Chapter 48: The Succession of Old and New
Just as in their first meeting, Hao Haidong took the initiative to pass the ball, inviting Mo Mo to press him.
If this had been the Mo Mo of the past, he might have truly fallen for it, but the current Mo Mo had made significant progress. In his training space, Mo Mo’s defensive abilities had reached a stalemate with Philipp Lahm. And how should one describe Lahm’s defense? If facing physically imposing players like Zlatan Ibrahimović or Wayne Rooney, he might be at a loss, but against those with speed, his refined footwork allowed him to dispossess them with ease—a trait similar to the later Thiago Silva. With such a sparring partner, Mo Mo’s footwork and reaction speed had improved by leaps and bounds.
As Hao Haidong advanced, Mo Mo pushed the ball with the inside of his left foot, evading Hao’s first tackle. Hao looked surprised; how could he have improved so much in just a few months? In truth, Hao had anticipated some growth, but he had expected Mo Mo to be merely on par with him at best. For someone like Hao, who had been lauded as one of the world's top five strikers, being equal was already a high compliment.
Ignoring Hao’s shock, Mo Mo focused on controlling the ball. A striker often relies on shifts in rhythm and center of gravity to bypass opponents while moving at high speed. Mo Mo excelled at this; he moved with such rapid, intuitive fluidity that he forced defenders to make split-second decisions. Although he looked composed, Mo Mo knew his own limits—he was reaching his breaking point. As more people surrounded them, Hao began to breathe heavily, his movements growing increasingly impatient.
Seeing this, Mo Mo sighed internally and let an unintentional "mistake" happen. Hao grabbed the ball with both hands and feet, laughing heartily as he pointed at Mo Mo. "You brat, what do you think? I got the ball, didn't I? Do you concede? Want to go again?"
Hao appeared full of bravado, and Mo Mo felt as though he were watching an elder who refused to grow old. He nodded and said, "There’s an Italian saying: the older the ginger, the spicier it gets!"
Hao laughed heartily and walked over to give Mo Mo a big hug, which caused a stir among the onlookers—a rare sight indeed. "Kid, I know you went easy on me to save my face. Each generation surpasses the last! Good! Good! But don't make it a habit. You really think I can't afford to lose? No faking allowed!" Hao whispered into Mo Mo's ear while hugging him, leaving the younger man to rub his nose in embarrassment.
Hao then adopted a nonchalant expression. Seeing the reporters who had been watching for a while, he didn't hold back: "In the future, Mo Mo will carry the torch for Chinese football, and it will only develop further. I, Hao Haidong, said so."
The reporters glanced at each other, their faces lighting up. A big scoop! Hao Haidong, much like Fan Zhiyi, always knew how to deliver surprises. Mo Mo remained calm, neither overly happy nor sad, though he tugged at Hao’s sleeve; he knew better than to make such bold claims—tall trees catch the wind. He could already imagine tomorrow's headlines: "Chinese Star Mo Mo Endorsed as Future National Pillar" or "Hao the Cannon Predicts Mo Mo Will Lead Chinese Football to Prosperity." While positive, they were magnets for resentment.
Setting that aside, Mino appeared to explain the filming plan. Hao would start by demonstrating his skills, while a "time wheel" graphic appeared beside him. When Hao reached the year 2002, Mo Mo would stand in front of him, and Hao would pass the ball to him. Mo Mo, wearing the Chinese national team's number 13 jersey, would dribble the ball and unleash a powerful shot. Instead of a goal, he would blast through walls of concrete (via special effects)—the first labeled "Asian Cup," the second "World Cup"—before the ball hit the net. The slogan would follow: "Chinese Football: Striving with All Our Might, Recreating Excellence." Finally, with a Pepsi bottle in the center, Hao and Mo Mo would look at each other, showing their profiles. The background image would feature Chinese fans at the World Cup, waving a massive national flag with their hands held high.
The most difficult part was the "passing of the torch" segment—the recorded duel between Mo Mo and Hao. Unexpectedly, it went smoothly. Pepsi uploaded the footage to the internet, and it reached ten thousand views in just a day. While that might not sound like much, given the limited reach of computers at the time, it was quite an achievement.
A new discovery was circulating online: Mo Mo’s rapid improvement. He had started as a crude striker who only knew how to kick the ball into the stands and use a clumsy, self-invented sprint, but now he was showing long-range shooting, sliding shots, headers, and complex moves like the Marseille turn. From scoring in the 2. Bundesliga to his current form in the Bundesliga, his efficiency was terrifying.
Most baffling of all was the duel video. Those with a keen eye—or those wanting to scout him—would not overlook the fact that the national team’s leader had sparred with Mo Mo before the World Cup. It hadn't been long since the time Mo Mo was toyed with, yet now he was holding his own against Hao, a striker who had been mentioned in Brazilian newspapers and was specifically noted by their head coach during the World Cup.
When everyone realized Mo Mo could actually hold his own against Hao, they recognized the rise of a star. He might not reach the heights of Ronaldo, but he could certainly be a starting striker for a top-tier team. Bayern Munich acted directly with an offer of 10 million euros—a rare, high price in the struggling Bundesliga. If all went well, Mo Mo would become the most expensive player in the league.
Even José Mourinho, far away in Porto, was surprised. He had expected Mo Mo to need polishing even under his guidance, but now? Perhaps after another season, Mo Mo would truly become a behemoth. This presented a dilemma: should he sign Mo Mo early? With such an outstanding and young player, the price would likely skyrocket by the time he was eligible for a transfer.