Chapter 143: Midfield Wins Titles! Screw Your Treble—We Want the Champions League!
Carrington, Manchester United's training base in the western outskirts of Manchester.
After the FA Cup final, United's entire focus shifted toward preparing for the Champions League final.
As always, preparations were delegated to Carlos Queiroz—Ferguson's trusted right-hand man.
But the real dilemma was: how should they approach this final?
"According to the forecast, it'll rain in Moscow that day. We need to prepare for a wet-weather game in advance," Queiroz noted, with his usual attention to detail—tracking even off-pitch factors like the weather.
"How's Darren doing?" Ferguson asked with concern.
Darren Fletcher—one of United's only two defensively capable midfielders.
"He's still recovering, but not in great shape."
Ferguson knew Fletcher's abilities inside and out.
Still young at 24, but with very distinct traits.
Earlier in the season, Fletcher was United's go-to for the Champions League, while Hargreaves featured in the league.
But once Fletcher got injured, Hargreaves had to take over both duties.
What really made Ferguson laugh was the media.
When Fletcher played, United scored more—but also conceded more.
When Hargreaves replaced him in the Champions League from the quarterfinals on, United didn't concede a single goal in four straight matches.
So now the media were falling over themselves to praise Hargreaves and tear down Fletcher.
Their narrative? If Hargreaves had been used earlier, United would've breezed through the Champions League.
Ferguson nearly died laughing.
These clowns had no concept of dynamic football analysis.
Most of them didn't even understand the basic differences between the two players.
They claimed Fletcher and Hargreaves were both all-around midfielders.
But then what?
What exactly were they good at? What roles did they prefer?
In reality, the two were completely different midfield profiles.
Hargreaves wasn't your typical English midfielder.
He hadn't come through the traditional English academy system, so he avoided many of the flaws common to local players.
Technically decent, strong defensively, good at sticking close to his man—but most importantly, he was a tireless runner and highly versatile.
He could play in multiple positions.
When Ronaldo cut inside or left the right flank, Hargreaves could slot in as a right midfielder or even a right winger.
It all highlighted one key trait: Hargreaves could run. He was everywhere.
Some compared him to Roy Keane.
What nonsense. Keane could play as a lone holding midfielder.
Put Hargreaves there and United's backline would be shredded.
That's why Carrick was the true linchpin.
Hargreaves was best suited for pressing and attacking systems.
Use him in a defensive counter-attacking setup, and his weaknesses in positional discipline would be exposed.
Put simply: let him run free.
But Fletcher? He was perfect for a defensive setup.
Like Hargreaves, he couldn't play as a lone pivot. But Fletcher's strengths lay in interceptions, positioning, and covering space.
His instincts for tracking back and helping the fullbacks or center backs—Hargreaves didn't have that.
That's why Ferguson used Hargreaves in the league, where United played aggressively and pushed high.
But in Europe, where more balance was needed, Fletcher was the man to solidify the midfield.
When Fletcher got injured, Ferguson had no choice but to rely on Hargreaves, and the team became more cautious as a result.
Ironically, with Fletcher in the team, United actually played more freely.
Once Hargreaves took over from the quarterfinals onward, Ferguson adopted a more defensive approach.
That's football tactics for you.
What fans see on the pitch isn't always what the manager envisioned.
Take, for example, all the people asking why Ferguson spent big on Ashley Young.
Ferguson wanted to snap back:
Weren't you lot the ones clamoring for a modern 4-3-3?
In Barcelona's Dream Team 2.0, one of the most crucial attacking patterns was Ronaldinho cutting in from the left and playing diagonal balls to Eto'o or Giuly.
Ashley Young, with his crossing accuracy and reputation as the "King of Crosses" in the Premier League, fit that mold perfectly.
Tactically, the purpose of those diagonal balls was to force the defense to retreat and shift laterally—dramatically increasing the difficulty for defenders.
Once the ball switched to the right, the back line shifted with it, exposing gaps in the middle.
