Chapter 53: Devouring the Little Dragon, Honoring the Great Ronaldo — Yang Isn't the Grand Slam
The highly anticipated top-of-the-table clash —
two minutes into the game,
the sword-bearing retainer castrated himself with his blade,
the Gunner turncoat slew his former lord, completing the Premier League clean sweep — a kill!
The Red Devils lead 1–0.
After scoring, Robin van Persie refused to celebrate, which earned him a bit of grudging respect.
Play resumed, Arsenal prepared to kick off.
Sir Alex Ferguson saw Xia Qi pinned against the Manchester United defensive line; the intention was naked and clear, and a little contempt rose in his mind.
Inzaghi — coming out? Low-class!
Even if Xia Qi had the physique, speed, and technique,
playing like that was a wasted gem.
If I were Arsène Wenger, Xia Qi would become the Little Penalty-Box King — a Van Nistelrooy.
Wenger: Hold on! Van Nistelrooy's not worth that much!
On the pitch,
Jack Wilshere kicked off, passing the ball to Mikel Arteta, and at the same time Xia Qi suddenly dropped back.
Patrice Evra, the iron-blooded defender assigned to mark Xia Qi, remembered Ferguson's orders — stick to Xia Qi like glue.
He immediately followed.
The two of them ran toward Arsenal's goal; in the space between Evra and his partner Rio Ferdinand an opening appeared.
Arteta immediately threaded the ball into that gap.
It was at that instant that Xia Qi planted his feet, and all the sprint-turn drills paid off: in a split second he completed a direction change and prepared to streak past Evra at lightning speed.
As Europe's best left-back, Patrice Evra didn't choose to spin and mirror the movement; instead he reached forward to grab Xia Qi.
A tactical foul up top!
What made everyone drop their jaws was that this world-class defender committed a gutsy foul and still came away with nothing — he only grabbed at a residue of motion.
"So fast!"
"This is impossible!"
"Why???"
The United fans' shouts of astonishment came in waves,
and Sir Alex Ferguson spat out the gum from his mouth in shock.
Ferguson had analyzed Xia Qi's six-dimensional stats before the match.
But paper stats don't hit the eye the way the actual vision does.
It's like Gareth Bale eating Michel Vorm raw — the numbers didn't line up on paper, but it happened anyway and became an eternal classic.
Now it was the same.
Ferguson had thought Xia Qi brutal because Evra hadn't faced him yet — but now!
Europe's best left-back had failed even to win a foul!
Only Arsenal fans were calm;
they recognized the familiar scene and with ten thousand throats produced an eighty-thousand-decibel roar.
"Eat them alive!"
"Devour them!"
"First one!"
"One!"
"One!"
"One!"
Don't think the fans' shouts don't do anything.
Wrong.
They actually affected Rio Ferdinand.
Ferdinand feared being "the second" (the one made a fool of),
however,
Murphy's law is everywhere.
Ferdinand, nervous, scrambled to cover and lunged for the ball.
From the viewpoint, Xia Qi was a little farther from the ball, but his speed was ferocious and visible — he would get there first.
Arsenal supporters' passion flared again and they impatiently shouted "Second!"
That shout gave Ferdinand pause: he'd intended to slide in and try to knock the ball away, but if the tackle failed he'd be definitively "the second."
Even with Evra's previous embarrassment as precedent,
he still couldn't believe it!
He couldn't believe that when the two met, Evra wouldn't even be able to commit a foul.
After all, Xia Qi hadn't yet forged a fearsome reputation — only five Premier League appearances, not enough victims, not enough brand recognition.
Ferdinand's ability was unquestionable, but he hesitated.
When masters contest, hesitation is fatal!
Xia Qi accelerated again, shoulder dropped and did a step-over, gliding straight past.
Ferdinand's vicious shoulder-charge nearly left him tumbling like a rolling gourd!
"Second!"
Arsenal fans, after cheering the successful play, quickly chanted:
"One-on-one!"
"One-on-one!"
Tonight Xia Qi had run the defenders ragged; after beating two men he now faced the goalkeeper.
Compared to the "big dragons" Xia Qi had swallowed before, tonight's "devouring" could only be called a "little dragon" — a bit unsatisfying, but seeing an open one-on-one still thrilled the Arsenal faithful.
Wenger leaned forward, his butt barely on the bench, while Sir Alex strode to the touchline, hands in pockets.
If Xia Qi scored from the one-on-one, it wouldn't just reset the game — the wind would turn and the visitors would control the match.
Both master tacticians knew the importance of this moment and were inwardly nervous, outwardly composed.
David de Gea chose to rush out quickly;
because the distance between United's defenders and the keeper was not large, Xia Qi had no room to chip.
De Gea confidently lowered his center of gravity and spread his arms to maximize blocking area.
Arsenal fans rode a quick emotional rollercoaster: one second they fantasized about another inhuman goal from Xia Qi,
the next second de Gea's flawless covering made them think a simple, honest finish would also be fine.
The AI seemed to have heard the fans' hearts and chose a familiar "pendulum" dribble.
Like Ronaldo, he stepped over and leaned his body to the right-front, the ball nudging to the right — the posture and balance screamed rightward dribble, no other choice.
De Gea dived quickly to the left and split his legs to enlarge his coverage.
However, as De Gea dove left, Xia Qi pulled the ball back between his legs, and the body leaning to the right sprang back — completing half a pendulum.
The ball rolled to the inside of his left foot,
and his body tipped left — the other half of the pendulum was executed; on the completion Xia Qi was behind the goalkeeper, facing an empty net.
"Xia Qi beats the keeper!"
"Taps into the empty net!"
"Xia Qi's pendulum dribble is a tribute to Ronaldo; fans, doesn't this remind you of that Ronaldo you loved?"
"Xia Qi has now scored in six consecutive Premier League matches — tonight's goal came very early; both sides' star players have found the net."
1–1!
Forty-seven seconds after Robin van Persie's opener, Xia Qi ate the defender and the keeper to level the score.
Play continued.
United no longer (dared to) press so aggressively; they wouldn't push too hard forward.
But if they weren't pressing, Xia Qi would press.
The ball arrived at Ashley Young's feet; before he could even start to drift wide and cross,
Xia Qi was already in front of him.
On the sideline Sir Alex quickly exchanged a look with Arsène — both ancient foxes, readable to neither.
Ferguson thought: Defend the striker! Wenger and I are both stealing ideas from the Bundesliga; the German coaches will inevitably flood the Premier League.
On the pitch:
Ashley Young stepped over, left three turns, right three turns, twisted his hips — couldn't beat Xia Qi. Either he was embarrassed or overconfident.
He charged straight at Xia Qi while controlling the ball.
Fast and forceful, but he failed to open a path; instead he staggered himself.
Xia Qi seized the moment, lunged forward, squeezed his hips, turned and gave Young a cheeky backside — Ashley Young rolled forward like a bowling pin knocked down by a rolling ball.
Arsenal fans erupted, voices hoarse, shouting: "Grand slam!"
"Grand slam" is a bowling term meaning all the pins knocked down in one shot.
It felt good!
I hate people who stand with their hands in their pockets watching and still get paid!
Satisfying!
On the streaming chat the comments flew:
"Too eye-burning! A tumble of ferocious moves, but looking closely he's just planted."
"My name's Yang Bu Guo!"
"It's not that I couldn't crash through Xia Qi — I wanted to hit Ferguson."
"Look to the sky? That's Sir Alex Ferguson's chewing gum! Tastes different from last time, can't you tell?"
Xia Qi took the ball and spun away.
(END CHAPTER)
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