"They won't hold out much longer!"
Sneijder's certainty carried a hint of frustration.
The Chinese team's resilience under such relentless pressure was admirable, but effort alone doesn't refill empty legs. In football, when the tank runs dry, even the best tactical setup collapses.
From Sneijder's perspective, both Chinese full-backs were already showing cracks—late reactions, slower tracking, and small positional mistakes. If the Dutch put in just one decisive push or grabbed a breakthrough goal, China's defensive resolve would crumble instantly.
Time to score. The first goal would decide everything.
Huff! Huff! Huff!
Guan Zhe's heavy breathing echoed how he felt—drained. Only 25 minutes had passed, yet his body insisted he'd already played ninety. Robben and Van Persie kept alternating down the flanks, pressing China's defense with wave after wave of individual brilliance and coordinated runs. Guarding either one was a nightmare; guarding both was torment.
Holding on for 25 minutes was impressive.
But what about the next 65?
Guan Zhe knew he couldn't last a full match at this pace.
On the opposite flank, Fernando Kairui had been reliable, but even he couldn't cover everything if Guan Zhe collapsed. Robben needed only a momentary lapse—one slip, one mistimed step—and he'd be gone.
Kai saw the problem too. But seeing didn't equate to solving.
They needed a way to defend with the same intensity while burning less energy.
Yet the Netherlands had no intention of slowing down. Their fast, pressuring style was working—and they knew it.
Kai had expected a tough match, but not this suffocating.
Force the Dutch out of their shape?
No. That would be suicide. Stretching the Chinese lines would give Robben and Van Persie oceans of space.
So what could they do?
As Kai was wrestling with those thoughts, Chen Man jogged back during a brief stoppage.
"Coach says you're only playing the first half," he told Guan Zhe and Zhuo Yue.
The two defenders exchanged confused looks.
If this were a domestic league game, they'd panic and wonder what mistake they made, but not in a World Cup. There was only one explanation.
Liu Hongbo wanted them to empty the tank for 45 minutes, then rotate fresh players at halftime.
Honestly, it was the only reasonable plan.
Kai shifted positions with Che Jingdao. Kai slid into the left defensive-midfield slot, right beside Guan Zhe—extra insurance against Robben.
It would relieve pressure and help Guan Zhe conserve whatever strength he still had.
Since Fernando Kairui held his flank well enough, Kai's choice to support the left made perfect sense.
Robben spotted Kai moving closer, frowned, and said in English.
"Seriously? Why are you coming over here?"
While the Dutch were circulating the ball in their half, Robben shot Kai a look.
Kai shrugged. "You're a bigger threat."
"Fantastic. Just what I needed," Robben muttered, half smiling, half resigned.
He knew all too well what being targeted by Kai felt like—like trying to sprint with a chain dragging behind him. The Netherlands might still win, but his night would turn into a slog.
Without Kai's occasional harassment, Van Persie began attacking the box more aggressively. Zhuo Yue, under brutal pressure, pushed himself even harder. If he only needed to last 45 minutes, he would burn every drop now.
Gong Peng and Guo Liang also tightened their support lines, and Fernando Kairui remained the safety valve behind them.
If they worked together, maybe—just maybe—they could hold.
Suddenly, China's defense regained its structure and bite.
Even commentator Huang Jianxiang couldn't hide his surprise:
"This is completely different from the last few minutes! Zhuo Yue is defending with a level of intensity we didn't see earlier. But can he sustain this pace?"
Concern spread through the commentary box and the stands—but the improvement was undeniable.
And the result?
China had held the Netherlands to 0–0 after 30 minutes.
Chinese fans erupted. This was beyond expectations.
Thirty minutes gone.
The Dutch had dominated possession, fired shots from every angle, but nothing meaningful came from it. China's defensive block was proving stubborn—infuriatingly stubborn.
The pressure wasn't one-sided. The Netherlands was feeling it too. The longer they failed to score, the more anxious they became.
One goal.
That was all they needed to break China's spirit.
But they couldn't find it.
"Get up! Push up! Everyone, move!" Sneijder barked.
The constant Chinese resistance was getting under his skin.
With fifteen minutes left in the half, he snapped.
He ordered an all-in push.
The Dutch surged forward—every midfielder advanced, and all three center-backs stood near the halfway line. They committed to a full half-court press.
The pressure on China multiplied instantly.
Kai felt it too—like a wave threatening to crash over them.
But instead of fear, his eyes sharpened.
The Dutch defensive line was now high.
Dangerously high.
If China won the ball… there would be a counterattack waiting with open arms.
But first, they had to survive this storm.
Van Persie received the ball, drove forward, and chaos spilled into China's penalty area. Fast one-twos, sharp cuts, quick lay-offs—China's defenders were barely reacting in time.
Kai darted toward Van Persie to block a shot—
—but instead, the ball was whipped diagonally backward.
Kai soon realized with Foresight, but it was too late.
Sneijder strode onto it and struck with venom.
The shot arrowed between Fernando Kairui and Van Persie, heading straight for the corner.
The entire stadium froze.
Bang!!
A pair of clenched fists punched the ball clear.
"Tong Lei!!!!!!!!!"