Ronaldinho would pass diagonally to Giuly, Giuly would square it, and Eto'o would score.
That was the classic play.
But as the season progressed and Ronaldo kept scoring more and more, Ferguson had to shelve that plan.
After all, Ronaldo wasn't about to play the Giuly role.
In Ferguson's ideal setup, Ronaldo's pace would rip the line apart after a Young pass, then cut it back to Rooney—Rooney's goal tally would explode.
Now, Nani might be the one to play the Giuly role.
"What do you think about the final?" Ferguson asked Queiroz.
After years of working together, Queiroz was used to these sudden questions.
"The team Yang Cheng has built looks deceptively simple—but in reality, it's very hard to contain."
Ferguson nodded with a wry smile. "A team that scored over 100 goals in a season—that's no joke."
If they were easy to stop, someone would've done it already.
And there was another stat that proved just how dangerous Bayswater Chinese's attack was:
This season, only one Premier League team was shut out in just two matches.
Bayswater Chinese.
Both losses ended 0–1, away at Blackburn and away at Everton.
"Yaya Touré is their most stable and efficient deep-lying midfielder.
Lass Diarra excels at covering ground, ball-winning, and pressing.
Modrić drives the play forward."
Then Queiroz paused, a flash of admiration in his eyes.
"You're still looking for Scholes' successor, right? Personally, I think Modrić is the kind of progressive midfielder we desperately need.
Anderson's not at that level."
Ferguson wasn't surprised.
Modrić was low-profile, but anyone in the business knew his value.
"To be honest, facing that midfield trio—we'll struggle to stop them," Queiroz concluded.
Not just United.
Most clubs in Europe couldn't handle Bayswater Chinese's midfield.
Not even Barcelona.
"And I think we need to assign someone specifically to deal with Maicon.
Or just move Ronaldo to the left to suppress him."
"Since last season, when Yang Cheng restructured the team's tactics, Maicon's influence on the right flank has grown dramatically.
He covers over 12 kilometers per match."
On paper, his stats might not seem spectacular.
But anyone watching the games knew—Maicon was one of the best right-backs in Europe.
Leave space for him, and he'll make you pay.
"And finally, there's the Modrić-Arshavin control axis."
Most people had no idea just how important the link-up between Modrić and Arshavin really was.
The Russian wasn't just reliable with ball control and distribution—his ability to read the game was outstanding.
He could pass, control, dribble, and shoot—all at a high level—and with excellent off-the-ball movement to match.
Together with Modrić, they formed a dual core that could simplify even the most tangled tactical situations.
On the pitch, it often looked effortless—
a simple one-two, a quick pass, a sudden change of direction—
and the problem was solved.
But beneath the surface, it was a masterful manipulation of the entire opposing defensive system.
It took razor-sharp instincts and extraordinary anticipation.
Rumor had it the guy used to play Chinese checkers.
"Hearing you say all that, I'm starting to think our chances aren't that great," Ferguson chuckled.
Queiroz looked a little awkward.
But everything he'd said came from his honest, professional judgment.
Fortunately, Ferguson understood—this had always been their working dynamic.
"I've got two ideas," Ferguson said.
"First, pull Rooney out wide to the left to pin Maicon, have Tevez drop deeper to link up play, and push Ronaldo to the front as the striker. Then we play on the counter."
Tevez was a true Red Devil—aggressive, relentless, full of fire.
As a South American player, he excelled at ball retention, support play, and late runs.
"This way, Tevez and Ronaldo form a two-pronged threat.
But to maximize Ronaldo's strengths, he needs to stay away from the center-backs.
That means pulling the backline deeper—so we'd have to fully commit to counter-attacking."
Queiroz understood the implication.
Ferguson, especially in the Premier League, had never been one to sit back and defend.
Call it pride, call it tradition—but Manchester United never chose to play on the back foot.
"Second option: still pull Rooney left, but let Tevez lead the line and battle with their center-backs. Ronaldo drops a little deeper."
