After Yang Yang scored, the match continued to tilt in Liverpool's favour. He remained electric on the left flank, repeatedly tearing at Chelsea's defence. At one point he even nutmegged Boulahrouz again, driving straight into the penalty area, though his final shot went narrowly wide.
Liverpool looked sharp, confident, and dangerous.
But football never follows the script.
Just when it seemed certain that Liverpool would end the first half with a 1–0 lead, Chelsea struck suddenly in the 42nd minute.
Lampard swung in a cross from the right. Drogba, positioned at the edge of the penalty area, used his strength to shield the ball from Carragher. His chest control was clean, the turn fluid, and before anyone could close him down, he unleashed a left-footed volley.
The strike exploded off his boot like a cannon blast, flying past Reina and crashing into the left side of the net. The Liverpool goalkeeper had no chance—he barely moved before the ball was already in.
Chelsea equalised.
1–1.
When referee Mike Riley blew the whistle for halftime, Liverpool's players walked off looking visibly frustrated. They had led the game, controlled the flow, created more danger—and yet the score was level.
It was hard not to feel a sting of disappointment.
"Too brilliant… too sudden!"
"If Shevchenko hit that, maybe I'd expect it—but Drogba? I didn't see that coming."
"If I'm not mistaken, that's the third time he's scored against us since coming to the Premier League."
"This guy's a big-game monster—he shines even brighter in tough matches."
"That left-footed strike was out of nowhere. The power… the speed… nobody had time to react."
...
Yang Yang returned to the dressing room to find his teammates still discussing Drogba's goal. It had undeniably been a finish of extremely high technical difficulty—yet the surprising part was that it came from Drogba.
The Ivorian had never been regarded as a particularly efficient finisher. The British media often mocked him, even using his infamous missed penalty with the Ivory Coast as proof of his "unreliable" goal-scoring. But what he had done just now—controlling the ball under pressure, spinning, and unleashing a left-footed volley—was far beyond luck.
Every goal involves a degree of fortune, but the prerequisite is always ability.
Without real strength, even luck cannot produce a goal like that.
In truth, since joining the Premier League, Drogba had been improving steadily every season. His physical qualities were already world-class, and if he truly polished his finishing to that level, he would become a terrifying goal machine.
"That was definitely a world-class goal," Yang Yang said sincerely.
Several Liverpool players looked up in surprise. None of them expected Yang Yang to praise an opponent so openly, and from the tone of his voice, it wasn't sarcasm or empty courtesy—it was genuine.
Seeing their stunned faces, Yang Yang chuckled and shook his head.
"I haven't scored a goal like that yet."
The room erupted in laughter.
And it made sense. Drogba's goal required not only superb technique but also immense physical strength. At the moment Drogba controlled the ball and spun, he completely overpowered Carragher. If Yang Yang had been in that situation, he would have needed a different solution—a more fluid, technical approach rather than sheer force. The way Drogba scored was almost brutal in its simplicity, a violent kind of beauty.
"You've never scored one like that," Gerrard said with a grin, "but he's also never scored the kind of goals you score."
Everyone nodded.
Both first-half goals had been high-quality. Drogba's strike was spectacular, but Yang Yang's wasn't inferior at all. Beating both Boulahrouz and Essien, controlling the ball under pressure, cutting inside and curling it into the top corner—no one would call that ordinary.
"I actually think," Gerrard continued, still smiling, "if you keep pushing in the second half, with the way Boulahrouz is struggling, you might score another one. Maybe even dribble past three players and score. If that happens, imagine the reaction—Manchester United players would walk around with their heads down!"
The dressing room erupted again.
In the previous round, Cristiano Ronaldo had scored after dribbling past three men. If Yang Yang pulled off the same feat in the very next matchday, it would be the ultimate blow to the Portuguese winger—and the English media would explode.
Yang Yang shook his head, smiling wryly. It wasn't impossible, but extremely difficult—especially against a side as defensively meticulous as Chelsea. Dribbling past multiple defenders and scoring required perfect timing and a rare gap between defence and transition. Even then, the chance was tiny.
