June in Brazil was scorching. Average temperatures climbed past 35 degrees, yet the heat barely made a dent in the fans' enthusiasm. Supporters from every corner of the world poured endlessly into the country. By June 4, over 2.14 million fans had already arrived — and the number was still rising.
Wherever you went, you could see crowds from different nations turning the streets into whirlwinds of colour and noise. They marched through avenues waving flags, singing anthems, and celebrating their journey to football's biggest stage.
Chinese fans were among the most eye-catching. Those who arrived early had already become a distinctive presence, just as they had in every World Cup since 2002. Whenever the Chinese contingent appeared, they brought a burst of blazing red amid the sea of colours — dragon dances upfront, drums and gongs echoing behind them. The sheer size and energy of the parade turned heads everywhere they went.
This same scene was unfolding across Brazil's major cities.
And of all places, the city with the largest gathering of Chinese fans was Cuiabá — capital of the state of Mato Grosso, and the venue for China's opening match.
China would face Chile at the Pantanal Stadium on June 12 at 7 p.m. local time.
Compared with past tournaments, Chinese supporters seemed particularly fired up this year — and for good reason.
Before, Chinese fans only had Wang Yi to look to.
But now?
This squad also featured Kai, Chen Man, Fernando Kairui, and several other promising newcomers. The rise of these young talents had ignited fresh hope and stirred genuine excitement among the fans.
"Look at that enthusiasm," Pan Xiaowen said, leaning back in his chair.
Inside a small café in Brazil, he and Zheng Xin sat together, both sent by CCTV Sports to cover the World Cup. They had arrived ahead of schedule to gather early stories while waiting for the Chinese squad, who would land on June 4.
Pan Xiaowen wore a loose, airy shirt, fanning himself with a straw hat as he watched a massive group of Chinese fans stream past the window. "Those three warm-up matches really boosted the supporters' confidence."
Zheng Xin nodded. "They played well — two wins and a draw. You can't argue with that."
In the recent friendlies, China beat Japan 2–1, defeated Russia 3–2, and held Italy to a 0–0 draw.
After that, Chinese fans became restless with excitement.
Even Zheng Xin hadn't expected the team to look this sharp. Everyone seemed fit, focused, and motivated. Morale was high.
They had even watched the China–Italy match together, and their conclusion was simple: Italy struggled because China's defense was outstanding. No one slacked off. Every player ran themselves into the ground. Even with Italy's offence and Pirlo's orchestration, breaking down China had proven extremely difficult.
China held on for 90 minutes without conceding.
If the first two friendlies had tested China's attack, this match proved their defensive steel.
To Zheng Xin, that was the moment he felt something shift.
"Group B…" Pan Xiaowen suddenly sighed. "If only we weren't stuck in that group. Why couldn't we swap with Japan or South Korea?"
Japan and South Korea had lucked out — both landed in relatively favourable groups, avoiding giants like Spain and the Netherlands. China, meanwhile, had drawn the short straw.
Even with China's improved form, few believed they could stand toe-to-toe with Spain and the Netherlands.
"What if those two teams just… collapse?" Zheng Xin offered.
Pan Xiaowen shot him a look. "Collapse? Come on. It's Spain and the Netherlands we're talking about."
Zheng Xin nodded slowly, then added, "Sure. But Spain is the defending champion."
"Ah?"
Pan Xiaowen blinked, not quite following.
Zheng Xin grinned. "Spain is the reigning World Cup holder. Did you forget? The World Cup curse."
Pan Xiaowen froze — then suddenly sat upright.
"Wait — what?! No way. No way! You're saying they might actually…?"
Zheng Xin shrugged. "At this point, believing in superstition feels safer than believing in logic."
Pan Xiaowen rubbed his chin, now visibly intrigued.
"If — and that's a big if — the curse hits again, and Spain crash out… then all we need to worry about is Chile?"
He didn't even bother mentioning the Netherlands. In his mind, the Dutch were guaranteed to advance — and who could blame him? With Van Persie, Robben, Sneijder, and De Jong, expecting them to stumble felt like wishful thinking.
Zheng Xin let out a helpless chuckle. "Just think of it as a joke. We should focus on scoring goals, beating Chile, and avoiding a bottom-of-the-group exit. Anything beyond that… we'll see next time."
Pan Xiaowen glared at him.
"So you get everyone worked up — and then you pull the rug out like that? What's that supposed to mean?"
Zheng Xin found himself conflicted. Of course, he wanted the national team to reach the knockout rounds, but he didn't dare let his hopes climb too high.
The higher the expectation, the harder the fall.
He exhaled slowly and glanced at the sky. They should be boarding by now…
At a Russian airport, the Chinese squad — including Kai — were preparing to head out. Their warm-up fixtures were done; next stop: Brazil and the World Cup.
Players clustered in small groups, chatting idly. Naturally, the biggest group formed around Kai.
He sat casually on his suitcase — surprisingly sturdy, considering his mass — and the others gathered around him. Now and then, Kai joined in the banter, but it was obvious this circle was the national team's informal core. Wang Yi and Kai were the anchors, with the rest orbiting around them.
As they waited to clear security, Kai idly worked on his footwork, tapping and shifting the ball from side to side. The team had grown used to this—Kai was rarely without a ball at his feet.
Then a shout rose from behind.
"Hey! Kai!"
His foot paused mid-touch. He turned around.
A man in a baseball cap was waving enthusiastically. It took Kai a second, but once he recognized the face, he burst into a grin, hopped off his suitcase, and headed over.
"Andrei! I've missed you, man!"
He pulled Arshavin into a warm hug.
Arshavin laughed. "If that's true, I'm genuinely touched."
"It is true," Kai said with full sincerity. "I never lie."
Arshavin chuckled. "I came to see you off. Caught your warm-up matches too."
He gave Kai a light pat on the chest, smiling. "Your progress is incredible."
When Arshavin had left Arsenal, Kai was still the guy doing the dirty work — a pure ball-winner. But in those warm-ups, Andrei had seen how much he'd grown.
Kai accepted the praise with a grin. "You didn't get called up for the national team?"
Arshavin let out a small sigh. "Capello must think I'm too old. Doesn't fit his plans anymore."
"But you can still score," Kai said, slightly frustrated on his behalf. "You could've pushed for it."
Arshavin shook his head. "No need. I can feel my body slowing down. I won't be playing at this level much longer."
Then he glanced at Kai and gave him a playful punch to the chest. "Why didn't you show up at Arsenal earlier? I leave, and then you lot win the title."
Kai laughed. "You should've told the boss to send come to Portugal more often back then. Who knows — maybe I'd have ended up in Arsenal's academy."
Arshavin burst into laughter, shaking his head.
The two kept talking, lost in the reunion.
But a voice eventually rang out from the team.
"Kai! Time for security!"
Kai waved back to signal he heard it. He turned to Arshavin with a reluctant smile. "I've gotta go."
Arshavin nodded. "Believe in yourself. You're the best — I've always known that. The World Cup is the perfect stage. Go make it yours."
Kai grinned. "Thanks. Really. I'll see you around."
He waved one last time before jogging back toward the team and disappearing past the security checkpoint.
Watching him go, Arshavin exhaled softly, his expression tinged with a quiet melancholy.
"The World Cup… If you can play, who'd ever choose to be a spectator?"
...
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