The Nanchang Olympic Sports Center Stadium was no longer just a stadium; it was a boiling cauldron of crimson. The roar of thirty thousand voices surged toward the heavens, a physical wall of sound that vibrated in the very air.
Wu Lei, electric with the adrenaline of his goal, sprinted toward the corner flag in a blur of celebration. David Qin, however, felt a strange sense of calm amidst the storm. He hadn't provided the assist, nor had he found the net himself. He looked down at the crest on his chest, then up at the fans draped over the railings. He wanted them to scream for him, too.
"David! That cross-field switch was pure filth," Ji Xiang laughed, slinging an arm around David's shoulder as they jogged back. "Did you pick that up from De Bruyne?"
"Please," David smirked, eyebrows dancing. "That's my own signature recipe. Just sit back and enjoy the service."
"Whatever you call it, Smith looks like he's got vertigo after those rainbow flicks," Zheng Zhi added, ruffling David's hair with the affection of a big brother.
"Who wouldn't be dizzy?" Wu Lei chimed in, grinning ear to ear. "Captain, if that were you, would your head be spinning?"
"In that situation?" Zheng Zhi laughed heartily. "I'd probably be dizzy enough to just hack him down and take the yellow card."
As the match restarted, the Chinese fans remained relentless, their rhythmic drumming providing the soundtrack to a new wave of attacks. Encouraged by the lead, the home side pressed their advantage.
"It's clear Perrin has shifted Zheng Zhi to the left," He Wei noted for the viewers at home. "He's taking a leaf out of Dieter Hecking's book at Wolfsburg, using the veteran to screen the space behind David Qin. It's about liberating the boy—allowing him to focus all his energy on the final third."
"Wu Xi with a sharp vertical to Wu Lei... Wu Lei sprays it wide!"
This time, Tommy Smith didn't just stand off. He got tight, using his massive frame to barge David toward the touchline. Simultaneously, Rojas closed in from the flank, cutting off the diagonal pass into the center.
Trapped against the line with his back to goal, David felt the pressure. A simple backpass was the safe option. Instead, he dropped his center of gravity, leaning into Smith's chest.
Then, he went into the spin.
Lately, David had grown fond of this deceptive rotation. On the surface, it looked slow, devoid of explosive pace, but when the timing and rhythm were perfect, it became a surgical tool for evasion. Under the expectant gaze of thousands, David traced a perfect circle. The ball stayed glued to his boot, moving like a mischievous sprite.
Rojas realized with a start that he was tackling thin air. Smith, waking from his daze, tried to shoulder-charge David into the dirt. There was a sickening thud of muscle against muscle, and David staggered, his balance momentarily compromised.
But he didn't go down. Swaying like a reed in the wind, he used the momentum of Smith's shove to propel himself forward, exploding into the open space.
"Incredible core strength!" He Wei shouted. "For a professional, the true divide is the ability to combine technical skill with resistance to interference. David Qin is showing us exactly where that line is drawn!"
David was a streak of red lightning down the touchline. Ahead of him, Yu Hai, Wu Lei, and Ji Xiang ignited their own sprints, a three-pronged spearhead tearing into the New Zealand backline.
"Fuck!" Winston Reid spat. Two men had the kid cornered, and he'd still slipped the trap.
The West Ham captain didn't have time to complain. He squared up, eyes locked on the ball. David's body feinted subtly, his touches high-frequency and rhythmic, making it impossible for Reid to telegraph the break.
"Commit!" Reid knew he couldn't wait. If he didn't stop David at the edge of the area, Ji Xiang would be free on the far post.
David gave him nothing. The body feints vanished in an instant as he chopped the ball to the right, a violent change of direction that left Reid's momentum heading the wrong way. The defender tried to pivot, but he was stuck in the mud.
"David Qin!"
"He's danced past Winston Reid! He fires from the edge of the box!"
"The pace is blistering... the angle is perfect!"
"The keeper is a spectator! He can only watch as it ripples the net!"
"Thirty-six minutes in, and China doubles their lead!"
"A debut goal for David Qin! And a new record to boot—the youngest player to score on his international debut for the National Team!"
"Seventeen years old! His future is a distant horizon, and his story in the red shirt... has only just begun!"
The Olympic Sports Center erupted. Led by the supporters' groups, a synchronized chant shook the concrete foundations.
"DONG-DONG-DONG! ZHONGGUO! NIUBI!" "DONG-DONG-DONG! QIN MING! NIUBI!"
David turned to the stands, waving both arms, soaking in the adulation. It was a different kind of high than scoring in the Bundesliga. This felt primal. This felt like home.
"I thought you were going to cross! I ran so hard my calves are nearly cramping," Wu Lei gasped, kneading his thighs.
David just laughed. On the pitch, in front of goal, he was selfish. He didn't mind admitting it. To him, an unselfish striker was a contradiction in terms. He had the confidence to beat Reid, and in that moment, even if Wu Lei had been standing in front of an open net, David was taking the shot.
"Let's go," Zheng Zhi said, checking the scoreboard as the half wound down. "Two-goal lead. Let's kill the tempo and take this into the locker room."
The captain was satisfied. David had been with the squad for less than a week, and their shared chemistry was still in its infancy. If they could maintain this trajectory heading into the Asian Cup, something special was brewing.
"Come on! Whoever scores buys dinner tonight!" Yu Hai joked. "We're heading to Xi'an next—first round of Yangrou Paomo is on the goalscorers!"
On the touchline, Perrin offered a measured clap. He wasn't surprised. He was a pragmatist. During training, he had drilled the minutiae: how the center-backs should split for the keeper's distribution, who takes the first touch, how the holding mid drops to receive. He was meticulous, stopping drills the moment a link in the chain broke.
He was also a realist. When he saw a player's fundamentals were lacking, he scrapped the tactical session and made them run basic drills. A manager like Camacho would never have lowered his stature to teach basic ball control, but Perrin used David as a living template. He showed the squad that even the "simplest" movements—passing, receiving, carrying—contained a world of detail in weight, angle, and body posture.
Under Perrin's instructions, the two-goal lead prompted China to solidify the middle of the park. New Zealand continued to pump long balls toward Chris Wood, but the threat was being neutralized.
"Zhang Linpeng's reading of the flighted ball is superb tonight!" He Wei noted. "Rumor has it several European clubs are sniffing around. Could we see another Chinese international in the Big Five?"
"Wait! New Zealand attacking down the flank... the diagonal ball into the mixer!"
"Wang Dalei! He climbs above everyone to pluck it out of the sky! No chance for Wood there!"
"Peep-Peep! The referee brings the first half to a close! China 2, New Zealand 0!"
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