Chapter 23: One After Another

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PS: Today! I’ll try my best to finish Brazil! I won’t even eat lunch!!! Once I finish writing, I’ll upload it! If there are any typos, please point them out to me. Usually, I write everything in one day and read it over once more to catch and correct mistakes. Here’s a 5,000-word chapter—please recommend it to others!

Originally, there was much more to write about in the first half, but some parts have been skipped.

All around, the shouts of the fans echoed, leaving Mo Mo completely stunned in place!

In that instant, a Chinese player was right beside Ronaldinho—it was Du Wei, who was preparing to close him down. In front of them in the box were two Chinese defenders, and behind them stood a Brazilian player—Ronaldo! Behind Ronaldo were two more Chinese players. The whole scene resembled a 2-2-1-2-1 formation: the first “2” being Ronaldo and Du Wei, the last “1” the suddenly arriving number 10 Rivaldo, while number 9 Ma Mingyu and number 8 Li Tie were rushing into the box.

It was so familiar—yes, all too familiar! This was exactly the kind of thing Mo Mo often did himself! He always managed to appear where he was most needed, or precisely where he should be. While the defenders and goalkeeper focused on Ronaldinho, he instead delivered a deft chip pass.

Everyone’s eyes were on Ronaldo, but the ball wasn’t for him! Instead, it was for the number 10, Rivaldo, who had been lurking behind them all along!

He was too close! Rivaldo was so near to goal that it seemed a mere touch would send the ball into the net! As the ball floated into the box, Rivaldo suddenly surged forward and, with the inside of his left foot, curled the ball beautifully into the net—goalkeeper Jiang Jin had no chance!

Brazil now led China 2-0! They were simply too strong. Even a brief lapse in marking, and Ronaldinho instantly spotted Rivaldo. At that moment, Li Tie and Ma Mingyu were already hurrying back, but if Ronaldinho had hesitated even a second, the situation might have changed!

Rivaldo’s timing was brilliant, cutting in at the perfect moment. He knew very well that if the Chinese defenders noticed him, given their tactic of having multiple players guard a single man—one pressing, one holding, one blocking, one clearing—his chances would be slim! Just earlier, one of Rivaldo’s runs into the box had been broken up this way.

“Thirty-one minutes into the match, Brazil scores again and now leads 2-0,” Chen Nu announced.

He didn’t offer much further commentary—there was no need. The team had already performed admirably to get this far.

“We’ve used up too much energy,” Mo Mo heard someone say. He turned and saw it was Yang Chen, who, feeling Mo Mo’s gaze, explained quietly, “Against Brazil, our only option was high pressing, forcing them to make quick decisions, maybe even make mistakes under pressure—but now…”

Now? Mo Mo looked back at the field. The high press was no longer effective; instead, Brazil’s passing was draining their stamina. The Brazilian team had grown wise, or perhaps this was simply the greatest difference between the two sides.

Brazil had virtually no weak links—each position was filled by a world-class player, and when the game’s rhythm shifted, they had the autonomy to adapt. Whether attacking or defending, their play was infinitely variable.

China, on the other hand, had spent years correcting past training errors, frequently changing coaches, and were limited by individual ability. They mostly followed the coach’s instructions to the letter, making their tactics predictable and easy to counter.

Brazil’s attack was threatening from every position—forward, midfield, and defense alike. Each man was a danger, and their long passes were precise, rarely going astray, all a testament to individual skill.

China? Their attacking options were few; most players stayed back, relying on long balls to launch attacks that often fizzled out, hoping for a lapse in Brazil’s concentration or a defensive mistake—but that was wishful thinking.

Striker Hao Haidong was unable to win headers against the Brazilian defenders and often had to drop deep just to get the ball. Under such circumstances, China’s threat to Brazil was minimal.

Seeing Mo Mo lost in thought, Yang Chen didn’t interrupt. In fact, when the match began, China had tried to go head-to-head with Brazil, hoping to snatch a goal in the chaos. At that time, Brazil hadn’t expected China to be so bold.

But when those early attacks came to nothing, they shifted to solid defense and counterattacks—two or three players working together, high pressing, and fearless challenges. This worked for a while, but as the match wore on, fatigue set in.

It was like a long-distance race—those who sprinted from the start, even if they led early, were often overtaken in the end. The truly experienced long-distance runners maintained a steady pace.

Brazil was just such an experienced team. Perhaps they took China lightly at first, but once they saw China’s defensive prowess, they recognized them as worthy opponents, studied them, analyzed, and finally found the gaps.

