Chapter 85: A Beautiful Life

As the corner kick was taken, the situation in Barcelona’s penalty area became extremely chaotic. The small box was packed with fourteen or fifteen players from both sides, and even before the ball touched down, at least three or four players were already rushing toward its landing point.

Bakambu, who had just come onto the field, seized the opportunity thanks to his fresh energy. He lunged forward, prodding the ball toward the goal with the tip of his boot.

“Bang!”

Although Ter Stegen only saw the trajectory of the ball when it reached the six-yard box, he displayed the reflexes of a world-class goalkeeper, instinctively dropping down to block the shot with his leg, despite its moderate speed.

“Whoa!” The Villarreal fans groaned in despair, hearts pounding as if about to leap from their chests, but in the next instant their eyes widened in disbelief.

On the other side, Barcelona’s supporters, who had just been shouting in celebration for Ter Stegen’s miraculous save, suddenly fell silent, as if their throats had been gripped tight—utterly speechless.

Ter Stegen’s hurried save failed to clear the ball far enough; after traveling seven or eight meters, it dropped toward the left side of the box, now deserted.

Just then, a player sprinted toward the ball’s landing spot while his teammates stood momentarily stunned.

“Bang!”

Like the thunder of a cannon! Like a deadly sword!

As Ter Stegen, still wearing a smile, prepared to climb back up from the goal line, he was blinded for a moment. Then, in the net behind him, he saw the very thing he least wanted to see—the ball.

When the young German lion turned to look out onto the field once more, he saw a group of burly men in yellow shirts crowding around a young man in the same Villarreal jersey, cheering and going wild!

It turned out the ball, which Ter Stegen had cleared with a sliding tackle, landed just two meters in front of him inside the box.

Presented with this gift from the heavens, how could he refuse? With a single stride, he charged forward, striking the ball mid-air before it could touch the ground—a furious volley that skimmed the post and soared straight into the near corner of the goal!

2:2!

Though the goal came so suddenly, Dai Zhiwei had long since planned his celebration.

He extended his right thumb, index, and middle fingers, curling the ring and pinky, forming a pistol gesture, then brought it to his lips and blew gently.

Just like a cowboy in a Western, blowing the smoke from his gun after a kill—cool, cold, and beautiful!

Immediately, Dai Zhiwei was surrounded by his jubilant teammates.

Meanwhile, the TV cameras replayed his pistol-blowing celebration again and again, immortalizing the classic moment.

Because of this gesture, Dai Zhiwei earned his first iconic nickname—Gunman!

With Dai Zhiwei’s quick-witted strike leveling the score for Villarreal, the referee granted Barcelona one more minute to attack. Unfortunately, Neymar’s shot soared off target, and Villarreal held Barcelona to a 2–2 draw at home, securing a precious point.

…

Today’s press conference drew nearly every Spanish football media outlet. By the time Dai Zhiwei and Marcelino arrived, many reporters had been waiting for over ten minutes.

Dai Zhiwei wore Villarreal’s training kit, looking youthful, handsome, and full of fighting spirit.

“Oh, for the first time, Chinese reporters are in the minority.” In previous post-match press conferences, Chinese reporters usually took the lead, occupying at least half of the media seats. This time, their numbers had grown, but they were still a niche group.

Such is Barcelona’s influence in Spain.

Seeing the hero of the equalizer arrive, the Villarreal press host joked, “The big stars always make their entrance last.”

Clearly, after managing to hold Barcelona, the fans of the Yellow Submarine were delighted with the result.

Hearing the host’s words, Dai Zhiwei smiled and sat down. Having spent nearly three months in Spain, he was already accustomed to Western ways of interaction. The habit of maintaining humility at all times back home had long been abandoned, so he accepted the “big star” label with a smile.

“All right, let’s begin the press conference.” With everyone present, the host paused, then addressed the journalists, “Hello everyone, welcome to today’s press conference. We’ll now answer your questions in detail.”

No sooner had the host finished speaking than a reporter eagerly raised a question: “Dai, hello, I’m Ortega-Gasset from Mundo Deportivo. I know you faced Barcelona in the Club World Cup last December and scored twice; today you scored again against them. Does it feel especially wonderful?”

