The match resumed, and Manchester United continued their high-press strategy, smelling blood.
They aimed to capitalize on the momentum and widen the scoreline, securing a solid advantage by halftime before Arsenal could regroup.
Arsenal, however, were forced to adjust.
They couldn't play through the middle—Lingard and Matic had choked it.
So, they compacted their formation intentionally, exploiting the width of the pitch with long, searching balls down the wings, leveraging Alexis Sánchez's pace for quick counters.
The "Chilean King" lived up to his reputation as Arsenal's talisman.
Receiving a diagonal pass from Nacho Monreal, he barged sideways, forcefully shoving Antonio Valencia aside with surprising strength.
Then, facing Victor Lindelof's challenge, he cut inside onto his right foot, created a yard of space, and unleashed a thunderous strike from 25 yards.
Boom!
The ball whistled toward the top corner, dipping violently.
But David De Gea reacted like lightning.
He soared to his left, his top hand strong, and palmed it firmly out for a corner.
Martin Tyler: "Sánchez with the drive... DE GEA! Brilliant save! He tipped it over!"
Gary Neville: "Since making 11 saves in that match against Tottenham, his form has been absolutely scorching. He is the best goalkeeper in the world right now, bar none. He is the only reason United's defense looks calm."
Ignoring De Gea's resentful glare at his defenders for allowing the shot, the United players showered him with praise.
"Good hands, Dave!"
The action on the pitch continued.
Paul Pogba and Nemanja Matić shifted slightly wider, ready to provide defensive support to the full-backs as needed.
The forwards—Ling, Lukaku, and Lingard—maintained their high press, hunting in a pack.
In the 23rd minute.
Laurent Koscielny received a hurried pass from Shkodran Mustafi.
Under immediate, suffocating pressure from Lukaku and Ling, the French defender grew flustered.
Instinctively, he played a square pass to Hector Bellerin on the right flank to relieve the pressure.
But his pass lacked sufficient power.
It bobbled on the turf, rolling slowly.
It was a gift.
Antonio Valencia, anticipating the panic, sprinted forward like a locomotive. He intercepted it midway, nipping in front of Bellerin.
"United have won it back again!" Tyler shouted.
Valencia didn't dally.
He drove forward and decisively passed the ball infield to the edge of the penalty arc.
Waiting there, in a pocket of space, was Ling.
After countless training sessions practicing the Bergkamp Module and his new Curling Shot technique, Ling seemed to have developed muscle memory.
He didn't need to look at the goal. He knew where it was.
He let the ball roll across his body to his right foot.
He swung his leg fiercely, striking the ball firmly with the inside of his boot, wrapping his foot around it to generate maximum spin.
Thump!
With the satisfying sound of leather friction, the ball spun violently into the air.
It didn't go straight; it traced a smooth, wicked arc like a brilliant rainbow.
It started outside the post and bent back in.
Petr Cech's mind reacted.
His black tank cap fluttered in the cold wind as he scrambled across his line.
By the time he landed and turned around, the ball was already resting quietly in the back of the net.
0-2!!!
Martin Tyler: "LING AGAIN! OH, HE'S DONE IT AGAIN! A beautiful, curling effort! Manchester United are running riot at the Emirates!"
Gary Neville: "It's copy and paste! That is exactly the goal he scored against Newcastle! The left side of the D... opens the body... whips it into the far corner. Petr Cech had no chance. That is a trademark finish now."
The Emirates Stadium erupted—but only from the away corner.
The United fans, led by their supporters' leaders, sang "Glory Glory Man United" in unison, drowning out the groans of the home crowd.
They pointed at Ling, who was sliding on his knees near the corner flag, and roared.
"ONE MORE! ONE MORE! ONE MORE!"
Ling certainly heard them.
And he certainly wanted to score another goal.
He had never achieved a senior hat-trick in his career. The match ball was a prize he craved.
So, as his teammates piled on, he covered his mouth and whispered.
"Guys... if there's a chance later... pass the ball to me! I want the hat-trick!"
Romelu Lukaku, rubbing his gleaming bald head, feigned annoyance.