"But if we do that, we'll need to push our midfield forward.
With Hargreaves in there, I'm worried we won't be able to hold the line."
Hargreaves had a lot of strengths.
But also clear weaknesses.
He could run—yes—but didn't always get back in time.
That could be fatal.
Especially when both teams push forward to attack.
Queiroz fell silent.
Ferguson had clearly been thinking hard, but there wasn't really a perfect solution.
Every option came with risk—it was all a gamble.
After United claimed the league and FA Cup, the media hyped them endlessly, calling them the next treble winners.
They pointed out that United hadn't lost to Bayswater Chinese all season.
Which was true.
But, outside of the FA Cup final—where Bayswater Chinese fielded a second-string team—United hadn't actually beaten them either.
Both teams making the Champions League final meant their strength was close.
And Yang Cheng's team had one undeniable advantage:
superior passing and control.
That was something United didn't have.
Ferguson had talked about "two" ideas, but Queiroz knew the truth.
With Sir Alex's personality, he really only had one.
He was just searching for a way to attack proactively without compromising the defense.
But—did such a thing even exist?
…
The big match was just days away.
When the parents arrived in London, along with Xia Xi and his girlfriend, Yang Cheng personally went to the airport to pick them up.
He'd been so busy lately he hadn't had time to take care of himself.
So he shaved, got a haircut, put on a sharp tracksuit, and stood with Xia Qing at the airport arrivals gate.
They'd arranged the meeting spot in advance.
Luckily, the timing was perfect—they didn't have to wait long.
Soon, Yang Jianguo and his wife, Xia Anmin and his wife, and Xia Xi with his girlfriend came out chatting and smiling.
"Dad, Mom, Uncle, Aunt—welcome to London," Yang Cheng greeted them warmly, just like when he had visited their home.
He immediately stepped forward to take the suitcase from Cao Wenhui.
Xia Qing went straight to greet Yang Cheng's mother, Li Hongying, and took her luggage too.
"Ah Cheng, didn't you say you were busy? Why are you here?" Cao Wenhui asked, clearly pleased with her future son-in-law.
Not only was he handsome—he was also successful.
"Auntie, what are you talking about? You all came all this way to see us. No matter how busy I am, I have to come pick you up."
His thoughtfulness made her beam.
Xia Anmin and Xia Xi exchanged a glance—both visibly relieved.
They'd seen the reports.
Ever since the FA Cup final loss, the media had been overwhelmingly pessimistic about Bayswater Chinese.
They'd been worried Yang Cheng would show up depressed, defeated.
They were already brainstorming ways to comfort him.
But the moment they saw him, cheerful and full of energy,
they realized—this was no loser.
And if it was just for show, they would've seen right through it.
So they relaxed.
Yang Cheng had arranged three welcome cars, all provided by club sponsor Mercedes-Benz.
Xia Qing rode with her parents. Yang Cheng was going to ride with his,
but Yang Jianguo insisted he sit with Xia Xi instead.
The three cars left the airport and headed east.
Despite the long flight, everyone looked in good spirits.
They had made plans: the first thing they wanted to do after arriving in London was visit Yang Cheng's base of operations.
So after leaving Heathrow, they drove past Hounslow, turned onto the A406 northbound, passed Wembley Stadium, and arrived at Brent Cross Shopping Centre.
Crossing Brent Reservoir, they reached the Bayswater Chinese training complex in Brent.
After years of development, the base was nearly complete.
To the north, past Brent Cross, was the youth academy.
To the south, along the reservoir, was the first-team training center.
The academy had been completed two years ago and was already in full use.
The first-team facilities were undergoing final inspections and would officially open this summer.
Only the third phase of the complex, next to the academy, remained unfinished.
But it wasn't urgent—Jubilee Park in Hendon was still usable for now.
According to the club's plan, the next big priority would be the new Bayswater stadium.
So phase three was temporarily on hold.
The group took a tour by car before getting out in front of the first-team center.
