Chapter 64: Igniting the Court-Wings on the Green Field(Commerce and Industry)

As Dai Zhiwei launched his solo attack, there was an almost imperceptible shift in the positioning of Evergrande’s forwards and midfielders: apart from Dai himself, only Robinho continued his forward run, ready at any moment to seize the ball should Dai be dispossessed, while the rest of the Evergrande players kept a careful eye on their distribution of strength in midfield, wary of Barcelona’s counterattack.

Yes, at that moment, as Dai Zhiwei charged at full speed towards Barcelona’s goal, Evergrande’s first instinct was not to support his run, but to consolidate their defense.

In truth, far too often, Huaxia football has not only lacked the ability to defeat the strongest teams, but more crucially, lost the courage to challenge them.

The Evergrande fans in the stadium erupted in ecstatic screams at Dai Zhiwei’s surging run, their waves of cheers rising and falling, generating a heat that seemed to roll through the Yokohama cold like a surging tide.

Every Huaxia supporter inside the Yokohama International Stadium shouted Dai Zhiwei’s name at the top of their lungs, even though the young man in the number 24 jersey could not possibly hear them, and even though they themselves could scarcely make out what they were screaming in the chaotic din.

Our team may lack mettle, but our fans are truly world-class!

Dai Zhiwei felt the scene before his eyes rush past in a blur as he broke through line after line of defense, fearless and unstoppable, until the figure of Adriano—recently brought on as a substitute—materialized in his path.

Unlike Alba, who had already tasted Dai Zhiwei’s dazzling footwork and treated him with caution, Adriano, fresh on the pitch, underestimated his opponent, rashly attempting to intercept.

To him, what threat could an Asian striker possibly pose?

“A great chance!”

Accelerating at top speed, Dai Zhiwei saw Adriano move directly into his path and felt a surge of delight. Had his opponent opted for a more cautious, body-to-body defense to slow him down, things might have been tricky, but this attempt at a direct interception was exactly what Dai Zhiwei wanted.

Facing Adriano, Dai deftly flicked the ball with the inside of his right foot, feinted with a body swerve, then used his right foot to push the ball past his man, instantly cutting to the inside and employing that sharp right-angle feint once more.

“That’s the same right-angle dribble as before?”

Adriano’s face paled in shock; only now did he realize that Piqué and Alba hadn’t been careless when Dai Zhiwei had beaten them, but that Dai’s dribbling skill was simply extraordinary. His own rash challenge left him badly outmaneuvered with just a shift of Dai’s balance.

Nevertheless, Adriano was a top-class fullback—otherwise he wouldn’t have lasted at Barcelona. He recovered quickly, turning and sprinting desperately to chase down Dai Zhiwei, who had cut inside.

With Adriano beaten, Dai Zhiwei faced Mascherano, who had been watching him from the start. Seeing Dai cut in, Mascherano moved to intercept.

“That troublesome Little Masch again!”

Dai Zhiwei frowned slightly. He had left Piqué behind with his right-angle feint as if the defender were a mere training cone, but Mascherano had managed to stop him one-on-one with the same move before.

In terms of individual defending, Mascherano was clearly superior to Piqué and Alba.

By Dai’s estimation, Mascherano’s defensive ability rated above ninety, with agility no less than eighty.

Yet Dai Zhiwei didn’t hesitate—not for an instant. He knew that if he paused, Barcelona’s defenders would close in from all sides, and he would inevitably lose the ball.

As Mascherano drew near, Dai shifted direction with dazzling footwork, his upper body calm and steady, his feet moving in a blur—a flurry of step-overs right outside Barcelona’s penalty area, putting his skill on full display.

Mascherano, watching Dai’s movements, dared not take him lightly. He tensed with each of Dai’s feints, acutely aware of the gaps opening around him.

Dai’s first skill, the Müller Gas-Thought Dribble, not only gave him an exquisite feel for the ball but made his step-overs utterly devastating.

In terms of pure step-over ability, Dai Zhiwei was at least as good as Robinho at his peak, if not better.