"Hey! At the start of the season, we agreed to help me win the Golden Boot award! Now your goal tally is almost surpassing mine? This wasn't the deal!"
"Haha!" Jesse Lingard chimed in, grinning. "Let's make a deal—if you score three goals, you have to treat everyone to three rounds at The Ivy! No cheap stuff!"
Amid his teammates' teasing, Ling gladly agreed to the suggestion.
Treating everyone was a small price to pay for history.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Mourinho clenched his fists and swung them vigorously.
His pre-match tactics—the high press ambush—had achieved great success.
A Blitzkrieg to secure two precious goals in 25 minutes.
Ling's efficiency once again astonished him.
Sometimes he really wanted to pry open the kid's head to see what was inside.
Not only could he endure such monotonous training, but he could also calmly analyze the situation during matches, unlike any typical young player.
'He plays like a 30-year-old,' Mourinho thought proudly.
Now, with a two-goal lead, they could switch to "Mourinho Mode": defend deep, conserve energy, and wait for Arsenal to overcommit before killing them on the counter.
On the other side, Arsène Wenger finally managed to zip up his long puffer jacket.
He looked defeated.
He called Granit Xhaka over and instructed in a low voice, "Stabilize. Don't concede another before halftime. We talk inside."
...
LeSports Commentary: Zhan Jun: "A beautiful curling shot! Ling scores a brace! Dear viewers, doesn't this goal feel familiar?"
"In the last match against Newcastle United, Ling also scored with a curling shot from this exact spot—the left side of the penalty arc. It's becoming his territory!"
"I hereby declare the left arc of the penalty area renamed the 'JL7 Zone!'"
Zhang Lu: "Hehe, indeed. If the game continues like this, Ling has a great chance to achieve his first career hat trick. But look at the stats... the club with the most goals conceded due to individual errors is Crystal Palace. The second? Arsenal. They are gifting him chances."
The live stream room was buzzing with excitement.
[JL7 ZONE! It's official!]
[Actually, the angle of this shot wasn't too tricky. The Cech of five years ago would've definitely saved it. Time is cruel.]
[Buffon can still save those. Just saying.]
[Keep pushing, little Ling! Aim for a hat trick! Bury them!]
....
After the match resumed, both teams tacitly slowed the pace.
United were happy; Arsenal were shell-shocked.
Soon, the referee blew the whistle for the end of the first half.
Arsenal 0-2 Manchester United.
When the Manchester United players returned to the locker room, Mourinho didn't hold back on praise.
"Excellent. Professional. Ruthless," he said, acknowledging their efforts. "But the job is not done. 2-0 is dangerous. The next goal decides the game. If we score, they die. If they score, the stadium wakes up. Kill it."
In the home team's locker room, the atmosphere was heavy. It smelled of sweat and disappointment.
Arsène Wenger wasn't an irritable person.
He rarely threw teacups like Ferguson. But the pressure on him lately had been immense.
The "Wenger Out" chants were audible even in here.
He spent five minutes letting everyone calm down, the silence stretching uncomfortably.
Then, he spoke slowly, his voice quiet but intense.
"I could choose to indulge you," he began, looking at Koscielny and Mustafi. "I could pretend not to see the mistakes. The laziness."
"But do you know the consequences of that?" He paused. "That would mean Arsenal will rebuild next season. And most of you... most of you will be sold. You will be gone."
"And of course," he added softly, "I'll leave too."
The players looked up, surprised by his candor.
"You also know that some of the management has already lost confidence in me," Wenger continued. "They don't want to fire me outright because of history... but they hope I'll resign voluntarily."
His voice cracked slightly.
"But I don't want to leave Arsenal. I have been here for 21 years. I built this stadium. I love this club."
Wenger didn't shout, accuse, or criticize; his tone was filled with a desperate calmness.
Gazing at the Arsenal players with bowed heads, he continued: "We're in a critical moment now. Not just for this match, but for the future of this team. Relying on others is pointless. We must save ourselves."
"I hope we can forge ahead courageously under pressure. Go out there. Play for the shirt. Play for me."
The room was silent.
Even Alexis Sánchez, usually so detached, looked moved.
They stood up.
They had 45 minutes to save their manager.