"It's this big? All of this?" Cao Wenhui gasped.
She had heard Yang Cheng was making waves in London,
but she hadn't imagined it was on this scale.
Buying up this much land? It was jaw-dropping.
"Mom, the whole area is ours. No loans either—everything paid in full," Xia Qing said proudly.
Even Xia Anmin was visibly impressed.
He'd seen plenty in his life, and he had to admit—
pulling this off with financing would already be impressive.
But all cash?
That was next level.
Yang Jianguo and Li Hongying had visited once before,
but at that time, there was nothing here.
Now they were seeing what many called the world's most advanced football training complex.
It wasn't just about how grand it looked.
It was the fact that their son had built all this.
"That's why they said it would take hundreds of millions," Xia Xi said with awe.
In his mind, he was thinking in RMB.
Initial estimates put the cost—land and development—at over £30 million.
When they moved on to tour the player facilities—the recreation and residential areas—they were even more stunned.
The players' "dorms" were built to five-star hotel standards.
It was... pure luxury.
Cao Wenhui even joked, "We could just move in here and live."
After touring the training base, they visited Wembley Stadium.
Everyone had heard of this £800 million football cathedral,
but none of them had ever experienced it in person.
Now, Bayswater Chinese played their matches there.
Still, it was only rented.
After a brief walkthrough, they headed into central London, arriving in Bayswater, just north of Hyde Park.
They had all heard of Notting Hill and Hyde Park,
not to mention Queensway and Westbourne Grove.
Just a short walk north up Queensway,
they arrived at Bayswater Stadium.
Another round of astonished gasps.
Even Xia Anmin found it hard to believe.
"It's huge!"
Owning such a large plot in London's hyper-expensive city center—how much must it be worth?
When Yang Cheng explained how the London city council had been at their wits' end over the abandoned site,
everyone burst into laughter.
Then they saw the architectural plans by Norman Foster—
and were completely blown away.
Yang Cheng had set up a dedicated exhibition room at the club.
It displayed the blueprints and a large model of the new stadium,
clearly showing the scale of the Queensway renovation project and the grandeur of Bayswater Chinese's new home.
"How much is all this going to cost?" Xia Xi was stunned.
He knew Yang Cheng was working on something big,
but seeing it up close—it was overwhelming.
"It was originally budgeted at £1 billion, but now…" Yang Cheng said, awkwardly but proudly.
Xia Qing followed up:
"According to the latest designs, the stadium will have an additional sunken tier of seating.
It's a massive engineering challenge, and £1 billion probably won't be enough."
Everyone was speechless.
If this were in China, it would be a project worth over ten billion yuan.
Even a seasoned figure like Xia Anmin had to take a moment,
looking at Yang Cheng with quiet awe.
A true prodigy!
They then toured the Bayswater Chinese office headquarters.
Every department was working full tilt to prepare for the Champions League final.
Adam Crozier and Omar Berrada weren't there—no one had time to play host.
So after the brief tour, the group headed west toward Holland Park's luxury residential district.
…
Yang Cheng's new home had been personally designed by Norman Foster.
From the exterior to the interior, from the front courtyard to the back garden—
every detail bore the mark of a master.
Though technically a standalone home, the space was quite generous.
Both families, Xia Xi and his girlfriend, and Xia Qing all fit comfortably.
From the outside, it looked similar to the neighboring villas.
But once inside, Foster's signature minimalist, modern style became apparent—
sleek yet luxurious, understated yet meticulously crafted.
The space was bright and open,
the layout logical and inviting.
Everyone who stepped inside felt immediately warm and comfortable.
The house had all the features of a true luxury residence.
The only thing missing was a pool.
But that wasn't just this house—none of the homes in this neighborhood had pools.
For Yang Cheng and Xia Qing, it wasn't a necessity anyway.
The property was well-managed.
Yang Cheng and Xia Qing had hired a butler and staff,
and all the rooms were already cleaned and prepared.
They'd even arranged a lavish dinner.
