The morning after the bombardment of Anfield.
The entire European football world was talking about only one name: Su Mang.
Liverpool manager Jurgen Kloppo, known for his passionate press conferences, had gone viral with a helpless shrug.
"Yes, my glasses are broken again. I think the shockwave from that shot shattered them," he joked, before his expression turned serious. "In all my years, I have seen C. Ronaldez's knuckleballs and Gerrard's screamers. But I have never seen a shot that carries the goalkeeper into the net. That wasn't football; that was an assassination attempt on my keeper, Ellison."
The Times sports section ran the headline: INTERCONTINENTAL MISSILE FROM THE EAST! WOLVES DEFENDER'S VALUE HITS €80 MILLION OVERNIGHT!
Famous transfer guru Fabrizio Romano tweeted three times in an hour:
"EXCLUSIVE: Real Madrid scouts were at Anfield. Florentino Perez sees Su Mang as the spiritual successor to Sergio Ramos."
"Bayern Munich preparing a bid. Chelsea owner Todd Boehly has reportedly flown his private jet to Wolverhampton."
— PANIC IN THE BOARDROOM —
Wolves Headquarters. The conference room was a war zone.
"Director Li! Chelsea just faxed an offer! They are willing to pay the €100 million release clause immediately!"
"Director Li! Manchester United is on the line. They say Su Mang can write his own weekly wage!"
"We have an offer from a Saudi club… €200 million a year tax-free!"
Li Qingxue sat at the head of the table, massaging her temples.
She wore a sharp, tailored white business suit, her black hair pinned up to reveal an elegant neck. Behind her gold-rimmed glasses, her usually calm eyes were filled with anxiety.
She knew Su Mang would be a star, but she didn't expect him to become a supernova so quickly.
He was now a Godzilla laying golden eggs. Wolves, a mid-table club, was too small a temple for this giant deity.
"We are not selling," Li Qingxue stood up, her voice cutting through the noise like ice.
"Su Mang is not just a player. He is the key for the Fosun Group to unlock the global market. He is the backbone of Chinese football in the Premier League. If we sell him now, how do I explain it to the Board? How do I explain it to millions of fans back home?"
"But Director, the release clause in his temporary contract…" her assistant stammered.
"Then make him want to stay."
Li Qingxue bit her red lip, a flash of determination in her eyes.
"Book the most private table at The Ritz. Tonight, I will treat him to dinner personally."
"And… open my grandfather's bottle of 1982 Lafite."
The assistant stared. The Ice Queen, who never mixed business with pleasure, was going all out. This wasn't just a meeting; it was a seduction.
— THE DINNER —
8:00 PM. London. A private room in a Michelin-starred Chinese restaurant.
When Su Mang pushed the door open, he paused.
Li Qingxue was not wearing her rigid office attire. She had changed into a black, off-shoulder evening gown. Her collarbones were exquisite, her skin like porcelain, radiating a breathtaking allure under the dim, warm lights.
She was no longer the distant executive; she was a black rose blooming in the night.
"You're here? Sit."
Li Qingxue tried to keep her voice steady, but her fingers gripping the wine glass were white.
Su Mang sat down comfortably, glancing at the feast on the table.
"Director Li, is this a celebration dinner? or a trap?"
"It's a retention dinner."
Li Qingxue looked him in the eye and poured him a glass of the priceless red wine.
"Su Mang, I know the giants are calling. Real Madrid, Man City, Bayern… they have bigger platforms and deeper pockets than Wolves."
Su Mang swirled his wine, remaining silent, waiting for her offer.
Li Qingxue took a deep breath, leaning forward slightly. A faint scent of orchids drifted across the table.
"But they cannot give you one thing."
"What?"
"Absolute core status. And… the feeling of home."
She slid a document across the table.
"This is approved directly by the Chairman—my father. If you stay, we build the team around you. And… if you wish, after retirement, you can enter the Group's senior management."
Su Mang didn't even look at the file. He stared straight into Li Qingxue's flustered eyes.
Suddenly, he reached out across the table. His calloused hand gently lifted her chin.
"Li Qingxue."
Su Mang's voice was low, filled with an undeniable dominance.
"Are you trying so hard to keep me for the Group's benefit? Or is it because… you can't bear to let me go?"
Boom.
Li Qingxue's face flushed red, heat spreading to her ears.
She wanted to pull away, but her body felt paralyzed. The rough warmth of his fingers sent electric currents straight to her heart.
"I… It's for work…" she stammered, her eyes darting away.
"Is it?"
Su Mang withdrew his hand and downed the wine in one gulp.
"Real Madrid is nice. City is fine. But I don't like being just another piece of the puzzle. I like being the Boss."
He looked at her, a wicked grin forming.
"Besides… having a beautiful boss watching over me every day doesn't sound too bad."
Li Qingxue froze. Then, a wave of relief and joy washed over her. He accepted.
Just then, Su Mang's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. It was the schedule sent by his agent.
Su Mang's smile vanished, replaced by the sharp, cold look of a predator.
"The wine is finished. Time to prepare for war."
He stood up and adjusted his collar.
"The next match is Tottenham, right?"
Li Qingxue regained her professional composure. "Yes. This weekend. Away at Spurs. Although Song is 33, he is still a Golden Boot-level striker and the undisputed 'King of Asia'. The media is calling this the 'Asian Derby'."
"King of Asia?"
Su Mang let out a dismissive scoff as he opened the door, leaving her with an arrogant silhouette.
"He was the King."
"But I am the Tyrant."
"A Derby? No. This will be a unilateral… Usurpation Ceremony."
Watching him leave, Li Qingxue slumped back into her chair, exhaling a long breath.
She touched her burning cheek, murmuring to herself.
"That bastard… was he really just talking about business?"