Chapter 145: We're Champions! And the Summer Transfer Market's New Record Signings
The moment the referee blew the final whistle, the players and coaches of Bayswater Chinese, who had been waiting anxiously on the sidelines, stormed the pitch like a tidal wave.
A torrential downpour fell over the stadium, but no one cared.
They didn't care that their teammates on the field were soaked to the bone—
they dove into their arms anyway.
We're champions!
We've won the title!
"Let's congratulate Bayswater Chinese!"
"This young Premier League team has won the 2007/08 UEFA Champions League!"
"It's the first Champions League title in the club's history!"
"And they've become the 22nd club in history to win the competition!"
"Even more astonishing, they've now surpassed Van Gaal's Ajax to become the youngest-ever Champions League-winning side, with an average squad age of just 22."
"Back in the 1994/95 season, Van Gaal's Ajax won the title with an average age of 23."
"This is a moment to be proud of—tonight, football fans everywhere witnessed the birth of a new chapter in history."
"Bayswater Chinese is a young club in every sense."
"They started as an amateur team founded in London's Chinatown, and were acquired in the late 1990s by an investment group from China. In 2003, Yang Cheng officially took over and launched the club into its era of rapid growth."
"In 2005, they were promoted to the Premier League. In 2007, they became Premier League champions. And in 2008—they've won the Champions League!"
"They've climbed a new step every year at breakneck speed."
"More importantly, this team of 22-year-olds is filled with young, emerging stars who will undoubtedly become one of Europe's most feared forces over the next few years."
"And speaking of youth—there's their head coach, Yang Cheng, just 28 years old."
"He is now the youngest manager ever to win the Champions League!"
As Yang Cheng stepped onto the soaked turf at Luzhniki Stadium wearing his rain jacket,
the downpour quickly drenched him from head to toe.
But it couldn't cool the fire in his heart.
This was the first Champions League trophy of his coaching career.
The one he had dreamed of for decades.
He even had the urge to scream at the top of his lungs.
But reason held him back.
He quickly made his way across the pitch, hugging each of his players.
Not far away, the Manchester United players looked utterly defeated.
Cristiano Ronaldo knelt in the mud, head bowed, forehead pressed to the ground—
hiding his expression from everyone.
Before this match, they had dreamed of the treble.
They were proud—cocky, even.
Now, that pride had turned to bitter disappointment.
Crushed, doubled, multiplied.
It wasn't that they didn't fight.
But the game never seemed to flow for them.
Everyone knew why—
their tactics had been outmatched.
Two first-half goals from Bayswater Chinese tore apart United's famed back line.
Losing midfield control meant they could never recover.
And in the second half, fatigue robbed them of any final push.
They'd won the FA Cup. That had brought joy.
But in Moscow—they paid the price.
…
"This system of yours—I've never seen you use it before. Were you holding it back on purpose?"
Ferguson walked over, extended his hand, and congratulated Yang Cheng.
But his curiosity about Yang Cheng's setup was genuine.
Even someone as proud as Sir Alex had to admit, in this tactical battle, he'd been outcoached.
Everyone knew Ferguson's in-game tactical strength wasn't his strong suit.
And that made sense.
British football in recent years had lagged behind the European continent in tactical innovation.
Under that environment, even Ferguson couldn't compare to the great minds trained on the continent.
But he was always willing to learn, always good at surrounding himself with smart people.
Carlos Queiroz had been hired for that very reason.
Still, in this match—Ferguson had been thoroughly beaten.
He couldn't help but wonder how Yang Cheng, so young, had pulled it off.
"We only played you four times this season," Yang Cheng said.
"The first match was the league opener—I hadn't figured things out yet."
"The second was mid-January. Yaya Touré was away at the African Cup. Our defense was unstable, midfield was weak—how could I play like this then?"
"The third doesn't count—it was the FA Cup final," he added with a smile.
That match had been played with backups and youth players. And they'd lost.
Suddenly, Ferguson felt like he'd been punched in the gut.
A realization hit him—
Yang Cheng must have intentionally fielded a second-string team in the FA Cup final
to hide this tactical setup for the Champions League final.
If he had used it in the FA Cup, Ferguson would have had time to prepare for it.
That thought made Ferguson's mood tank completely.
He'd been consoling himself: At least we won a double.
But now, it felt like winning the FA Cup had cost him the Champions League.
It didn't sit well at all.
Yang Cheng had been right about Yaya Touré—
he was crucial to the entire tactical framework.