It’s like a key and a lock—swap one out, and they might not fit anymore. Brazil had changed the lock, but China hadn’t changed at all. Under these circumstances, China’s tactics were no longer suitable, but they were the best they had—there simply wasn’t the strength to match.

Mo Mo’s gaze returned to head coach Bora Milutinovic. Now, all hope rested on him. China’s situation was akin to Shu in the Three Kingdoms, with Brazil as Cao Wei, and Bora Milutinovic as Zhuge Liang. The Five Tiger Generals were aged, reserves were lacking; defeat was only a matter of time.

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“Now we’re seeing a slow-motion replay. Brazil’s relentless attacking made it hard for our defense to react—first a long pass, we clear, then another, we clear again, then Ronaldinho passes. At this point, our previously solid defense had a lapse because of Rivaldo’s sudden appearance. Li Tie and Ma Mingyu noticed, but were a step too late. Ronaldinho saw Rivaldo’s run and, without dwelling on the ball, played it immediately. This entire attack developed in about ten seconds,” Chen Nu analyzed.

He was still puzzling over the goal, not yet having processed it, but it was clear: Brazil had found a way to break China down.

“China is attacking down the wing, several passes open up space—a cross! Cleared by Brazil.”

Chen Nu was already disappointed with China’s attacking play, especially their passing. If only they had a player like Ronaldinho! That pinpoint chip! If any Chinese player had attempted that pass in the box earlier, none could match such precision.

“Brazil’s defense slackened a bit on the flank, our man seized the chance—but, alas, while the first pass is fine, by the second, third, or crucial pass, something always goes wrong.”

Just as he said this, Chen Nu’s eyes widened!

“Brilliant! Number 4, Wu Chengying, dribbles past a Brazilian player, charges into the box! Beats another! Two Brazilians beaten! What will he do? Pass! Good! The stadium erupts—Wu Chengying’s play inspires the Chinese fans yet again!”

Moments earlier, Wu Chengying had received the ball. A Brazilian closed him down, but Wu feinted and slipped past. Another Brazilian came at him—Wu nearly collided but kept control, circled around, and faced two more defenders. Without taking risks, Wu laid the ball off.

“Number 18, Li Xiaopeng, with a grounded pass—dreadful.”

Li Xiaopeng took Wu Chengying’s pass and drove it low into the box, but it was intercepted by Brazil. Honestly, so many times, if the man making the final pass was of Ronaldinho’s caliber, maybe it wouldn’t be a goal, but at least it would be a real chance.

“Brazil with a long ball from the back. China clears—Ronaldo! Ronaldo gets the ball, a Chinese defender sticks tight! Slide tackle! Dodged! Another one! Slide tackle! Missed! Danger!”

The situation immediately had Chen Nu’s heart in his throat. Ronaldo—no wonder! He’d just received the ball, marked tightly, tried to nutmeg his man, but the Chinese defender closed his legs just in time to block the attempt.

Ronaldo chased down the rebound, surged forward, then suddenly cut sharply. The Chinese defender couldn’t stop and overshot. Another defender arrived and launched into a slide tackle, but Ronaldo’s footwork was superb—he shielded the ball and spun to break away.

Just then, a Chinese player who’d been tracking back, seeing the slide tackle fail, circled around and went in for another sliding challenge. Ronaldo evaded again. Both defenders scrambled up to chase him, and now the defense resembled a 3-1-1 setup.

Three defenders were now pursuing Ronaldo, with the original marker holding a defensive position, trying to prevent Ronaldo’s breakthrough and waiting for support.

With three behind and one ahead, this was a dangerous defense. Ronaldo didn’t try to force his way through, instead turning toward the flank, hoping to use his speed to escape the four-man trap.

But at that moment, the original marker closed in again, reading Ronaldo’s intentions. Seeing this, Ronaldo had no choice but to lay the ball off to a teammate on the wing.

That player didn’t dwell on the ball, immediately sending a through-pass to number 19, Juninho Paulista. Number 21, Xu Yunlong, moved in to intercept, but Juninho Paulista, without hesitation, played a pass into the box!

“Danger! Juninho Paulista with the pass! It drops in the box! Goal! Ronaldo!”

The ball’s placement was dangerous, almost identical to where Rivaldo had scored before—Brazil’s passing was so precise! Ronaldo was fast, ready to shoot—at that range, if he struck it, it was surely a goal!

