March 20th, Morning – Oudekerk aan de Amstel, Shoreline of Lake Ouderkerkerplas
The early spring breeze skimmed the surface of Lake Ouderkerkerplas as a small group of Ajax players jogged along the gravel path, their footsteps crunching softly beneath them. Among them, Yang Yang ran at a steady pace, flanked by Maxwell and a few other teammates. Their laughter echoed across the quiet lakefront, mixing with birdsong and the faint rustling of reeds.
This daily ritual had quietly become a familiar scene to the locals. The sight of Ajax's stars running in harmony through the sleepy streets of Oudekerk had turned into a cherished part of the neighborhood's morning rhythm. Some residents paused their walks to watch, others gave polite nods or even waved from their porches—but no one disturbed the players. Dutch football fans, after all, were known for their respectful distance.
After completing their third lap around the lake, the players reached the edge of town near the intersection with the main street. There, Yang Yang spotted a familiar figure standing beneath a maple tree with a notepad in hand and a camera slung over one shoulder.
"Morning, big reporter," Yang Yang called out with a grin.
The man turned, adjusting his glasses, and returned the smile. "Oh please, don't flatter me," said Michel Vandersma.
Yang Yang chuckled. "I thought you'd be too afraid to show your face around here lately."
The two shook hands briefly.
Vandersma had come a long way from the hungry freelancer Yang Yang first met nearly three years ago. Back then, he was managing a niche football blog and trying to break into mainstream sports journalism. Now he was a fixture at the De Telegraaf, often publishing exclusive scoops and opinion columns that stirred debate nationwide. Much of that rise, both men knew, could be traced to the early interviews and trust he'd earned through his coverage of Yang Yang's meteoric rise.
Even Vandersma's first real break came from securing an exclusive sit-down with Yang Yang during his debut season—a story that opened many doors for him.
"Don't forget," Yang Yang once joked, "you and I, we're old acquaintances. It's not like the others."
"Ha! That's what you said when I first showed up with a notepad outside your youth matches. Now look at me, a glorified pen pusher!"
As Yang Yang laughed, he bent over to untie the weighted sandbags from his ankles and waist. The training aids had become a staple under the guidance of Winston Bogarde, who was pushing Yang Yang's physical limits every week.
The waist weight was a recent addition, meant to improve his core strength and explosiveness in tight spaces. Even light jogging with the extra load had a noticeable impact on his balance and acceleration.
He handed the sandbags to Vermaelen without needing to say a word.
"I'm grabbing breakfast," Yang Yang told the others.
The group nodded and carried on with their cooldown jog.
Naturally, Vandersma followed. "Mind if I tag along?"
"I already know why you're here," Yang Yang said without breaking stride.
"I haven't even asked yet!" the journalist replied, mock offended.
Yang Yang shot him a knowing look. "You showed up today, of all days. I can already guess what you want to talk about."
Vandersma raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay—you caught me."
...
Yesterday Afternoon – Euroborg Stadium, Groningen
In the 29th round of the Eredivisie, Ajax traveled north to face FC Groningen at the Euroborg—widely dubbed "The Green Hell" this season by Dutch media.
The nickname wasn't without merit. The Euroborg had become a graveyard for title contenders, with powerhouses like PSV Eindhoven, Feyenoord, and AZ Alkmaar all dropping points there earlier in the season. Groningen's form away from home may have been erratic, but on their own turf, they fought like wounded animals—organized, aggressive, and unafraid to punch above their weight.
But Ajax were no ordinary visitors.
Ronald Koeman's side arrived on the back of a thumping 3–1 victory over title rivals Eindhoven and with Yang Yang just two goals shy of equaling Henk Groot's long-standing club record of 41 goals in a single Eredivisie season.
Yet despite Ajax's high spirits, it was Groningen who struck first.
In the 13th minute, a rare lapse in Ajax's defensive line saw defender John Heitinga clip Groningen's nimble forward Nevland inside the box. The referee didn't hesitate to point to the spot. Groningen converted coolly from the spot, and the home crowd erupted as their team took a shock 1–0 lead.