If you looked at the numbers, you'd see:
Touré barely made any forward runs all game.
He wasn't clueless—
he was incredibly smart, with a high football IQ.
He understood when to hold, where to stand, and what to do.
And he executed it perfectly—anchoring the midfield from start to finish.
"You also had Arshavin drifting between my center-backs and midfielders…
Don't tell me that was just a coincidence," Ferguson added.
The more he thought about it, the worse he felt.
He had been completely outmaneuvered.
Arshavin hovered between Ferdinand and Vidic, behind Carrick and Scholes—
creating massive problems for United's shape.
Džeko pulling wide forced United's defensive line to retreat and shift sideways.
That opened space in central and left channels.
Arshavin capitalized on those gaps.
The first goal—he struck it himself.
The second—he pulled Wes Brown out of position, then fed Di María with a pinpoint pass.
Ferguson had run the match back in his head several times—
and couldn't find a real solution.
Maybe if Fletcher had played, it would've helped.
But even then, it probably wouldn't have been enough.
There was only one real way to stop it:
tighten up, play defensive counterattack.
Shrink the space between lines.
Keep Evra back.
Limit Bayswater's chances on the ball.
But that meant surrendering midfield, possession, tempo—everything.
Only now did Ferguson fully realize:
his system was flawed.
Especially in positional attacks—
his team lacked variation.
And most critically—
they lacked a true center-forward.
He suddenly blurted out, half to himself, half to Yang Cheng:
"Is Džeko for sale?"
Yang Cheng was stunned.
Bro… we just won the Champions League, and you're trying to poach my striker already?
Is this your way of rubbing salt in the wound?
"No."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. I'd rather die than sell him."
After all the effort it took to develop these players—just as everything was coming together—now you want to swoop in and pick the fruit?
Džeko is only 22, just entering the prime of his career, poised to climb another level with each passing year.
And you want me to sell him now?
Are you nuts?
Besides, with how scarce quality center-forwards are in European football today—
can Manchester United even afford him?
"Then how about Modrić?" Ferguson asked.
Yang Cheng pointed at him. "Now you've got your eye on my captain?"
"You think I'm Wenger or something?"
Even with the sting of a Champions League final defeat fresh in his chest, Ferguson couldn't help but laugh at that.
If Wenger heard this, he'd probably be spitting blood.
"Well, if not him—what about Yaya Touré? Or Maicon? We could really use them. And Neuer—come on, you know Van der Sar's not getting any younger…"
Yang Cheng almost lost it.
This old bastard… ruthless!
So many names at once?
"Why don't you just talk to the Glazers and buy our entire club while you're at it?"
"That way, you can take whoever you want. Sound good?"
And with that, Yang Cheng turned around and walked off.
He decided he was going to block Ferguson for at least a month.
Unbelievable!
Behind him, Ferguson muttered, "Why so stingy? What's the difference—sell someone, sell anyone…"
But soon, his thoughts wandered to money. To ownership.
The great Sir Alex Ferguson's mood worsened by the second.
Because really—did Manchester United have money?
…
Later, as Yang Cheng and his players stood in two lines in the tunnel beneath the main stand,
awaiting the trophy presentation, he caught sight of Ferguson again.
Immediately, the smile vanished from his face, replaced with a deep scowl.
Especially when he saw Ferguson patting Džeko on the head and shaking hands with Yaya Touré—
Yang Cheng was ready to march over and boot the old man across the field.
Keep your hands off my players!
Pats and handshakes are free, huh?
It was a one-way path—after receiving their medals, United's players walked in a loop and returned the same way.
Ferguson now had the silver medal in his hand.
Yang Cheng, still bitter, stepped forward with a fake smile and an extended hand.
"Congratulations, congratulations, Sir. Well done on the medal."
Ferguson's face instantly turned into something resembling a man who'd just swallowed a toad.
He looked like a cartoon villain getting hit with a pie.
Congratulations my ass!
I lost the damn final!
But Ferguson knew what this was—Yang Cheng's petty revenge.
The kid was vindictive and couldn't take even the tiniest slight.
When it was time for Bayswater Chinese to accept the trophy, Yang Cheng brought up the rear of the procession.
And that's when he encountered the happy dilemma of winning a title.
UEFA's rule: only 40 medals for each of the finalists.
Beyond the players and the head coach,
how to distribute the remaining medals was up to each club.
