Chapter 70: The Hometown of the King of Football

"Chen Jian, our opponent tomorrow is Yun Jia Tianyu!" In another guesthouse on the outskirts of Beijing, filled with twelve-year-old boys just like at Yun Jia Tianyu Football School, the living conditions were much the same—four to a room. In one such room, a slightly dark-skinned, somewhat chubby boy eyed the bowl of instant noodles in front of him and spoke to the thinner child beside him.

Chen Jian merely smiled, saying nothing, while another boy with delicate features sneered, "So what? Southern Meixian, Northern Dalian—Guangdong football may be struggling now, but Meixian Football School has never faltered! Mu Shuo, what do you think?"

The last boy, plain-faced and engrossed in a magazine, lifted his head and smiled, "I think Zhou Wenlong is right. We did well in the last two matches; although we drew against Tianjin, we held back our strength. Yun Jia may have beaten Tianjin by four goals, but against Henan, they only won by one. That means their match with Tianjin was already their best performance. If we play well, beating them isn't impossible!"

Zhou Wenlong punched the air, "After we beat them, we'll take down Shanghai, Shandong, and Dalian too, and show them that Meixian truly deserves the title 'Land of Football'!"

"To be fair, Yun Jia isn’t just empty fame. Though they were obscure before, they've won two league titles and two Asian championships—those are facts. You all saw their first two games; their technique is excellent, not much worse than ours. Zhou Wenlong, you saw how their number ten played—his dribbling is at least as good as yours, and honestly, his passing and organizing are even better," Chen Jian said with a smile.

Zhou Wenlong looked unconvinced, but clearly respected Chen Jian enough not to argue. Seeing the chubby boy already slurping down his noodles, he shouted, "Lin Jianwei! You pig! You ate three bowls of rice this afternoon, and now, at nine o'clock, you're eating instant noodles again! If you get any fatter, you won’t be able to run!"

"Stop fussing," Lin Jianwei mumbled through a mouthful of noodles. "If I don't eat, I get hungry, can't sleep, and have no energy on the field! If I play badly, it's your fault."

Zhou Wenlong was speechless. Mu Shuo chuckled, "Let him eat—tomorrow’s game depends on him handling that strong center-back. No one but Jianwei can take him on."

"Exactly. Food is iron, meals are steel—skip one and you're starving," came a voice from the doorway. The door opened and a shiny, jet-black bald head poked in. Anyone unprepared might have been startled, but Chen Jian and the others were unfazed.

"Fan Xuyang, running around again? Please, just stay put tonight. Don’t forget how you nearly gave the gatekeeper, Old Zhang, a heart attack your first night here," Mu Shuo said, laughing.

A grinning black boy walked in, just as sturdy as Lin Jianwei. "Mu Shuo, what’s that supposed to mean? You think I can’t handle their center-back? Jianwei can’t always outmuscle me either."

"But you’re a left winger. You won’t match up against the center-back often, right?" Lin Jianwei said, swallowing the last bite and draining the soup completely. "So it’s up to me."

"I think every anorexic should share a table with Jianwei—the results would be better than beef meatballs," Fan Xuyang said, eyeing Lin Jianwei enviously. He could eat a lot, but nowhere near Jianwei, nor did he have Jianwei’s almost reverent attitude toward food.

"Please, stop calling me Jian. Can't you call me Wei instead?" Lin Jianwei complained.

"Yes, we should change that. We have a Jian right here," Mu Shuo glanced at Chen Jian and smiled.

"Enough joking. Tomorrow is the match—our chance to restore Meixian football's reputation." Chen Jian clenched his fist. "In tomorrow’s game, we’ll show everyone that although Yun Jia Tianyu’s reserves have won the national championship for years, in other age groups, Meixian’s youth football is still the best!"

At his words, the laughter and banter died away, and the boys grew solemn. Their expressions revealed just how long they had waited for this match.

These days, apart from Guangdong fans, few remember the place Meixian football once held in Chinese football history. Meixian, nestled in the mountains, was economically disadvantaged—so while plenty of children played, the football schools and high school teams mostly aimed to help students gain university admission as special talents. It had been nearly a decade since Meixian produced a single national team player. The names of legends like Li Huitang, Zeng Xuelin, Gu Guangming, Chi Minghua, Cai Jinbiao, Guo Yijun, and Xie Yuxin were now just sighs of regret.

Learning their opponent was Yun Jia Tianyu, the boys thought only of one thing: to defeat them beautifully, to show everyone that Meixian is the true land of football. Yun Jia? Who had ever heard of them before!

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"Wow, you even hire foreign players for youth teams?" While warming up, a player whispered to his teammates as they watched Meixian Football School’s warm-up. "Look at that black kid—are you telling me he’s Chinese? Shameless."

The others noticed the conspicuous black child among the opponents warming up. He didn’t look like a typical African, not intensely dark, but his skin clearly wasn’t the product of sun exposure.

"Who cares?" Hu Gandang replied, "Our U-17 Messi is Argentinian, isn’t he? It’s common now. Our first-team Adriano also came up through the youth squad."

"But we’re a top club, always leading nationwide in youth development. Yet only Adriano and Messi have come through the youth teams as foreign players. Is that black kid really that good?" Li Jie wondered aloud.

"Stop calling him ‘black kid’—you’re not exactly white yourself. Watch out or you’ll be accused of racism," Zhang Yi shot Li Jie a look. "Anyway, we’ll see how good he is after the match."

"Heh, I’m confident we’ll win. Besides Dalian, Shandong, Shanghai, and Liaoning, I don’t believe there’s any club in China that can match us in youth training," Li Jie said confidently.

"That’s not a given... They’re from Meixian," Dai Guangming interjected.

"Meixian? What’s so special about Meixian? Never heard of it," Wu Bufan said, puzzled.

"‘South Meixian, North Dalian’—Meixian used to be a football haven, just as famous as Dalian. They’re poor now, so no national players recently, but they produced some real talents back in the day. Their youth training remains among the best in China—we’d better be careful this match," Dai Guangming warned. "Li Huitang, Gu Guangming, Xie Yuxin—all came from Meixian."

"I know Xie Yuxin, he was a national player. But who are Li Huitang and Gu Guangming? Were they really that great?" Wu Bufan asked.

"...Forget it, you must be from Mars," Dai Guangming rolled his eyes.

"Finished warming up? Get ready to take the field!" Ding Yu shouted at them, "Having a nice chat, huh? Maybe I’ll let others play, and you can keep talking on the sidelines!"

The six quickly fell silent. Long Bisheng, who hadn’t spoken at all, chuckled twice, making the others a little annoyed.

Long Bisheng hadn’t spoken, not out of discipline, but because he was still nervous—he simply had no mood for conversation. But hearing his teammates discuss how strong the opponent was, he suddenly felt his tension ease.

The opponents really were tough—hometown of Li Huitang! He knew who Li Huitang was: the only Chinese player ever honored as "King of Football" worldwide, with career goals surpassing Pele. How could his compatriots be weak?

Facing such opponents, even if he didn’t perform well, it wouldn’t necessarily mean anything.

It was this rather defeatist thinking that made Long Bisheng smile—not at the others getting scolded for chatting, but at himself.

Who cares! He’d just play as he did in training and practice matches: contest headers, fight for position—wasn’t that what he did every day?

Two days earlier, during tactical sessions, Long Bisheng had been so stunned at suddenly being named the core that he missed Ding Yu’s instructions: besides contesting headers and positions up front, he was to act as a beacon, the first receiver in counter-attacks, controlling the ball and distributing it to teammates joining the attack.

This directly led to his disastrous performance at the start of the match.