"Dad, Uncle, Xia Xi—how about we have a drink?" Yang Cheng said cheerfully before the meal.
"This wine's from Ferguson's personal cellar. He sent me a whole case."
"Really?" Xia Anmin perked up—he was a football fan himself.
Any fan had a decent opinion of Sir Alex Ferguson.
As they ate and drank, the group praised the wine.
Ferguson had a cellar full of rare vintages—nothing made it in unless it was top-tier.
"If you like it, let's split the rest up. I'll have the rest shipped back to China for you," Yang Cheng offered.
"All for us? What about you?" Xia Anmin laughed with delight.
A treasured gift from a future son-in-law, and one with Sir Alex's seal of approval—who could say no?
"I'll just get another case from Ferguson—once I win the Champions League," Yang Cheng replied matter-of-factly.
Everyone broke into laughter.
It wasn't just about the wine—it was the confidence in Yang Cheng's voice.
Clearly, all their worries had been unnecessary.
Yang Cheng wasn't dwelling on the league or FA Cup losses.
Gradually, the conversation returned to the new Bayswater Stadium.
Due to recent last-minute changes in key data,
the design had to be redone, with many parts adjusted accordingly.
Still, they expected to receive official construction approval by September.
The expedited process was thanks to the Queensway renovation being backed by the city government.
When the government gets involved—things move quickly.
As a banker, Xia Anmin was naturally concerned with the club's financing.
Xia Qing gave a simple report—
for now, the initial funding was secure.
"If it comes to loans, I agree with Ah Cheng's view—wait," Xia Anmin said firmly.
With his access to global financial data,
he had a clearer picture than most.
"Based on current indicators, the impact of the U.S. debt crisis is vastly underestimated.
Europe's reaction won't hit full force until the second half of the year."
"I checked—last December, the Bank of England cut the base rate from 5.75% to 5.5%.
Initial forecasts had it dropping to around 5.25% by the end of 2008."
"But by January, those forecasts were revised downward again.
Now they expect the rate to fall to 4.25% by year-end."
"From what we're seeing, it'll likely get worse than that.
I personally think the base rate could drop to between 3% and 3.5%."
Xia Qing and Xia Xi both did the mental math.
A sharp drop in interest rates was never a good sign for an economy.
Yang Cheng, meanwhile, shook his head silently.
It was already May 2008.
And even someone like Xia Anmin couldn't foresee what was coming.
3%?
If Yang Cheng told him that by January 2009, the UK would slash the rate to 0.5%,
it would probably scare him half to death.
And the craziest part?
That 0.5% base rate would stay in place for ten years.
If you said that out loud now, every financial expert and banker in the world would laugh you out of the room.
But it was the truth.
Still, even with that, building the new stadium wouldn't be easy.
Even with a 0.5% base rate,
a long-term loan would likely come with a 2–3% premium.
The final rate would depend on negotiations with the bank.
Xia Qing was confident on that front.
And Xia Anmin gave detailed advice on how to approach those negotiations.
He also offered to leverage his own connections and resources to help.
Even if they secured a favorable loan at around 2.5% interest,
a £1 billion loan over 20 years would still require annual payments of around £70 million.
Arsenal, who paid less than £60 million annually for the Emirates, were already struggling to stay afloat.
£70 million would be a massive burden for Bayswater Chinese.
But for Yang Cheng, this wasn't an insurmountable problem.
Because in the next few years—
player values were about to skyrocket.
At Worst, We'll Just Sell One or Two Players—But That Stadium Is Worth It
"At worst, we'll just sell one or two more players," Yang Cheng said casually.
Once the new stadium and surrounding infrastructure were completed, the long-term benefits would be enormous.
Xia Anmin believed that for a project of this magnitude—especially one done in cooperation with the British government—it was entirely possible to negotiate an even lower interest rate on loans.
And if financial issues did arise during the repayment period, there would be multiple ways to handle it.
With Bayswater Chinese's current assets, there was really nothing to worry about.