Bayswater's first team had only 24 players—not a lot.
But the coaching staff? A lot.
Each core coach had their own assistants.
There was psychologist Tim Harkness, nutritionist Neil Cannon, and others.
Forty medals were not enough.
After Modrić and the team raised the trophy, and as they ran down the podium in celebration,
UEFA President Michel Platini stopped Yang Cheng.
It was about his coaching license.
"Before the final, I spoke with the technical committee," Platini said in a polite tone. "You'll still need to get the official certificate."
In European football, credentials still mattered—
but Yang Cheng was now a Champions League-winning coach.
That gave him weight, prestige—and leverage.
Even Platini had to be respectful.
Yang Cheng picked up on one key word: get.
Not pass, not earn—just get.
"The committee will be issuing a new policy," Platini continued.
"Any coach who wins the Champions League will be granted the highest-level coaching certificate without examination."
Yang Cheng was very pleased.
A custom-tailored policy just for him.
"Thank you, Michel!" he said with a grin.
Flattery costs nothing.
Who knew—maybe "Uncle Platini" would develop a soft spot for Bayswater Chinese.
Unlikely, though.
The Premier League was too dominant.
Four straight seasons with at least one team in the Champions League final.
Two of those seasons ended with the trophy.
In the past two years alone, three of the four semifinalists had been English clubs.
UEFA might never admit it publicly,
but everyone knew: there were unspoken rules.
For example—never allow a clean sweep of all semifinal spots.
Whether for commercial or competitive balance, that kind of domination wasn't allowed.
That's why, in recent seasons, the quarterfinals often featured Premier League teams forced to knock each other out.
It was a way to guarantee at least one non-English team made the semis.
And that meant no clean sweep.
With such a powerful league, UEFA was never going to actively support Bayswater Chinese.
On the podium, Yang Cheng also spotted FIFA President Sepp Blatter.
He and Platini were still on good terms at this point.
Yang Cheng also noticed Prince William of the British royal family, and Prime Minister Gordon Brown.
But most noteworthy was London Mayor Ken Livingstone.
In early May, Livingstone had narrowly defeated Boris Johnson in the mayoral election and secured re-election.
His campaign platform had heavily emphasized the London Olympics and the redevelopment of Bayswater.
Especially the massive £4 billion urban renewal project tied to Bayswater Chinese's stadium and community plan—
a major reason he had edged out Boris.
For Yang Cheng, this was a relief.
In his previous life, Livingstone had lost to Boris in this election.
Of course, for Yang Cheng and Bayswater Chinese,
it didn't really matter who won.
He didn't take political sides.
There was no need to.
Boris Johnson's team had already been in touch with Adam Crozier,
promising that, even if they won, they'd continue supporting the project.
Still, this was Ken Livingstone's legacy project.
Now that he'd been re-elected, he'd be even more invested.
The fact that he flew to Moscow just to support Bayswater Chinese?
Proof that his political bet was firmly placed on Yang Cheng's team.
After receiving the trophy, Yang Cheng stood with Livingstone and Crozier near the stands,
discussing the new stadium project.
The mayor was very concerned about the sudden design changes.
It meant more time.
And with only four years until the London Olympics, time was tight.
Building a massive stadium project in the heart of London?
Four years was already pushing it.
Yang Cheng shared his reasoning: expanding the stadium was absolutely necessary.
"Our average attendance this season already exceeded 60,000," Yang said.
"We're confident we'll top 70,000 next season—maybe even more. A 65,000-seat stadium just isn't enough anymore."
He also emphasized how increasing capacity would stimulate the local economy.
Especially on matchdays.
Fans would flood in from across Greater London and beyond.
And they weren't coming just to watch a match.
They'd shop, eat, explore.
Some, from farther away, might even book accommodation.
It wasn't just football—
it was urban transformation.
All of That Was Just the Indirect Impact—But What About the Direct One?
With increased stadium capacity, every matchday would require significantly more temporary workers—creating jobs!
And with more fan spending at the stadium, tax revenue would rise, directly benefiting the city's coffers.
Not to mention the boost in overall investment.
Ken Livingstone had already crunched the numbers—he knew what the returns would be.
"You're planning to move into the new training center this summer, right?"
The Mayor of London was nothing if not decisive.
"Then here's what we'll do: we'll approve the demolition permits now, and let the new design go through the usual process. Start clearing the old stadium immediately—dig as soon as you're ready."
"And I'll say it again: it must be completed before the London Olympics!"