Huang Jianxiang nearly blew out his microphone:
"A world-class save! Absolutely world-class!"
"Tong Lei rescues China again!"
Tong Lei's goal-line save kept China alive—but the danger hadn't passed yet.
The roar inside the stadium kept swelling. As Tong Lei sprang back to his feet, he immediately spotted Kai bursting out of the box.
Without hesitation, he whipped his arm forward and launched the ball.
A clean, powerful throw.
Straight toward Kai.
"China on the counter!! It's not over yet!!"
Huang Jianxiang's voice cracked with adrenaline.
In an instant, the stadium fell into a tense silence. Chinese fans froze in their seats, eyes locked on the soaring ball.
Kai met it just outside the penalty area.
A soft, controlled chest touch—one that popped the ball upward just enough to keep it floating.
Instead of cushioning it down, he used that brief moment of suspension.
Twisting at the waist, he snapped his right leg through the air.
The instep met the ball cleanly, driving it like a low-flying arrow toward the Dutch half.
Wang Yi was already sprinting.
He wasn't quite as explosive as Chen Man, but he was quick.
Vlaar chased him down, half a body length behind, but no matter how he pushed, he couldn't close the gap.
Still, Vlaar didn't panic. Strikers slow down to take the ball—he just needed to time his challenge.
Both players tore down the pitch in a head-to-head race.
Kai's long pass skimmed low and fast, skipping across the turf.
Wang Yi read its bounce perfectly. Just as it came into range, he suddenly accelerated.
"Wang Yi again!! Look at that extra burst!"
Huang Jianxiang almost shouted.
Vlaar's expression shifted. He hadn't expected another gear—but it was too late. The gap widened instantly.
The ball dropped between them.
Vlaar gambled, lunging forward just as Wang Yi slowed his steps to control the ball.
But Wang Yi anticipated it.
He dipped his shoulder, used the angle of his body, and with a soft back-heel redirect, flicked the ball away from Vlaar's path.
A perfect turn.
"Wang Yi!! That's good control! The back-heel turn—beautiful!"
Huang Jianxiang's voice shook with excitement.
Ahead, Cillessen rushed out again, hoping to cut the play just as he had earlier.
He slid in, arms stretched wide.
Wang Yi reached the ball a split second earlier.
A deft touch—just enough to lift it past the keeper's hands.
Cillessen's heart sank. In desperation, he swiped at Wang Yi's foot, clipping him.
Wang Yi stumbled forward but refused to fall, fighting to stay upright.
He steadied himself, chased the ball down, and finally regained control.
Vlaar was the only one left standing inside the goal.
A defender on the line is nothing if the shot is precise.
Wang Yi inhaled, calm under the moment's weight.
Left foot planted. Right foot swung cleanly.
He guided the ball toward the far corner, a smooth shot rolling neatly along the grass.
Vlaar stretched with everything he had.
But the ball slipped past.
Off the post.
Into the net.
In the 45th minute, China led 1–0.
For a heartbeat, the entire Estádio Beira-Rio froze.
No one had expected this—absolutely no one.
Everyone believed this match would be another Dutch showcase.
But after 45 minutes of grit, it was China who landed the first blow.
They had created just two attacking chances all half.
But they made one count.
Silence lasted only a second.
Then the stadium detonated like a volcano.
Chinese fans erupted—jumping, shouting, clapping, screaming.
Pure, unrestrained joy.
A surreal kind of disbelief lingered behind it.
China scored.
China took the lead.
"Wang Yi!!!"
Huang Jianxiang nearly lost his voice. "Forty-five minutes of grinding defense for one decisive strike! The Netherlands never saw it coming! This is football! Just like Kai said—being the underdog doesn't mean being the victim! Against all odds, China broke the deadlock first!"
"This is the goal 1.4 billion people have been waiting for!"
"The Dutch back line wanted to break us—and instead, their goal is the one breached!"
He was in full battle mode—furious, triumphant, ecstatic.
And the fans loved every second of it.
Zhang Lu wiped at his eyes, voice trembling.
"The sequence between Tong Lei, Kai, and Wang Yi was perfection. Especially Wang Yi—his control, his turn, that delicate lift over the keeper, and the determined finish… beautiful."
He continued, voice steadier now:
"We've seen him shine like this in Ligue 1, but with the national team, he always seemed muted."
"People say he doesn't fit with the team—but that's not true."
"Look at that long pass—straight through the whole pitch. Chest control, turn, driven pass—everything in one motion. He checked Wang Yi's position before turning, and that was it. Never looked up again."
"That's confidence. Experience. Skill."
"How many passes did Sneijder make in this match? All that dominance, but no goal. Kai made two long passes—both created scoring chances. If Chen Man had beaten Cillessen in the first one, this match would have flipped even earlier."
Fans erupted again.
The Dutch—one of Europe's proudest footballing nations are trailing against China?
Unthinkable.
Yet it happened.
Chinese fans roared in celebration, while Dutch fans sat frozen, stunned.
A few minutes earlier, they were singing confidently, reveling in the attacking show their team was putting on.
Now?
Their team was behind.
China had struck first.
A reality their supporters could barely process.
...
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