"You've got my full support here in the UK," Xia Anmin said. "If there's anything I can help with, just say the word."
If they were in China, both Xia Anmin and Xia Xi would be able to offer much more direct help.
But since this was the UK, Yang Cheng and Xia Qing both reassured him that they were confident things would work out.
"If it really can't be done, Uncle, I'll trouble you then," Yang Cheng replied with a smile, pouring him another drink. The two clinked glasses again.
Yang Jianguo and Li Hongying sat nearby, beaming with pride.
They knew how vast the Xia family's connections and influence were back in China.
Just the backing of Zhongxin Bank alone gave the Yang family's business a solid foundation.
Thanks to their children, the two families had grown closer and closer, and Yang Jianguo now enjoyed access to news and resources that most could only dream of.
Especially when the topic inevitably shifted toward marriage—
Li Hongying firmly took Cao Wenhui's side.
Xia Qing was already 30, and Xia Xi even older by two years.
Yes, it was more common for young people to marry late nowadays, but still—it was time to start planning.
Now that they had a house, all that was missing… was a child.
As soon as the conversation started veering into dangerous territory,
Yang Cheng quickly found an excuse to escape—
saying there was urgent club business to attend to, he'd be staying the night at Xia Qing's old apartment.
Then, under the hopeless, despairing gazes of Xia Qing and Xia Xi,
he ran like the wind.
Who knew how the siblings would survive the evening…
…
The Champions League final was scheduled for May 21.
But on the evening of the 19th, after finishing their final training session,
Yang Cheng had dinner with the full first-team squad—all 24 players.
Afterward, the entire team boarded the team bus for Heathrow Airport,
where they boarded a chartered flight to Moscow.
Yang Cheng brought every first-team player with him.
The players' and coaches' families, along with club staff,
were scheduled to arrive in Moscow throughout the 20th.
As for the fans—
Luzhniki Stadium's capacity was 70,000.
Each club had been allocated 25,000 tickets.
For a club like Bayswater Chinese, that was already far from enough.
So the tickets were sold only to season-ticket holders—
a way of giving back to their most loyal supporters.
The team arrived at the hotel in Moscow well past midnight local time.
After checking in, they all went straight to their rooms to rest.
The night passed quietly.
The next morning, the team boarded their familiar bus to attend a light training session organized by the local event hosts—
mostly just to keep the players' legs loose and spirits steady.
In the afternoon, they went to Luzhniki Stadium for their pre-match walkaround and pitch familiarization.
Already, many fans had arrived early and were gathered outside the stadium.
For all of Bayswater Chinese's players, this was their first time in a Champions League final—
everything was new, unfamiliar.
But the club had been preparing every step in meticulous detail.
From logistical arrangements to matchday protocol, everything had been carefully laid out.
The players followed the plan smoothly, with no disruptions.
This, too, was a form of match preparation.
Many teams lacked the experience—or the effort—to prepare properly,
and their players often found themselves flustered before big games.
After training, Yang Cheng attended the pre-match press conference.
As head coach, he gave the usual answers to the usual questions—
a standard routine.
The real action was happening behind the scenes.
Club psychologist Tim Harkness was suddenly the busiest man on the staff.
A lot of players were nervous.
Insomnia was common.
Some even began experiencing physical symptoms due to psychological tension.
For example, many believed that Ronaldo's infamous collapse before the 1998 World Cup final was due to extreme stress.
Since the moment they reached the Champions League final,
Tim Harkness had been preparing for this.
Fortunately, Yang Cheng's squad—though young—had strong mental fortitude.
…
The morning of May 21 marked the beginning of matchday protocol.
Every aspect of the day was built around the 22:45 kickoff that night.
On this day, the whole world was ablaze with news of the final.
But while both teams were heavily covered,
there was still a huge difference in tone.
Bayswater Chinese were newcomers, short on history, and lacked media storylines.
And with their recent setbacks—losing the Premier League title, then the FA Cup final—
global media and fans were openly pessimistic about their chances.