Of course, Yang Cheng agreed immediately.
But unlike the last time—when he'd slapped his chest and promised to secure the funds—this time, he decided to drop a small hint.
A tactic suggested by his "father-in-law" Xia Anmin.
After all, in projects that involve cooperation with the city, it's not unusual to negotiate favorable commercial loan terms, right?
Ken Livingstone wasn't naïve—he had already guessed Yang Cheng's play.
So he didn't beat around the bush.
"How much are you looking to borrow?"
"Not yet," Yang Cheng replied boldly.
"Truth is, we've already raised over £100 million. There's no issue getting the project started. I just wanted to understand the landscape."
"You've already raised that much?" Livingstone was clearly surprised.
"Football really makes this much money?"
Yang Cheng gave him a mysterious smile and didn't offer any further explanation—just exuded quiet confidence.
"Alright then," said Livingstone, understanding he was pushing too hard.
"When the time comes, we'll help bring in partners from the City. We'll introduce you to some banks that can offer low-interest loans."
That one sentence made Yang Cheng feel reassured.
Even a small drop in interest rates was better than selling a player on the transfer market.
…
After Livingstone left, Xia Qing came down from the stands.
Yang Cheng and Adam Crozier quickly updated her on what they had discussed with the mayor so she'd be in the loop.
As for Yang Cheng's claim that the club had already raised over £100 million—
well, that was definitely a bit of an exaggeration.
This was exactly why he always said Xia Qing, the club's CFO, was the person he trusted the most.
Even though Bayswater Chinese had only finished second in the Premier League,
their Champions League title meant that just from domestic and European competition bonuses and broadcast revenues,
they had brought in £85 million.
Add to that commercial income and matchday revenue, and the club's total earnings had exploded.
They had far exceeded projections.
The club was now expected to enter the top 5 earners in European football, surpassing even Arsenal and Chelsea.
That success was thanks to the Premier League's soaring TV rights,
improved match attendance, and of course, Champions League glory.
Especially the revenue from knockout-stage matches:
AC Milan, Barcelona, Chelsea—
just those three home legs had earned over £15 million in matchday income alone.
That's the power of a big stadium.
And according to Adam Crozier's estimates, Bayswater Chinese still had massive potential to grow their matchday earnings.
For example: current matchday retail sales averaged just £500,000 per match—
a relatively low figure for a top-tier club.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, that figure was typically around £1 million per match.
This season, between the Premier League and Champions League, they played 25 home matches.
If they could double their matchday retail intake,
that's another £10–15 million per season.
And with the Champions League title in hand, commercial income for the next two years was sure to rise.
That would bring the club's revenue to an entirely new level.
Of course, all of this assumed Bayswater Chinese could maintain their current momentum and competitiveness.
According to Xia Qing's confidential report,
the club could safely allocate £100 million this year.
Combine that with leftover transfer installment payments from past years,
and the stadium project was more than financially viable.
That's why Yang Cheng had pressured Norman Foster to expand the stadium as much as possible.
A big stadium came with big benefits.
The final two home matches in the Champions League knockout rounds were both sold out—
90,000 fans in attendance.
With an average ticket price of £50,
that's £4.5 million per match in gate revenue.
Now imagine this:
In the league, tickets are cheaper—averaging £40.
A sellout brings in £3.6 million per match.
Multiply that by 19 home matches, and you're looking at nearly £70 million.
And that's without counting VIP boxes, which brought in at least another £20 million.
Add in matchday retail—if that hits £1 million per match,
that's another £20 million per season.
Even without the Champions League or FA Cup—
that's well over £100 million per year just from domestic matches.
Insane profits.
That's why, during those years when Yang Cheng had "crossed over,"
Premier League giants like Manchester United, Arsenal, and Manchester City
were all scrambling to expand their stadiums.
United even talked about building a 100,000-seat super stadium.
Arsenal targeted 90,000.
Because the bigger the stadium, the bigger the payoff.
Still, Xia Qing gave Yang Cheng a word of caution:
Even without factoring in transfers,
it would be hard to pull out this much money every year.
Right now, Bayswater Chinese benefited from a large stadium and relatively low player salaries.
But as success continued, salaries would inevitably rise.
Soon, it would be hard to free up this kind of cash again.
Unless—of course—they sold players.
…
News of Bayswater Chinese's Champions League triumph in Moscow
spread around the world in record time.
Especially in Asia.