“Yes, it feels absolutely wonderful, especially here at the stadium of love songs,” Dai Zhiwei replied patiently.

He couldn’t help but compare Ortega-Gasset’s question from Mundo Deportivo to the similarly silly questions from Dong Rina of China’s sports channel.

While paparazzi and reporters who chase after odd queries are generally loathed by footballers, in such formal settings, these journalists display considerable professionalism.

Dai Zhiwei, having been a small-time editor in his previous life, knew that few reporters have real integrity; their pens can produce beautiful prose or slander at will. To avoid being blackened out of nowhere, he always answered their questions thoroughly at press conferences.

“Dai, I noticed you were laughing and chatting with Suarez after the match. Could you share what you talked about?”

“Heh.” Dai Zhiwei chuckled. “Luis and I are friends; we were just discussing things friends talk about, nothing important.”

Of course, he wasn’t about to disclose that, after a draw and a loss against Suarez, he had promised that next time, he would lead his team to victory.

Such childish content, Dai Zhiwei would never reveal to the media.

…

“At last, I can get a proper rest for a few days.”

Following the match with Barcelona came a two-week international break. Since he had already secured early qualification for the Asian World Cup preliminaries, after discussions with the national team manager Jin Chang and Perrin’s staff, Dai Zhiwei was permitted to remain in Villarreal and skip national duty.

For these two weeks, apart from light daily training at the club, he had no intention of extra practice. After a year since his rebirth, he hadn’t had a single holiday longer than a week; he was truly weary of training.

Now, finally with ample time, Dai Zhiwei planned to use the break to relax.

Perhaps, invite a girl out.

…

“Chaoyue, over here!”

Yang Chaoyue’s flight arrived punctually at Xiaoshan Airport, and Dai Zhiwei spotted her from afar at the exit—baseball jacket on top, athletic pants below, the image of an energetic young woman.

“Here, let me take your luggage.” What better time to display gentlemanly manners?

Yang Chaoyue graciously handed over her suitcase.

Naturally, her trip to Spain was at Dai Zhiwei’s invitation, with him covering round-trip airfare.

He always treated beauties with special care—except those who acted up.

“The car’s pretty ordinary, courtesy of the sponsor,” Dai Zhiwei explained as he drove a Kia Sorento provided by Yueda-Kia, worth less than thirty thousand euros in Spain—a modest vehicle for a footballer earning millions a year.

He didn’t mind; a free car was a nice perk. But now, using it to transport his beloved guest, he felt it a bit beneath him.

“How could you say that?” Yang Chaoyue waved her hand. “I already feel embarrassed.”

Since Villarreal lacked an airport, Dai Zhiwei had picked her up at Madrid Barajas Airport.

As soon as they settled in the car, he caught a faint, distinctive scent from the passenger seat—Yang Chaoyue’s unique perfume, fresh and unforgettable.

Even a seasoned driver like him couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter.

It was Yang Chaoyue’s first time so close to Dai Zhiwei; she was both excited and nervous, unsure how to speak or what to talk about.

Thankfully, Dai Zhiwei was adept at reading people, and noticed her awkwardness.

He took the initiative.

“Haven’t eaten yet? Want to grab something before we head off to rest?” Dai Zhiwei asked considerately.

“No need, let’s wait till we get to the city. The plane served lunch,” Yang Chaoyue replied with a gentle smile.

This was not only her first trip to Spain, but her first time abroad. Though the time difference made her drowsy, she remained eager, gazing out the window at the sights of Madrid.

“For the next few days, just follow my plan. Today, we’ll adjust for jet lag, tonight and tomorrow we’ll tour Madrid, then we’ll head to Barcelona…”

Actually, Dai Zhiwei wasn’t very familiar with Spain’s tourist spots—his previous visits to each city were always for matches, never sightseeing. Fortunately, he had done his homework.

“Okay, I’ll follow your lead,” Yang Chaoyue turned with a sweet smile, her bright eyes shining like the dawn over the Mediterranean.