window.
Still, Chelsea offloaded some strong squad players on the cheap: Tiago, Kežman, and Scott Parker.
In contrast to Chelsea's bottomless war chest, Arsenal had once again gone with patchwork solutions.
The long-running transfer saga finally ended—captain Patrick Vieira left for Juventus.
And 32-year-old Pires was still stalling on a contract renewal.
The Sun even reported that Arsenal had submitted a £15 million offer to newly promoted Bayswater Chinese FC for Franck Ribéry—an offer the club rejected.
From a time-traveler's point of view, Yang Cheng believed Arsenal had actually made two very good deals this summer.
They signed Aleksandr Hleb from Stuttgart and took Alex Song on loan from Bastia.
But neither move made much noise in the British press.
Manchester United weren't doing much better than Arsenal.
Sure, the Gunners still had plenty of talent, but United had yet to bring in any players who truly elevated the squad.
Veterans like Van der Sar and Foster were brought in to shore up a weak goalkeeper position.
Ji-Sung Park was signed from PSV more for commercial reasons than sporting ones.
As the team's tactics were in transition, Van Nistelrooy no longer fit, weakening the attack. Captain Roy Keane was aging and unreliable.
Ferguson's lack of major signings had raised eyebrows.
But Yang Cheng could understand what Sir Alex was thinking.
Ferguson was waiting.
Waiting for his tactical overhaul to settle. Waiting for Rooney and Ronaldo to mature.
And with a tactical genius like Ferguson in charge, no one dared underestimate United.
The man always found a way to win with the most underwhelming hands.
Liverpool, fresh off a Champions League triumph, took a more pragmatic approach.
They brought in Zenden, Sissoko, Crouch, and Reina—not expensive signings, but all highly functional.
Their overall squad strength improved greatly.
From Yang Cheng's perspective, none of the top four Premier League clubs would be easy to deal with.
With Essien onboard, Chelsea—setting aside Mourinho's style—was arguably the most complete and competitive team in Europe.
And the hardest to beat.
Of the remaining three:
United were in transition, with an aging squad and a thin midfield.Arsenal also had an aging core and an unstable defense.Liverpool were the opposite—solid at the back, weak up front.
Chelsea had no obvious weaknesses, whether in terms of roster depth or tactical execution.
The British media agreed—Chelsea were once again the overwhelming title favorites.
For mid-table teams, most believed the gap with the top four would only widen.
As for the relegation battle, many expressed concern for Bayswater Chinese FC.
Sunderland and West Ham were Premier League veterans. They knew how to survive.
Bayswater? Led by 24-year-old Yang Cheng—the youngest manager in Premier League history.
From top to bottom, the club had no one with Premier League experience.
They had also lost highly-rated Tom Huddlestone and Championship top scorer Dave Kitson in the offseason.
Under such circumstances, Bayswater Chinese FC was dubbed the number-one relegation favorite.
Ironically, the Premier League's opening match this season would be: the title favorite vs. the relegation favorite.
…
Wedged between the roaring Heathrow Airport and the traffic-choked highways, the air thick with the burnt bitterness of coffee…
This was Chelsea's training base.
Every time Mourinho stood in the shabby, warehouse-like training building and looked out at the club's only two pitches, he couldn't help but curse under his breath: Those useless Premier League chairmen should be dragged out and shot.
Of course, he wasn't talking about Abramovich.
"Post this bonus plan in the dressing room—make sure every player sees it."
Mourinho signed a fax and handed it to his assistant Faria.
It had just come through from Stamford Bridge—this season's bonus structure.
Abramovich had promised massive incentives.
With the Community Shield already in the bag, if Chelsea could go on to win the Premier League, Champions League, League Cup, and FA Cup, the total bonus pool for the players would reach £15 million.
The largest reward scheme in Premier League history.
Even Mourinho was fired up just looking at it.
On top of that, Abramovich's personal assistant, Marina Granovskaia, had called him directly:
No matter what, the season opener must be won.
Deliver a statement.
"This match isn't just the Premier League's curtain-raiser—it's a global broadcast event. Treat it with the utmost importance!"
"We finally made a splash on our U.S. tour—we can't afford to slip up in the league!"
Even though they were playing away, even though Chelsea had already lost twice to newly promoted Bayswater Chinese FC, Mourinho was brimming with confidence.
Chelsea had fulfilled all of his demands.
Including the high-priced signing of Michael Essien.
That made Mourinho feel even more assured, more powerful.
Ranieri's failures had nothing to do with him.
The League Cup final loss? Just a fluke.
Now, three months later, Mourinho was ready to get it all back—and this time, win so convincingly that no one could question it.
"What's that annoying neighbor of ours been up to lately?"
Thinking of Bayswater Chinese FC, Mourinho couldn't help but recall Yang Cheng.
His instincts as a manager had long told him that Yang Cheng was the most dangerous man in that entire club.
Just 24 years old, a Premier League rookie.
But there was something sharp and seasoned about him—something ruthless.
Reminded Mourinho of Ferguson.