In contrast, Manchester United came in with momentum and silverware.
Having already secured the domestic double, they had their sights firmly set on a historic treble.
And United's deep legacy meant there was so much more to talk about.
Reporters swarmed to cover the nostalgia.
The legends of United's 1999 treble-winning squad were everywhere—
doing interviews, appearing in documentaries, gracing magazine covers and TV panels.
Teddy Sheringham hosted a special program on the BBC,
recapping the glory of that season.
The English legend declared that this current United side was even stronger than the one from '99.
Winning the treble was just the beginning of a new Red Devil dynasty.
David May, the infamous "Black Wind Duo," even Jaap Stam—
all of them gave interviews, wishing the club success.
All around the world, the media echoed the same sentiment:
United were the clear favorites.
The narrative had taken on a life of its own.
This was the difference that club legacy makes at moments like this.
Yang Cheng understood.
If people wanted to write features about Bayswater Chinese, what was there to cover?
Not much.
Manchester United?
From the Munich air disaster, to the '99 treble,
to this season's historic run at a second treble—
they had endless stories to tell.
By contrast, Bayswater Chinese looked like plucky upstarts,
totally lacking aura and momentum.
To the average fan, it genuinely felt like United were already destined to win.
…
For Bayswater Chinese, the matchday routine was the same as always.
After waking up, everyone had breakfast together.
Then they returned to their rooms for some rest,
followed by a pre-match tactical meeting.
But this time, the session was different.
Instead of diving into tactical diagrams or opponent breakdowns,
Yang Cheng had the team watch a specially edited video.
It documented their journey—
from League Two, up through the Championship,
to the Premier League, and now the Champions League final.
Yang Cheng said almost nothing.
But everyone in the room felt the weight of it all.
Bayswater Chinese hadn't reached this stage by chance.
They were carrying the effort of years—
the dreams of every player, staff member, and supporter who had built the club step by step.
At the end of the video, one message appeared on screen:
"Leave No Regrets."
That, clearly, was the manager's message.
From morning to afternoon, the players remained in their hotel rooms.
There was no choice.
The streets were packed with fans,
and all of Moscow was swept up in Champions League fever.
Even the Russian Media Were Reporting: British Fans Have Taken Over Moscow!
Yang Cheng and team psychologist Tim Harkness moved from room to room, checking in on players, seeing how they were holding up.
When the time came, everyone boarded the team bus and headed for Luzhniki Stadium.
Though it was still early, the area around the stadium was already packed with fans from both clubs.
Manchester United, designated the home team for the night, wore their classic red kits. Bayswater Chinese wore their iconic "Desert Gold" away strip.
All the Bayswater Chinese fans in attendance were also dressed in the away colors.
Scarves, hats, banners, and souvenirs—everything in that gleaming gold.
Inside the stadium, the contrast would be stark:
a sea of United red versus a wave of Bayswater gold.
Luzhniki Stadium wasn't especially large.
At least, not compared to Wembley.
But tonight, it was different.
As the team bus pulled into the stadium grounds, Yang Cheng could clearly hear the gasps from his players.
This was the Champions League Final.
It gave the venue a weight and solemnity that could be felt.
As Bayswater Chinese's bus arrived, fans erupted in cheers—
mixed with a chorus of boos.
Cheers from their own supporters,
boos from the United faithful.
The organizers had tried to stagger arrivals and separate the fan sections.
Everyone knew how notorious English fans could be—
especially after a few drinks. Fights, even stabbings, weren't unheard of.
The Moscow police were taking it seriously, doing their best to keep fans apart.
But there were always a few who slipped through.
As Yang Cheng stepped off the bus with his players, they were greeted by a roar from their gold-clad supporters.
The players waved to the crowd and quickly made their way through the tunnel.
Then came the usual pre-match routine:
Unload gear.
Change kits.
Warm up on the pitch.
Return to the locker room.
Wait.
All 24 first-team players were gathered in the dressing room.