In a fleeting instant, Dai saw Mascherano’s movement stiffen. Keeping his feet dancing, Dai suddenly trapped the ball with his right foot, nudged it with his left, and his body unleashed like a drawn bow.

Before Mascherano could react, Dai burst past him on the right, slipping into the box before Adriano could recover and block his path.

This move sent the already raucous stadium into a frenzy—as if a bowl of water had been thrown into a sizzling pan, excitement and adrenaline erupting in every direction!

With Mascherano beaten, Barcelona’s defense was left dangerously exposed. Dai Zhiwei, single-handedly weaving through their lines, was like a dragon stirring up chaos, leaving panic in his wake.

Barcelona’s keeper, Bravo, rushed out, and Dai now faced him directly, with Mascherano to his left, Adriano closing from behind, and Piqué on his right. Not far back, Busquets and Rakitic were racing to join the defense.

From the overhead camera, Dai confronted Bravo head-on, Piqué to his right, Mascherano left, Adriano behind—Barcelona’s backline closing in like a tightening net.

To call Dai Zhiwei’s situation “beset on all sides, encircled on every front” was no exaggeration!

It seemed he was about to be smothered by Barcelona’s defenders and Evergrande’s chance lost.

But was not Zhao Zilong, with his silver spear and iron courage, famed for breaking through encirclement again and again on the battlefield?

“One-on-one! Dai Zhiwei faces Bravo! Shoot! Shoot!”

At that moment, fans glued to their television screens heard nothing else. Amid the roar transmitted from the stadium, it was as though they too stood among the tens of thousands in Yokohama, watching Dai Zhiwei on the pitch.

Dai charged into the box as Bravo lunged out—spear against shield, clashing in that instant!

“Take flight!”

Dai pounded the turf with his left foot, swung his right leg, and struck the ball.

Thud!

Bravo instinctively dived, trying to cover as much of the goal as possible—only to realize the ball was floating gently over his body toward the net!

At the very last moment before the shot, Dai Zhiwei had deftly scooped the ball with his right foot, sending it into the air in a graceful chip that seemed untouched by the dust of the world.

In slow motion, the ball traced a rainbow arc, passing just over Bravo’s outstretched hand, skimming inside the post, and crossing the line.

“Yes! It’s in!”

He Wei shouted at the top of his lungs, followed by the clattering chaos of overturned objects.

But none of the Huaxia fans at home cared, nor did those in the stadium—they were all too busy cheering Dai Zhiwei’s goal.

On the stands, strangers embraced, moved to tears by that man and that goal.

“Dai Zhiwei!”

Inside the Yokohama International Stadium, Huaxia fans chanted, “Olé, olé, olé, olé,” again and again, shouting Dai Zhiwei’s name.

The stadium was ablaze with his spirit.

Perhaps they were not all Evergrande fans, not all supporters of the national team—but in that moment, they were all Dai Zhiwei’s believers.

Individual brilliance had transcended the team.

“Ahhhhh!” Exhausted after the goal, Dai Zhiwei could barely run. He stood there in Barcelona’s box, fists raised, roaring in triumph.

Soon, he was engulfed by his jubilant teammates, but this time he remained unbowed—standing tall like a solitary mountain that would never yield.

“Captain, are we going for it?” Dai Zhiwei grabbed Zheng Zhi in the crowd and shouted to his elder teammate.

Zheng Zhi understood Dai’s meaning: the score was now 2–3, with less than ten minutes left. If Evergrande could score again, they would tie Barcelona and force extra time.

To draw with Barcelona and play extra time? For every Evergrande player, this was a dream beyond dreams, a legend beyond legends.

Might Barcelona exploit their offensive push and score again? Of course—a 2–3 or 2–4 would make little difference.

Thanks to Dai Zhiwei’s brace, Evergrande had already earned every ounce of respect they deserved.

Zheng Zhi glanced at his teammates and saw a fire—ambition—burning in their eyes, a fire that had long smoldered within him as well.

Dai Zhiwei had ignited not only the stadium but the heart of every Evergrande player.

“Let’s do it! To hell with it!” Zheng Zhi roared.

Dai Zhiwei followed with a shout to his teammates: “Kill them!”

“Kill!”