Sponsors jumped at the opportunity, launching full-blown media blitzes to promote their brand's connection to the club.
This was the power of a strong sponsorship system.
The media gushed with praise.
The youngest Champions League-winning team in history!
Even younger than Van Gaal's Ajax by a full year.
Suddenly, all the media outlets that had hyped up Manchester United pre-match
were now praising Bayswater Chinese tenfold—a hundredfold.
They had no choice.
They'd bet on the wrong horse.
The only thing that bothered Yang Cheng a little—
most headlines were calling it a shocking upset.
All he could do was chuckle dryly.
At their hotel in Moscow, the entire Bayswater Chinese delegation
celebrated all night long.
But Yang Cheng, learning from United's disastrous Christmas party scandal,
did not let his young players out on the town.
Who knew what kind of chaos they might cause?
After the wild night, they finally got some rest.
By midday the next day, the squad reassembled, boarded the team bus,
headed to the airport, and flew back to London.
Thanks to the time difference, they landed in the afternoon.
At Heathrow, a large crowd of fans awaited them.
And all along the way into central London, cheers followed their motorcade.
Some fans even tailed the team buses all the way to Bayswater.
It was on the bus ride back that Brian Kidd leaned over and said something to Yang Cheng
that he'd never thought about before.
"You know… before Bayswater Chinese, London had never produced a Champions League-winning team."
Yang Cheng blinked.
"Wait, never?"
"Never," Brian Kidd said with absolute certainty.
And he was right.
In 2006, Arsenal Reached the Champions League Final—Their First in Club History
None of the other London clubs had even come close.
Chelsea hadn't even touched a final.
As for Tottenham Hotspur, Fulham, and the rest—forget it.
Across the entire Premier League, only four teams had ever won the Champions League:
Manchester United, Liverpool, Nottingham Forest, and Aston Villa.
Now, Bayswater Chinese had become the fifth.
As England's capital, London had always been a source of pride and identity for its football fans.
After all, it was home to the country's largest population, and South of the Thames had produced a constant stream of top-tier talent.
London housed more professional football clubs and Premier League sides than any other city in the world.
No other city could support so many elite clubs the way London did.
And yet, in English football, the north-south divide had always existed.
Traditional football powerhouses like Manchester and Liverpool looked down on London—claiming it lacked football heritage.
And Londoners returned the disdain.
London couldn't match the North in terms of top-flight titles—
but at least it had some.
Especially in recent years.
Arsenal, Chelsea, and now Bayswater Chinese had all risen to prominence, claiming Premier League titles and finally giving London some serious bragging rights.
Except for one thing: the Champions League.
"You know why Chelsea has been so desperate to win the Champions League all these years?"
Brian Kidd asked.
Yang Cheng nearly blurted it out:
Because Abramovich watched United vs. Real Madrid at Old Trafford, saw the Galácticos, and fell in love…
But he held back.
He knew—it wasn't just that.
Someone at Abramovich's level didn't make decisions purely out of emotion.
"In a city with so many clubs, whoever wins the first Champions League becomes the face of London football."
That angle—Kidd's perspective—was something Yang Cheng had never considered before.
But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.
It wasn't about becoming the "leader" of London.
No one expected Bayswater Chinese to rally every other London club under one banner.
No—being the flag bearer meant one thing: influence among fans.
Adam Crozier once said something similar:
Everyone has a need to flex. The only difference is how they do it.
Some flaunt wealth.
Some flaunt fame.
Some flaunt taste, or degrees, or sophistication.
And in football?
Same thing.
That's why when Bayswater Chinese reached the Champions League final,
social media was flooded with fans posting pictures of their tickets.
But if they hadn't made the final?
Would they have posted those pics?
Of course not.
They posted because the team won.
It was their way of showing the world: Look at me. I chose right. I saw it coming. I supported the right club.
Everyone found their own emotional reward in a win, a player, a storyline.
And in a city like London, with no prior Champions League winners,
the first club to do it would have unmatched pull with fans across the capital.
That was what Arsenal, Chelsea, and others had been chasing for years.
But Bayswater Chinese got there first.
"I really hadn't thought of it that way," Yang Cheng admitted.
Brian Kidd smiled. "You only arrived in 2003. Makes sense you wouldn't."
"But if we keep up this momentum, I promise you—
we could sell out not just Wembley with 90,000 seats,
even a 100,000-seater would be full of Londoners."
That made Yang Cheng even more confident.