"Steven's right," Carragher added playfully. "And honestly, Chelsea look uncomfortable out there."
He didn't seem bothered at all about being outmuscled for Drogba's goal. Top-level professionals needed short memories; dwelling on mistakes only dragged down performance.
One by one, teammates offered their encouragement. Even the calm and analytical Xabi Alonso told Yang Yang he could push harder in the next half.
Yang Yang couldn't help laughing internally.
Is the score truly 1–1 at halftime? It almost feels like we're leading 2–0.
But he quickly understood where the confidence came from.
Benítez's tactics were suffocating Mourinho.
From the formation to the flow of the match, everything was unfolding exactly as Benítez had planned. The only unexpected element had been Drogba's moment of brilliance—something no tactic could prevent.
On the right, Pennant was fully suppressing Ashley Cole. In the centre, Crouch was playing his role perfectly. Gerrard thrived as a roaming midfielder, and the duo of Xabi Alonso and Sissoko controlled the tempo and midfield battles.
Mourinho's four-midfielder setup looked powerful on paper, but it felt disjointed. Essien and Lampard operating wide were not in their natural zones, and Chelsea lacked proper spacing.
Liverpool, by contrast, had stretched Chelsea across the pitch, forcing constant one-on-one duels down both flanks. That alone proved the effectiveness of the tactic.
Yang Yang realised the issue wasn't poor performance from Chelsea's players—their structure was the problem. They were being strategically smothered. Despite having nearly 65% possession, they were producing no meaningful threat. Meanwhile, Liverpool's direct, incisive attacks were exhausting Chelsea's back line.
Thinking through all of this, Yang Yang felt the same growing confidence as his teammates.
If Liverpool continued as they played in the first half, they could absolutely win this match.
And maybe—just maybe—he would get the chance to score again.
...
After returning to the dressing room, Benítez immediately gathered the players and began his halftime talk. He fully acknowledged their performance in the first half—the structure, the discipline, the execution. But he also pointed out an area that still needed improvement: finishing.
The team had created chances, but they needed to convert more of them.
At the same time, he highlighted something just as important: Chelsea's growing impatience.
"This is their home ground," Benítez said calmly. "Even though it's 1–1, the pressure is on them. We must continue exactly as we played in the first half. Be patient. They can't afford to be."
Yang Yang and his teammates answered loudly in unison, clearly agreeing with the analysis. The confidence in their voices echoed around the room—they all felt the same thing.
As Yang Yang sat back and thought, he finally understood something that had puzzled him about Benítez ever since he joined Liverpool.
Why was a manager so distant, so emotionless, so cold in personality… still respected so deeply by the entire squad?
The answer was simple.
His tactics were that good.
Benítez's system was so precise, so well-constructed, so effective, that every player believed in it wholeheartedly. They trusted that if they followed his instructions—every detail, every adjustment—the team would be the one walking away with the victory.
His personality could be distant.
His communication blunt.
But his football?
It commanded absolute faith.
…
…
The match resumed after halftime, and to everyone's surprise, neither side made any adjustments.
Mourinho stuck with the same setup as the first half, though he clearly strengthened the defensive coverage on Chelsea's left—Boulahrouz's side—placing extra focus on containing Yang Yang. The Portuguese manager admired Yang Yang's ability and feared his threat in equal measure.
But from the restart until the fifty-first minute, the rhythm of the match shifted suddenly.
During a midfield battle, Mohamed Sissoko slid in for a tackle. Ballack arrived a step late—too late—and failed to pull his foot back. His studs came down directly on the inside of Sissoko's knee. The Malian midfielder cried out, clutching his leg in pain.
The entire incident unfolded right in front of referee Mike Riley.
There was no hesitation.
A straight red card.
Ballack stood frozen for a moment, then walked off looking stunned and frustrated—this was the first direct red card of his professional career.