But Ajax, galvanized rather than rattled, responded swiftly.
Just four minutes later, Yaya Touré surged through midfield with the ball at his feet and threaded a precise pass to Sneijder on the right. Sneijder, with his trademark vision, lofted a diagonal pass behind the defense. Yang Yang timed his run perfectly, racing in behind his marker, and met the ball on the bounce before slotting it clinically past the keeper with his left foot.
1–1. Level again—and goal number 40 of the league season for Yang Yang.
Despite the equalizer, Groningen refused to break. Their defense dropped deep, forming a five-man back line at times, while their midfielders doubled up on Yang Yang with relentless physicality.
After the break, it was Groningen who seized the initiative again.
A miscommunication between Thomas Vermaelen and Stekelenburg at the start of the second half led to a sloppy clearance. Groningen capitalized ruthlessly. A deflected shot found its way into the box, and Nevland struck home from close range to restore the hosts' lead at 2–1.
For Ajax, it was a wake-up call.
They pushed forward in waves, probing and recycling possession, looking for gaps in a deeply entrenched defensive unit. But Groningen, backed by their raucous fans, held firm.
Until the 68th minute.
Maxwell carried the ball from deep and linked up with Pienaar on the left. The South African midfielder flicked a clever reverse ball to Yang Yang, who had peeled away from his marker and drifted into the half-space between the centre-back and full-back.
Yang Yang controlled with his right, took a quick step into the box, and fired a low, driven shot across the keeper with his left foot.
2–2!
It was his 41st league goal—a historic moment, as he officially equaled Henk Groot's legendary single-season tally, one that had stood untouched in Ajax's storied history for decades.
The travelling Ajax fans behind the goal erupted, unfurling a banner that read: "From Groot to Greatness – Yang Yang!"
Despite Ajax dominating possession in the final twenty minutes, Groningen held out for the draw, showing once again why their stadium was a fortress.
...
Despite Yang Yang's brace and historic achievement, the Dutch media were not kind to Ajax in their post-match analysis of the 2–2 draw with Groningen.
The consensus was clear: Ajax's defensive frailty was once again exposed.
Critics acknowledged that Ajax had fought back from behind twice and dominated most of the second half, but the tone of coverage across major outlets—from Voetbal International to De Telegraaf—focused squarely on the team's back line.
And it wasn't unwarranted.
The average age of Ajax's starting center-back trio was shockingly low: Thomas Vermaelen was just 20, Ron Vlaar 21, and Johnny Heitinga the elder statesman at 22. For a club chasing multiple trophies and entering the decisive stretch of the season, such youth in the heart of defense was a double-edged sword.
While these players were praised for their technical quality and potential, their lack of composure under pressure, poor communication, and struggles with physical duels had become too frequent to ignore. The high defensive line, characteristic of Ajax's possession-based football, often left them exposed—especially in transition.
In the Eredivisie, Ajax had masked these deficiencies with overwhelming attacking firepower. But in Europe, or even against well-organized domestic sides like Groningen, those cracks were harder to paper over.
This, as many pundits pointed out, was the paradox of Ajax's identity.
The club's philosophy revolved around brave, expansive football, with ball-playing centre-backs and a high-risk, high-reward approach. But when defenders lacked the experience to handle adversity, this style could become suicidal.
As De Volkskrant wrote in their Monday column:
"Ajax is not a team without improvement in defense—it is a team torn between loyalty to its ideals and the limitations of its personnel. Last year, their defense tightened up, but at the cost of flair. This season, the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction."
Still, most fans weren't panicking. In the Netherlands, beautiful football is often valued as highly as winning. Ajax may not have kept a clean sheet, but they remained undefeated since the winter break and were virtually unchallenged in the title race.
Where the team struggled, Yang Yang soared.
His name adorned every headline on the Monday morning sports pages:
"Yang Yang Equals Groot" – De Telegraaf
"From China to History Books" – Algemeen Dagblad
"The Boy Who Scored Forty-One" – Voetbal International
With 41 Eredivisie goals in just 26 appearances, the 19-year-old had officially tied Henk Groot's legendary 1960–61 season—a record many thought would never be matched again.