Just then, a flash of red streaked across the field—a player threw himself, sliding desperately toward the ball!

“Number 14! Li Weifeng saves the day!”

In that instant, everyone’s hearts leapt. They’d already conceded twice, but a third goal would be disastrous!

“Here’s the replay—beautiful! Juninho Paulista’s pass curled, arcing around the first defender like a crescent moon—one tip was him, the other Ronaldo. But Li Weifeng’s sudden intervention ruined their plan!”

Chen Nu was full of praise for Li Weifeng. Any hesitation and Ronaldo would surely have scored.

“Brazil’s corner—China’s defenders head it clear! Now the possession stats are in: Brazil 51%, China 49%. Brazil leads by two percentage points—China’s done quite well.”

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Indeed, if you only looked at possession, it was nearly even.

The match continued, with China still mounting a stubborn defense. Sliding tackles were now routine—so long as they cleared the ball, nothing else mattered. The real problem was their lack of attacking threat, which would have to wait for the manager’s instructions at halftime.

“Number 8, Gilberto Silva, showing off his footwork on the flank, but China wins a throw-in. Thirty-four minutes gone, just nine left in the half—let’s hope it ends soon so the coach can make adjustments,” Chen Nu said, his tone tinged with worry. He’d noticed Brazil’s aggression increasing, while China’s energy was flagging.

“Hao Haidong has dropped all the way back into his own half—wait, a tactical foul by us. Number 8, Li Tie, receives a verbal warning.”

Just now, number 2, Marcos Cafu, had played the ball forward, and the receiver sprinted ahead, only for Li Tie to instinctively cut him down—a chance for a set piece in the attacking third.

“In the fifteenth minute, number 6, Roberto Carlos, scored directly from a free kick at almost this exact spot! The position now is nearly identical!”

Chen Nu’s voice was full of anxiety.

Mo Mo and the others were restless, especially head coach Bora Milutinovic, who looked tense as well. There’s nothing you can do about individual brilliance. In football, it’s not uncommon for the same set piece to produce multiple goals—a team might score three times from three corners; what can you say to that?

“Number 6, Roberto Carlos, takes the free kick! Ah! That was close—it hit the wall.”

Chinese fans could clearly hear Chen Nu thumping his chest over the broadcast—he’d really been frightened!

“The ball isn’t cleared yet—pass! Pass! Number 4, Roque Junior, has it. He seems frustrated, pressed into the corner by two Chinese players! Foul!”

After several passes, the ball reached Roque Junior. His control was excellent, but China’s defense was calm and steady. When he was forced into the corner, he tried a nutmeg, slipping the ball between Du Wei’s legs. However, Du Wei reacted quickly and blocked him off. In frustration, Roque Junior shoved Du Wei hard to the ground.

The match carried on, Brazil’s attack relentless. China managed a headed chance in the Brazilian half, but it was easily gathered.

“Forty-one minutes gone! Brazil counter-presses in China’s half—Ronaldinho with a diagonal ball to Ronaldo! Ronaldo’s got it! He breaks into the box!”

Chen Nu’s voice was agitated. At that moment, Li Weifeng and Du Wei converged on Ronaldo, trying to win the ball—a tactic that had worked twice before! But this time, Ronaldo didn’t fall for it. He suddenly stopped, controlled the ball with his right foot, and Li Weifeng and Du Wei couldn’t stop in time, sliding past. Ronaldo shook off his markers—no!

“Penalty! That’s a penalty! Swedish referee Frisk points to the spot! As Ronaldo spun away, Li Weifeng brought him down in the middle of the box! Did he forget this was inside the area?”

A shocked uproar filled the stadium. Head coach Bora Milutinovic glared, wanting to say something, but could only fling his arms in frustration.

“Mo Mo, come here.”

Mo Mo rose and looked into the coach’s eyes. He understood—Milutinovic was ready to gamble. Hao Haidong had contributed in defense, but in attack…

With the glaring 3-0 scoreline and the Brazilian cheers ringing out, Mo Mo listened intently to Milutinovic’s instructions—ready, absolutely ready.

Milutinovic looked at the determined Mo Mo and couldn’t help but sigh. Perhaps other players weren’t afraid, but none of them—none—craved victory at all times and never doubted their ability to win like Mo Mo did.

The plan had been to send Mo Mo on around the seventieth minute, but Milutinovic changed his mind. By then, there might not be anyone left who could still run. Watching his exhausted players on the pitch, the coach decided to take a chance.