Chapter Twenty-Four: Appearance

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P.S. Ironically, having cut out many scenes worth writing, it’s actually taken even longer than if I had written them all. Please bear with me if you see watermark ads—this is just a test. After all, some readers have said this match has been written about for too long.

In the end, Bora Milutinović decided to wait until the second half to send Mo Mo onto the pitch. After all, there were only a few minutes left; there was no need to rush.

"Forget it, there's nothing worth watching anymore. They're being completely outplayed. I'm going out—keep watching if you want!"

The bespectacled student pushed up his glasses and watched as his friend left the room, sighing to himself. Let him go. Most people are just here for the novelty and spectacle; few are willing to support the team to the end.

"Old man, you're still watching? It's 3–0! We've lost!"

The old man tilted his head, glanced at the speaker, and snorted, replying, "I'm waiting to see China score a goal!"

The other was momentarily stunned, then shook his head and walked away. A goal? Give me a break! At this rate, it's more likely we'll concede again.

"In the first half, Ronaldo drew a penalty, Ronaldinho stepped up to take it, and goalkeeper Jiang Jin moved too early, making the save easy for Ronaldinho. Brazil now leads China by three goals. On the sidelines, coach Bora Milutinović is in discussion with Mo Mo, seemingly preparing to send him onto the field."

After scoring, Ronaldinho ran to the corner flag and began to samba, clearly delighted with his goal. The Brazilian fans erupted in celebration. In the remainder of the half, Brazil repeatedly threatened China's goal: Jiang Jin rushed out once to intercept, and the Chinese defense managed to hold out a few more times, clinging on until the halftime whistle.

The players all returned to the locker room. Mo Mo lingered on the pitch until the very end, not entirely sure why—he simply wanted to stand there for a while. Only when almost everyone else had left did he finally turn and head to the locker room. Just then, the sound of an argument drifted out from inside.

"You want to take me off and put that kid on?!"

Mo Mo recognized the voice as Hao Haidong's. No one else in the locker room dared speak—these situations were best left alone. Mo Mo pushed open the door and entered; Hao Haidong caught sight of him, barely able to contain his anger.

"Kid, you think you're better than me? Just because you scored twice against Costa Rica, now you're something special? If it weren't for me in the World Cup qualifiers, would you even be here? Would you have played Costa Rica?"

Hao Haidong’s tone was harsh. Yang Chen stepped forward, trying to calm him down, but it was no use. At that moment, Bora Milutinović finally spoke.

"Haidong, this is a tactical decision. Mo Mo is a better fit for our plan in the second half."

Seeing that the coach wanted to speak privately to Hao Haidong, Yang Chen quickly took Mo Mo outside. There was no point sticking around—Yang Chen himself had little chance of getting on the pitch, so he might as well help Mo Mo avoid the conflict.

No one knew what was being discussed inside, but when Bora Milutinović eventually emerged, his expression was grim. He spoke quietly to Mo Mo:

"You’ll go on a bit later. Let Haidong have another try first. Stay warm and be ready."

Mo Mo was taken aback, but said nothing, only nodding. Given the state of things, there was little more that could be done.

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The second half has begun. Coach Bora Milutinović has made no changes to the lineup; Mo Mo is warming up on the sidelines, ready to enter the game at any moment.

Chen Nu’s voice was tinged with excitement. Though he knew the odds were slim, he still hoped Mo Mo could score against Brazil—just one goal would be enough! As for Hao Haidong, it wasn’t that he lacked ability; it was simply that he had been completely marked out of the game. To call him a forward at this point would be generous—it was more like he was playing midfield.

"In the first half, China managed only two shots—one by Qi Hong and one by Ma Mingyu."

Chen Nu no longer knew how to comment. The Chinese side was struggling; just moments ago, a misplaced pass in defense had gifted Brazil a throw-in deep in Chinese territory.

"China’s defense has made another error with a cross-field pass. Now number 6, Roberto Carlos, steps up for the throw-in. And, worth noting, Ronaldinho has been substituted—number 17, Denílson, has come on in his place."

Hardly had Chen Nu finished speaking when number 6, Roberto Carlos, hurled the ball onto the field—only for the shrill whistle to sound: number 3, Lúcio, was offside.