"He snuck into Millennium Stadium in Cardiff to watch our Community Shield match against Arsenal, but apart from that, he's been staying in, working at the training ground," Faria reported.
Mourinho's brow furrowed.
"No new signings?"
"None. The last move was bringing in two youngsters from Southampton. I checked—they both performed well in the youth ranks. Known for being technically sound and lightning fast."
Fast?
Mourinho wasn't impressed.
The Premier League was never short on pacey forwards or wingers.
Chelsea alone had three of the league's fastest: Robben, Duff, and Shaun Wright-Phillips.
"What about Yaya Touré's ability?"
"Average. He trialed at Arsenal two years ago and was terrible. Wenger didn't even consider activating the special talent clause for him."
Faria paused, then added with a smirk, "In that regard, Wenger's not as generous as Yang Cheng."
Mourinho couldn't help but laugh.
Generous? Yang Cheng?
Bayswater Chinese FC had been the first English club to ever invoke the special talent clause—for a Croatian midfielder they signed for £230,000.
Yang Cheng said he was a genius.
But so far, this so-called genius hadn't shown anything special.
That kid—Modrić—looked downright scrawny and barely noticeable on the pitch.
And this summer, Yang Cheng had invoked the clause again, paying just £50,000 to sign a midfielder from Bosnia, then insisting he was actually a genius striker.
All of England nearly laughed itself into a coma.
What a joke!
Bosnia?
You think a genius would come from there?
And for £50,000?
Even if he didn't respect Yang Cheng much, Mourinho never underestimated his opponents.
"Drogba's been in top form lately. He destroyed Senderos in the Community Shield. Keep him sharp—we'll need him to fire in the league opener."
Mourinho valued Drogba highly.
Not only was the Ivorian tactically vital, but his finishing was deadly. He bagged a brace in the Community Shield.
"Also, talk to Carvalho. Gallas and Terry have been forming a strong partnership. He's going to have to sit out for a while."
Mourinho kept dishing out instructions to Faria.
Chelsea had traveled across the Atlantic this summer for commercial reasons—but they hadn't slacked on preparation.
For the first match of the new season, Mourinho was going all in.
He already had the starting lineup sketched out in his head:
Goalkeeper: Cech
Defense: Del Horno, Gallas, Terry, Ferreira
Midfield: Makelele sitting deep, Lampard and Essien central
Forwards: Robben, Drogba, Duff
This was Chelsea's strongest and most in-form starting eleven.
On the bench: Joe Cole, Shaun Wright-Phillips, Crespo, Gudjohnsen.
"This trip to Loftus Road—I want to smash our noisy little neighbor, the one that just crawled up from the Championship. Show them what the real Premier League is like."
"Best case? Kick them straight back down to the Championship."
By the end of it, Mourinho's normally composed face had hardened with a chilling edge.
…
Robben returns!
Terry returns!
Makelele returns!
One blow after another—Yang Cheng was receiving nothing but bad news after the Community Shield.
All three had been injured during Chelsea's U.S. tour in a match against AC Milan, but they'd recovered quickly once back in England.
Judging by their Community Shield performance, they were all in top form.
Drogba? He scored a brace in just 58 minutes.
The Ivorian beast had practically ripped Arsenal's lungs out.
The Gunners only managed to pull one back after Drogba went off.
Senderos had been so traumatized by Drogba that he was subbed off after just 72 minutes.
"Honestly, with the addition of Essien, Mourinho's Chelsea is damn near perfect," Brian Kidd sighed, both helpless and frustrated.
Money could buy anything.
And if the manager had a wishlist, Chelsea could fill it with cheques.
Yang Cheng had to admit, too—apart from lacking a bit of midfield creativity and control, this Chelsea side was flawless.
Even worse, it wasn't just the starting eleven that was frightening—their bench could crush most Premier League teams.
"Against a team like this… where do you even start?" Brian Kidd muttered with a sigh.
That, Yang Cheng believed, was exactly how every opponent felt when they played Chelsea.
Like facing an unbreakable wall of steel.
No gaps. No weaknesses.
"True," Yang Cheng smiled confidently. "But not entirely."
"If it were a whole season's race, competing with Chelsea head-to-head, we'd be doomed. That'd be idiotic."
"But in a single 90-minute match—if we want to fight them toe-to-toe—we still have a chance."
Brian Kidd's eyes lit up.
After two years of working together, he was in awe of Yang Cheng's tactical mind.
"What's the plan?"
"Speed."
"Speed?"
"When facing a team like Chelsea, you've only got two options. Either slow the game down to control it, or speed it up to disrupt them."
Both strategies were sound—it all depended on whether your team could execute them.
Slowing the game down required impeccable ball control and passing accuracy.
Across Europe, there weren't many teams that could pull that off. Probably none, to be honest.
Rijkaard's Barcelona maybe managed it.
Perhaps Guardiola's Barça—that dream team—could do it.
But Bayswater Chinese FC?
No chance.
Which left only one option: fight speed with speed.
In Yang Cheng's eyes, the key to the match was simple—shut down Drogba.
At the moment, Bayswater didn't have anyone capable of doing that.
So what could they do?
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