…
Back in London, the club hosted a modest trophy presentation ceremony at Bayswater Stadium.
But this time, it was different.
Riding the wave of their Champions League victory, over a hundred media outlets showed up.
As Adam Crozier put it:
Fleet Street practically moved in.
It was a bit of an exaggeration—
but it showed just how much more attention the club was getting after conquering Europe.
Yang Cheng gave a public statement—mostly the usual clichés and thank-yous.
But behind closed doors, in the locker room,
he told his players what they were really waiting to hear:
As promised, the club would honor the bonus system.
The original dual-title bonus was set at £8 million.
Since they'd only finished as Premier League runners-up,
but won the Champions League,
they'd still be awarded £6 million to split among the squad.
Distribution followed the pre-agreed structure, and every player would receive their share directly into their accounts.
Since taking over the club in 2003, Bayswater Chinese had become known for paying salaries and bonuses on time.
And this time was no different.
By the time players woke up the morning after the final,
they had a Champions League medal in one hand and a fat bank deposit waiting for them.
In addition to the £6 million bonus,
all remaining salaries and season bonuses were also scheduled to be fully disbursed within the next three days.
The players were thrilled.
And that wasn't all—
Yang Cheng also announced that the club would begin a new round of salary increases starting next season.
The new top wage tier would rise to £80,000 per week.
Everyone was stunned.
£80,000?!
Double the current maximum.
It meant almost the entire squad would see their wages double.
Players were elated.
Coaches too.
After all, this past Premier League season had seen a massive spike in broadcasting revenue,
and all clubs had been forced to increase their salary structures.
Bayswater Chinese weren't exempt.
But what worried Yang Cheng the most were Arsenal and Manchester City.
Both clubs had just been bought by billionaires.
And now, with wads of cash in hand, they were looking to poach talent.
Take Arsenal's Mathieu Flamini, for example.
The guy was smart—never once did a club pay a transfer fee for him.
He had just signed for AC Milan.
Word was, the deal was done before Usmanov completed his Arsenal takeover.
Flamini earned £55,000 per week pre-tax at Arsenal.
With a 40% tax rate in the UK, his take-home was around £33,000.
Not bad—but nothing crazy.
Then came Milan.
They offered £144,000 per week pre-tax,
which worked out to over £70,000 take-home—nearly £80,000.
So of course Flamini rejected Arsenal's contract and signed with Milan.
Wenger was furious.
He ranted:
"At Arsenal, there are more important things than just earning a few more pounds."
"These days, you don't get a significantly different life just by earning £100 more elsewhere."
Translation?
Don't talk to me about money—let's talk ideals, philosophy, the future.
But the result?
Hleb wanted out.
Adebayor wanted out.
Fabregas wanted out.
Even Van Persie spoke up:
"Of course Arsenal shouldn't pay ridiculous wages,
but we do need to move up a level."
"If a player can earn four times the salary elsewhere, I understand why he'd leave Arsenal."
So, after Usmanov took over Arsenal, the first priority wasn't signing new players—it was to stabilize the locker room, and quickly lock down contract extensions by raising wages across the board.
At the time, Arsenal's highest-paid player was William Gallas on £80,000 a week.
Now, they were prepared to raise that to £100,000, possibly even £120,000, in hopes of keeping stars like Fabregas from leaving.
And Yang Cheng was curious:
If Arsenal did put enough money on the table—would "Loyal Fàbregas" still choose to leave for Barcelona?
As things stood, the highest wages in the Premier League were at Manchester United and Chelsea—both topping out at £130,000 per week.
But now that both Manchester City and Arsenal had new billionaire owners,
the entire landscape was likely to change.
Because now they were buying.
Take Manchester City, for example.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, the Abu Dhabi United Group had completed their takeover late in the transfer window, right before it closed.
Even so, they hijacked Robinho from Real Madrid at the last second, beating out Chelsea.
But this time?
They'd finished the takeover early—and had the entire summer window ahead of them.
The transfer list that City submitted was, in a word, insane.
Topping that list: Kaká of AC Milan.
Just seeing Kaká's name there told you how crazy this plan was.
According to the Manchester Evening News, City were prepared to offer €100 million for him.
AC Milan was already tempted.
€100 million!
If that deal went through, Kaká would become the first player in history to command a nine-figure transfer fee.
And his weekly wages would surely set a new record.
Which would trigger—unsurprisingly—a wage explosion across Europe.