Those not on the squad list wore the club's custom-tailored suits and would watch from the stands.
But right now, they stood with their teammates.
Yang Cheng read out the starting lineup:
Goalkeeper: Manuel Neuer
Defense: Leighton Baines, Thiago Silva, Pepe, Maicon
Midfield: Yaya Touré (holding), Modrić, Lass Diarra
Forwards: Di María, Džeko, Arshavin
Bayswater Chinese were at full strength.
Manchester United, too, went with their strongest XI:
Goalkeeper: Van der Sar
Defense: Evra, Vidic, Ferdinand, Wes Brown
Midfield: Carrick, Hargreaves, Scholes
Forwards: Tevez, Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo
Yang Cheng wasn't entirely sure what formation United would use.
If they went 4-4-2, Giggs should be on the pitch—
a midfield of Giggs, Carrick, Hargreaves, and Ronaldo, with Rooney and Tevez up front.
But Giggs wasn't starting—Scholes was.
So it was likely a three-man midfield.
But how would the front three be arranged?
Would it be a 4-3-3?
Neither side had revealed their tactical hand.
No one knew what the other was planning.
Sometimes, a coach would even adjust the game plan last-minute based on the opposing lineup.
And sometimes, that led to brilliance—
and other times… they turned into Guardiola.
Yang Cheng's tactics—especially his targeted plans—had already been finalized in London.
There was no need to repeat anything.
Now, the most important job was motivation.
Yang Cheng played the club's football culture promo video.
With Adele's voice as the soundtrack, the footage showed their long journey—
every match, every struggle.
It stirred something deep in every player's heart.
Because they had lived those moments.
"In recent weeks, we've been written off over and over again," Yang Cheng began.
"Almost everyone has declared us dead and buried."
"People always like to cling to the past.
They want to see Manchester United win the treble."
"But has anyone stopped to ask:
What about us?
What do we want?"
His words hit like a bolt of lightning.
This wasn't a match that needed a pep talk.
Every player was already ready to give their all.
But Yang Cheng wanted them to walk into that stadium with purpose—with conviction.
"When we lost the league title, did I ever blame you?"
The players all shook their heads.
Not only did Yang Cheng not blame them—he encouraged them.
"When we lost the FA Cup final, did I blame you?"
Again, heads shook.
Even those in suits, not on the squad sheet, nodded solemnly.
"But I need you now."
"I need your help to fulfill a dream."
"When the whole world is against us,
when they look down on us,
I need you to win this final and shout to the world who Bayswater Chinese really are!"
"Screw the treble!"
"Why can't we win the Champions League?!"
"I know it's hard—really hard.
That's why not every team has what it takes to earn that trophy waiting outside!"
"But we can!"
"We're standing right in front of it tonight—
and we're going to take it!"
By now, Yang Cheng's voice was practically roaring.
The whole locker room was ablaze.
With a gesture from him, Modrić and José Fonte called everyone to gather in a tight huddle.
All 24 players, plus the entire coaching staff led by Brian Kidd,
closed in around Yang Cheng.
"Now—
I need warriors."
"I need your complete trust.
Your full support.
Your unwavering belief."
"We are going to fight for the Champions League trophy."
"Attack or defend—I need everything you've got!"
"Right now, I need you to tell yourself,
again and again:
We. Can. Do. This!"
"Maybe we'll face difficulties, surprises, setbacks during the match—
but if you hold onto that belief,
if you fight with that conviction,
we'll win everything!"
Yang Cheng opened his arms wide.
The players howled like wolves and surged forward,
pulling him into a massive embrace.
With José Fonte's rallying cry,
the locker room erupted in a roar of unity,
a final surge of passion before war.
And then—
the buzzer rang.
It was time.
Yang Cheng stood by the dressing room door, hugging each player one by one,
whispering words of strength and encouragement.
Last in line was Andrey Arshavin.
A Russian.
Tonight's match was in Moscow—this was his homecoming.
"We need you, Andrey," Yang Cheng said.
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