On the touchline, Mourinho exploded with anger. He felt the challenge was accidental, that a straight red was too harsh. He shouted at Riley, then even grabbed the fourth official in protest. But the referee ignored every complaint. The decision stood. Ballack was gone.
Chelsea were down to ten men.
Mourinho reacted instantly, calling Essien over to the sideline to adjust roles. The opportunity—good or bad—was now forced on him.
When play resumed, Yang Yang immediately sensed the difference.
The defensive pressure on the left wing had eased. Gerrard's constant bursts, Crouch's physical duels, and Xabi Alonso's late runs had forced Chelsea's midfield to contract inward. Essien and Lampard could no longer drift wide to double-team Yang Yang; they had to protect the centre.
At the same time, Yang Yang noticed assistant coach Villas-Boas signaling toward the bench.
Robben had begun warming up.
A clear sign: Mourinho intended to counterattack from deeper positions after going down a man. Bringing Robben on would give Chelsea speed, but it meant they would also concede initiative to Liverpool.
No one knew exactly when the substitution would take place. But one thing was certain—
Ballack's sending off had completely changed the match.
And Yang Yang felt a surge of excitement.
This was his chance.
What he wanted most was another goal. He wanted to help Liverpool defeat Chelsea at Stamford Bridge—his first true landmark performance for the club this season.
As for dribbling past three players to answer Gerrard's joke?
Yang Yang didn't even think about it.
He was a realistic player.
He didn't chase fantasies or force things beyond his control.
He believed in doing what the match naturally offered.
And now, with Chelsea down to ten—
the match was offering him a real opportunity.
...
"Liverpool push forward on the right—Pennant delivers the cross!"
"Crouch gets to it! A low shot in the box—just wide!"
Liverpool's attacks continued to flow down both flanks, and with Ballack's red card leaving Chelsea a man down, the Reds grew visibly bolder. Chelsea, meanwhile, were forced into a tight, gritty defensive posture.
"You know," the commentator added, "before tonight, Chelsea had gone forty-six home matches unbeaten. Their last defeat here was back in February 2004, during Ranieri's time—losing 1–0 to Arsenal."
"Since then, under both Ranieri and Mourinho, Stamford Bridge has been a fortress."
"With the numerical advantage, Liverpool are pressing harder."
"Yang Yang remains extremely active on the left, constantly trying to break through—but the chemistry with some of his teammates still isn't fully there."
"That's also one of Liverpool's offensive concerns. Even Benítez feels that the best version of Yang Yang hasn't shown up yet. Everyone is eager for him to fully integrate into the team and unleash his peak form."
"It's not just about scoring goals—he should be an even greater overall threat."
...
Chelsea made their substitution in the sixty-first minute.
Dutch winger Arjen Robben came on for Shevchenko—a bold and risky decision from Mourinho.
Even standing far across the pitch, Yang Yang immediately sensed the intention behind the change. And he could easily imagine Abramovich in the chairman's box fuming with anger.
Why Shevchenko instead of Drogba?
Why replace a superstar striker with a winger?
The reason was obvious.
After missing out on signing Yang Yang and letting Duff leave, Chelsea had lost their natural wing threats. Robben was injury-prone, Duff was gone, and the squad had no consistent width. Drogba's tactical importance was massive—he held up the ball, battled defenders, and won aerial duels. Shevchenko, however, was in a delicate situation: he had been brought in under Abramovich's insistence… yet he wasn't performing.
Mourinho had no easy choice. Someone had to come off.
In the end, he sacrificed Shevchenko.
Yang Yang understood the difficulty behind Mourinho's decision and even respected the courage it took. Mourinho had always admired him, and Yang Yang appreciated that.
But tonight, none of that mattered.
Tonight, he was Liverpool.
And he had to defeat Chelsea by any means.
Especially now.
The moment Chelsea made their substitution, Benítez reacted quickly.
Dirk Kuyt came on for Mohamed Sissoko.