Yang Cheng, Xia Qing, and Adam Crozier all agreed:
Raising wages only to £60,000/week wouldn't be enough anymore.
So Yang Cheng bit the bullet and raised it to £80,000/week.
It hurt—a lot.
But there was no choice.
If they didn't raise salaries, players would be poached sooner or later.
Losing one or two would be manageable—pay well and Yang Cheng could always develop new talent.
But the real danger was that City, Chelsea, United, Arsenal, Real Madrid, and Barcelona were all circling—
ready to rip open Bayswater Chinese like a fresh piece of meat.
Yang Cheng had to act now.
If the team got gutted, who was he going to play next season?
Rebuild for years again?
Not an option.
So Bayswater Chinese officially raised their wage ceiling to £80,000/week.
The second tier went up to £50,000/week.
Xia Qing's internal research showed that while the new top tier still trailed behind United and Chelsea,
it was now on par with the pre-raise wages at Arsenal.
The second tier matched most other top clubs.
The objective was clear:
retain the core.
Bayswater Chinese's situation was different from other clubs.
At Manchester United, they were terrified of losing Cristiano Ronaldo.
No amount of money would make them comfortable.
Arsenal feared losing Fàbregas.
But Yang Cheng?
He wasn't afraid of losing Arshavin.
As long as he got the right price.
Why?
Because he already knew who the next superstar might be.
Something other clubs didn't know.
Take Ferguson's acquisition of Louis Saha, for example.
The goal was clear. The profile fit. He matched the tactical needs perfectly.
But the problem?
Too many injuries.
Now Ferguson's eye was on Benzema (Lyon), Džeko (Bayswater Chinese), and Berbatov (Tottenham).
Which one would be the next star?
Transfers are high-risk.
If United sold Ronaldo, how many years would it take to find the next face of the franchise?
But Yang Cheng didn't have to worry about that.
Also—sell one star, and the transfer fee could cover two or three key players.
…
While Yang Cheng and Bayswater Chinese were preparing their defenses,
the transfer market vultures had already begun circling.
The Champions League final had barely cooled—
and over a dozen transfer inquiries landed on Yang Cheng's desk.
The most interest?
Arshavin.
Chelsea, Arsenal, Manchester City, Barcelona, Real Madrid—
they all wanted the dazzling Russian.
Džeko wasn't far behind.
Barça, Madrid, United, Chelsea, City…
And then there were Yaya Touré, Lass Diarra, Maicon, Modrić…
According to Adam Crozier, half the squad had already been marked by other clubs.
Dangerous territory.
Yang Cheng was highly alert.
Maintaining competitiveness was now absolutely crucial.
Selling the wrong player could damage the squad long-term—
and disrupt next season's plans.
Just as important:
who to bring in next.
Yang Cheng had already proven his ability to work the transfer market.
But this?
This was a new level of pressure.
And there was more brewing.
Barcelona's pursuit of Džeko had a backstory.
Their new coach, Pep Guardiola, didn't want Eto'o.
So the club was trying to use Eto'o in a swap deal for a center-forward.
Guardiola's short list had three names:
Džeko (Bayswater Chinese)Berbatov (Tottenham)Zlatan Ibrahimović (Inter Milan)
But everyone knew:
a superstar like Eto'o was too much for Spurs to handle.
And Bayswater Chinese had no interest in him either.
Sign Eto'o?
It would blow up the entire wage structure.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, the Eto'o–Ibra swap took two years to finalize, and happened in 2009.
But now?
Who knew?
What Yang Cheng did know—
he had zero interest in Eto'o.
As for Džeko—he wasn't for sale.
With Arshavin pursued by Chelsea, City, Arsenal, Real Madrid, and Barcelona,
it was going to be hard to keep him.
Even Arshavin himself wanted to leave.
His dream?
Barcelona.
So Yang Cheng's focus was now:
whoever pays the most, gets him.
In that context, selling Džeko as well would be a massive blow to the attack.
Lewandowski was promising and improving fast,
but he wasn't ready to carry the team yet—
not with the Premier League and Champions League on the horizon.
This was part of Yang Cheng's long-standing transfer strategy:
If he had to sell, then only one attacker per line, max.
That way, the squad's competitiveness remained intact.
And if Arshavin did leave,
Yang Cheng already had a replacement in mind.
With Di María, Gareth Bale, and Walcott already in the squad,
Bayswater Chinese's offense for next season would still be very hard to stop.
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