Mo Mo let go of his unease. Suddenly, from not far away, someone shouted, "China!" and a chorus of cheers erupted: "Go China! Go China!" It started with just one group, but soon more and more Chinese fans joined in.

How did Mo Mo feel? Every hair on his body stood on end, a flush of embarrassment overtook him—he could hardly continue his warm-ups.

"Danger! Number 17, Denílson, breaking down the wing—he’s full of energy, testing the Chinese defense... Wait, he’s beaten his man! Number 21, Xu Yunlong, is right on him; they’re sprinting side by side after the ball—beautiful!"

Just now, after a long clearance from Jiang Jin, Brazil won the ball back and sent it to number 17, Denílson. He beat his marker, but number 21, Xu Yunlong, quickly stuck close, and after a short burst, Xu Yunlong surged past the ball, stopping it with a deft touch.

"Uh-oh! Number 17, Denílson, has caught up to the ball again! Fortunately, Li Tie covers just in time."

Chen Nu was weary of talking about the defense. Down by three goals, it didn’t matter how good the defense was now—meanwhile, Hao Haidong...

"Hao Haidong chases the ball! Oh no, terrible position! The Brazilian defender wins it and passes it back to the keeper."

After this botched attempt, Bora Milutinović seemed to have lost patience. This scenario had played out too many times. He signaled for Mo Mo to get ready. All that remained was to wait for a stoppage in play.

"We’re into the fifty-third minute. Mo Mo is ready on the sideline. Now we can dare to hope."

Just as Chen Nu finished speaking, the tide of the match suddenly shifted.

"Number 9! Ma Mingyu’s ball has been intercepted by number 2, Marcos Cafu! Number 2, Marcos Cafu! ... No! Li Tie! Brilliant! Hao Haidong has the ball! Wait—?"

Chen Nu was momentarily lost for words. Yes, Hao Haidong had the ball—but as a striker, he’d retreated almost all the way to the touchline. What was the point?

"Hao Haidong is nearly back at the halfway line! He passes—what a hospital pass! Brazil intercepts! Two passes later, the ball is at the feet of number 17, Denílson—he’s everywhere tonight!"

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The situation on the pitch shifted rapidly—Brazil was gradually increasing the tempo.

"A long pass! Number 17, Denílson, sends a long ball from near midfield to a teammate on the edge of the box! Intercepted by number 8, Li Tie."

Chen Nu muttered self-deprecatingly, "That was terrifying—I thought we were about to concede again!"

Meanwhile, the Chinese supporters' cheers echoed through the stadium as their team launched an attack—only for Brazil to win the ball back. A Chinese player went down, but the referee saw no foul; it was a clean tackle.

"A long pass! From the Brazilian half, Rivaldo sends a long ball straight to the wing, where number 2, Marcos Cafu, collects it without breaking stride. He heads it over the approaching Chinese defender and accelerates—what a dazzling display of pace and skill!"

Chen Nu’s commentary soared in excitement.

"Number 2, Marcos Cafu, bursts into the box—danger! He’s through! He squares it—no!"

Number 2, Marcos Cafu, and a Chinese defender raced to meet the long ball. Cafu didn’t try to trap it; instead, he headed it high over the defender, sprinted past, and broke into the penalty area.

Two defenders converged, but Cafu delivered a pinpoint cross to Ronaldo at the far post. Ronaldo darted in and calmly slotted the ball home. Brazil leads China 4–0!

"China makes a substitution: number 13, Mo Mo, replaces Hao Haidong. If anyone still hopes for a goal, it has to come from Mo Mo now!"

Though Chen Nu said as much, there was little enthusiasm in his voice.

What else could be said? Brazil had found their rhythm—they were fully awake now.

Mo Mo’s expression did not change. As he prepared to step onto the pitch, he gazed up at the five-starred red flag waving high above. All right, let’s do this! Can the story be changed? The coming moments would decide.

Hao Haidong, though reluctant to leave, knew his impact on the game had waned. As he passed Mo Mo, he murmured softly, "Good luck, kid."

Mo Mo was about to respond, but Hao Haidong had already slipped off the pitch.

All Mo Mo could do was answer silently in his heart: I’ll do my best.

Fifty-three minutes had passed. Everything before was history; what remained was to write a new chapter.