And Kuyt carried a clear tactical instruction straight from the staff:
"Press hard on the right. Attack decisively on the left."
Liverpool were preparing to overwhelm Chelsea's weakened structure and hit them exactly where they were most vulnerable.
…
…
Boulahrouz was a textbook example of the Dutch-school defender.
Aggressive in duels, fearless in challenges, physically tough, and excellent in one-on-one situations—he embodied the traits common among Eredivisie defenders. Yang Yang had seen many like him in the Netherlands. Players such as Heitinga shared that same close-contact, hard-tackling style.
Yang Yang had also heard about Boulahrouz's early career path. Few people knew that he had once spent a short stint at De Toekmost, but injuries and repeated disciplinary issues forced Ajax to give up on him before a full year had passed. After bouncing around several smaller sides, he finally found stability at RKC Waalwijk and earned a move to Hamburg in the Bundesliga.
There, alongside Belgian centre-back Daniel Van Buyten, he formed one of the strongest defensive pairings in Germany at the time. Their performances drew widespread attention—Van Buyten moved to Bayern Munich, while Boulahrouz secured a transfer directly to Chelsea.
Many outside observers assumed he had been brought in as a replacement for William Gallas, but Mourinho publicly insisted that Boulahrouz was valued for his versatility. He could play right-back, left-back, or centre-back, even though his reputation in the Bundesliga had come mainly from playing centrally.
To be fair, Boulahrouz had performed solidly on the right flank this season. Mourinho's description of him as "Mr. Zero Errors" reflected how dependable he had been so far.
But after more than an hour of direct confrontation, Yang Yang had figured him out.
The Dutch defender excelled in tight, physical marking, but his positional sense was flawed. That weakness made him far less reliable in the centre, which likely explained why Mourinho hesitated to use him as a centre-back in the Premier League. Facing elite attackers required a sharper understanding of spacing and angles—something Boulahrouz did not possess at the highest level.
Realising this, Yang Yang adjusted his approach.
He began expanding his movement, drifting deeper or wider to pull Boulahrouz out of shape. By constantly dragging the defender away from the defensive line, he forced him into uncomfortable zones.
He waited patiently.
Because once Boulahrouz stepped away from his comfort zone of tight, physical marking—
opportunities would come.
...
Time continued to tick away.
Even with ten men, Chelsea still showed remarkable tactical discipline and defensive organisation. At Stamford Bridge—where they hadn't lost in forty-six league matches—their unbeaten home run gave them belief, and their confidence remained stubbornly intact.
Liverpool's attacks, meanwhile, kept encountering resistance. For all their possession and probing, they couldn't break Chelsea open.
Drogba threw an elbow while battling Daniel Agger in the attacking third. Already on a yellow, he was lucky; referee Mike Riley chose leniency, delivering only a stern warning instead of a second booking.
Moments later, Riley also spared Liverpool.
Chelsea launched a long-ball counterattack. Robben exploded past Aurelio and Agger, darting into the box. Under pressure, he went down dramatically in the penalty area—but Riley waved play on. Mourinho erupted on the sideline, furiously protesting the non-call.
The score remained unchanged, but the intensity was heating up with every minute.
Yang Yang continued moving tirelessly across the left flank, interchanging positions and searching for the slightest opening.
Then, in the 69th minute, the moment finally arrived.
Chelsea were packed densely in their thirty-metre zone. Pennant tried to push through on the right but was crowded out and forced to pass back to Finnan.
Finnan advanced from right-back, looked up toward the penalty area, and saw only congestion—no clean lane for a cross.
At that exact moment, Yang Yang dropped back from the front line and raised his hand for the switch.
Finnan didn't hesitate. He struck a driven diagonal pass straight to Yang Yang's feet on the left.
Yang Yang cushioned the ball with his chest and shaped his body to cut diagonally inside.
Boulahrouz charged at him immediately, and Essien rushed across from midfield.