And with five matches left, he wasn't done.
Vandersma, now a respected reporter at De Telegraaf, had shown up that morning in Oudekerk not just for breakfast—but for a moment. A chance to ask Yang Yang how it felt to stand shoulder to shoulder with one of Ajax's greatest icons. To be a living part of the club's storied legacy.
...
"I've said it many times," Yang Yang began, taking a sip from his warm drink as they stood outside the breakfast shop, "Van Basten is a legend—an irreplaceable one. Same for Henk Groot."
"I know," Vandersma replied.
"One scored 37 goals, the other 41, both in the Eredivisie during their primes. But let's talk about Van Basten for now."
"You say he's irreplaceable," Vandersma continued, eyes fixed on Yang Yang, "but look at the numbers—you've scored 41 in just 27 games. You're two years younger than he was then."
Yang Yang narrowed his eyes slightly. "What exactly are you getting at?"
"You don't need to say it," Vandersma said with a slight grin. "I know he's your idol. But I want to know what you think, right now. About where you stand."
Yang Yang looked away, not answering immediately.
"I mean," Vandersma pressed, "you're two goals from Coen Dillen. Nine away from fifty. And there are still five league games left."
His voice carried quiet excitement, like he was trying to coax something monumental from Yang Yang's mouth—a quote worthy of front pages.
"It's not just what we expect from you," Vandersma added, "it's what Van Basten expects too."
At that, Yang Yang's mind drifted. He thought back to the call with Van Basten a few nights ago.
The former legend had shared his own story—how, in the same breakout season, he had netted 34 goals in the first 22 rounds. He was on pace for greatness. He'd even scored five goals in one game, six in another. But then came the injury. Six missed matches, a sputtered return, and the final two rounds gone again to injury. He finished with 37 goals—still historic, still unforgettable—but it had left him with a wound deeper than any tackle.
"I could have done more," Van Basten had said, "and I hope you won't leave the game with that same regret."
"I believe you can surpass every name in our history. Don't let up. Not now."
Yang Yang didn't speak about that phone call—not to Vandersma, not to anyone.
Inside the shop, the owner had already prepared breakfast, just as he did every morning. Yang Yang greeted him with a familiar smile.
Vandersma reached into his coat for his wallet, but the owner waved him off. "No, no. He eats here for free."
Vandersma blinked. "Seriously?"
"Of course," the owner chuckled, "You think I'd charge the guy who's been carrying this whole city on his back?"
Then, with childlike pride, he slammed down a thick folder stuffed with neatly clipped newspapers.
"I cut all of these myself. Every article, every photo. Yesterday someone even tried to buy it off me."
Yang Yang raised his eyebrows. "Let me guess—you turned them down?"
"Of course! What do you take me for? This isn't merchandise—it's legacy! My sons will read this and know I watched it happen. I lived it."
"And you want me to score more so you can make it thicker, huh?" Yang Yang joked.
"Exactly!" the shopkeeper grinned. "Keep going—break the records. Fifty goals! Then this book becomes gold. You get a biography deal? I've got your first draft here. And until then…" He gestured to the counter. "Your breakfast's on me."
"You sure?" Yang Yang asked, amused. "Don't you need to make a living?"
"I'm investing," the man replied, dead serious. "Investing in history."
As they stepped back into the street, carrying their food, Vandersma looked over at Yang Yang. "That man might start a museum with your name."
Yang Yang chuckled, then looked up at the clear blue sky over Oudekerk. His breath escaped in a slow exhale.
"Of course I think about it," he said finally, quietly. "If I said I didn't, I'd be lying."
He paused, then added with calm determination, "But none of that changes the work. Whether I score or not, I still have to show up. I still have to train. Still have to play. Step by step, game by game."
He turned to Vandersma, his voice steady now. "Forty-one goals. Five league matches left. And the Champions League. And the Cup. I still have work to do."
There was no bravado in his voice. No grand declarations.
But in his calm, there was something far louder: conviction.
He just doesn't like to talk much.