One-on-one, Boulahrouz couldn't contain Yang Yang all game, which was precisely why Mourinho had instructed Essien to support him. They had combined several times in the match to shut down the angle.
But this time was different.
Because the ball had been switched quickly from the right to the left, Chelsea's entire defensive block was still sliding across. Essien was a half-step late to join Boulahrouz, and their timing wasn't aligned.
There was space.
A tiny gap—barely a meter wide—but it existed.
Yang Yang saw it instantly.
He had been waiting for this exact moment.
His takeoff was explosive, cutting diagonally toward the penalty area. Boulahrouz was on his left, Essien one stride behind on the right.
Both Chelsea players reacted at once, but Yang Yang struck first—accelerating through the narrow gap between them with perfect control and timing.
In real time it looked impossibly fast, almost too quick for the eye to track.
The entire move took less than two seconds.
Even Sky Sports commentator Andy Gray barely kept up:
"Finnan switches it left to Yang Yang!"
"Yang Yang on the ball—breaking through!"
"Brilliant!"
"He's split the two Chelsea defenders! Incredible pace!"
"He's charging toward the edge of the box!"
John Terry immediately abandoned Crouch and lunged forward to cut off the lane, trying to force Yang Yang wide.
As Chelsea's captain stepped in, he saw Yang Yang slow down—body faintly turning inward as if preparing to cut inside. Terry read it and shifted his body to block the middle.
But Yang Yang had baited him.
At the final split-second, he sliced the ball to the right with a sharp outside-of-the-foot cut.
Terry flew past into empty space.
"Yang Yang sent Terry the wrong way! What a sensational feint!"
Terry was completely beaten.
Yang Yang darted into the box, reaching the six-yard area before Cech could fully adjust. The keeper had begun shading left as soon as Finnan released the pass, and Yang Yang's burst past Terry came faster than expected.
Now Cech had to recover—but he was late.
Yang Yang opened his body and pushed a composed, accurate low shot toward the far post.
Cech launched himself desperately, fingertips stretching—
—but the ball slipped just past his glove.
Ricardo Carvalho sprinted back and slid on the line, but he reached the ball too late. His slide only carried both himself and the ball into the net.
Liverpool led.
"GOAL!!!"
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!"
"In the 70th minute, Liverpool finally take the lead!"
"Yang Yang again! This incredible Chinese winger does it once more!"
"That's his second of the match — another spectacular strike!"
...
The entire Stamford Bridge erupted in boos.
Yang Yang didn't hear any of it.
He spun away from goal and sprinted toward the corner flag, arms stretched wide like wings—gliding across the pitch, soaring on pure adrenaline. When he reached the corner, he dropped to his knees and slid, his momentum carrying him across the turf.
He grabbed the colorful hand rope on his left wrist, kissed it fiercely, then lifted both arms high toward the sky.
Sweat dripped down his face, but his expression was pure exhilaration.
A brace.
He loved this feeling—this rush—this explosion of life that only scoring could give.
Within seconds, Gerrard and the others came tearing toward him.
The Liverpool captain grabbed him from behind and lifted him slightly off the ground, roaring with laughter, overflowing with joy—looking even happier than if he had scored the goal himself.
Xabi Alonso sprinted in next.
Daniel Agger threw his arms around them.
Carragher arrived shouting.
The entire Liverpool squad piled into the celebration, engulfing Yang Yang in a sea of red.
Yang Yang felt almost embarrassed by the attention—but he also understood.
They weren't just celebrating his second goal.
They were celebrating Liverpool retaking the lead.
They were celebrating the possibility that tonight, at last, Chelsea's three-year unbeaten home record might fall.
As Yang Yang climbed back to his feet, Gerrard suddenly stepped forward—and drove a playful but heavy punch straight into Yang Yang's chest.
"You're not normal!" Gerrard shouted, half laughing, half shouting.
"I said in the dressing room you could dribble past three players—so you went out there and actually dribbled past three players!"
Yang Yang froze, eyes wide, stunned into silence.