Chapter Six: The Chinese Player in the German Second Division (A Tribute)

The day after the match against Salbu on April 6, 2002, Mo Mo felt he was a completely free man on the field. So he resolved to join the team’s collective training sessions. Until then, Mo Mo had never participated in group training, but now, as an undisputed starter, he felt it was necessary to train with his teammates and strengthen their mutual understanding.

He hoped to secure victory and score in the upcoming match against Frankfurt.

However, when he arrived at the training ground, Peter Neuruhrer stood with arms crossed, his face cold.
“What are you doing here, hmm?”
Mo Mo’s brow furrowed, but after all, Peter Neuruhrer was still the head coach of the team. Even though Mo Mo had been placed on the transfer list and might leave soon, Neuruhrer was still his coach.

“I want to join the training, Coach. I think it would help me better connect with the team so we can win against Frankfurt.”

A derisive laugh rang out. Mo Mo was puzzled—had he said something wrong?

“Who told you you’d be starting next game? See that tall guy over there? Karl, from the youth team. He’ll start the next match. And you? You’re on the bench.”

Mo Mo followed Neuruhrer’s gaze and saw a tall player, currently in the middle of an intra-squad scrimmage. Mo Mo happened to see the lad shrinking back from an aerial challenge. Neuruhrer saw it too, and Mo Mo couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“Being tall doesn’t make you a great striker, or strong. True strength comes from within.”

With that, Mo Mo intended to join the others for training. He was eager for systematic training, for after two brief matches, he knew what he lacked. But Neuruhrer called him back.

“Who said you could train? Did I give you permission?”

Mo Mo turned around. Neuruhrer towered over him, a full head taller than Mo Mo’s modest 170 centimeters, but Mo Mo met his gaze without fear.

“Listen! I know you don’t like me. But the more I learn, the more I play, the easier it is for you to transfer me, isn’t it? If you can’t stand me and want me gone, let me train. The more I improve, the more likely another team will want me.”

Their argument was drawing attention now; people were gathering around. Neuruhrer’s face darkened further. At that moment, Freddy Bobic hobbled over on his injured leg.

“Coach, let me work with this Chinese kid,” Bobic said calmly, his tone flat, almost like an order to those who didn’t know him, but just his usual voice to those who did. It was this demeanor that had caused Bobic’s football career to stumble at times.

Strangely, Neuruhrer’s expression softened at Bobic’s approach, just as it had the first time Mo Mo met him, when he’d promised Mo Mo at least half the available matches.

“Your leg isn’t healed yet, is it? Don’t overdo it. Rest up. Once we’re in the Bundesliga, we’ll need you to win matches for us!”

Bobic’s face remained indifferent; seeing that, Neuruhrer didn’t push further and turned away to instruct the teams in their scrimmage.

“What will you teach me?” Mo Mo asked. He knew he needed to improve. Though his off-the-ball movement and burst of pace were good, he was plagued by poor finishing, weak ball control, and no flair for dribbling.

“What do you want to learn?” Bobic’s gaze was subtle. Bobic himself was a rare all-around striker: formidable in the air, precise and ruthless with shots, sharp in front of goal, tall and strong without sacrificing speed—a perfect mentor for Mo Mo.

“My shooting is poor, I can’t dribble, and my receiving and passing are awful,” Mo Mo admitted. He’d thought about this for a long time. In truth, he wanted to become a forward like Messi, though he knew there was only one Messi, one Cristiano Ronaldo—every world-class star is unique.

“Want my advice?” Bobic asked. Seeing Mo Mo nod, he continued, “I think you should play to your strengths.”

Strengths? Mo Mo was uncertain. If he had any strengths, they were agility in movement, sharp sense for poaching, and good acceleration. Noticing Mo Mo’s contemplation, Bobic went on, “In your Chinese martial arts stories, there’s a man who never draws his sword lightly, but when he does, it always draws blood. That’s you, Mo Mo.”

Mo Mo pondered these words. Never draw the sword lightly, but when it’s drawn, it must draw blood. At 170 centimeters, he had no advantage in physical duels or aerial battles. His speed only truly manifested in those explosive moments in front of goal.

So, perhaps, he was a finisher—a player who appears at the decisive moment. That meant what he needed to improve most was his shooting. As he reflected, Bobic began placing balls at various spots inside the penalty area.

“What you need is just one chance.”

Mo Mo understood. What he lacked most was that clinical finish in the box. Long shots weren’t necessary; he just needed to appear in the right place amid the chaos and put the ball in the net with one shot. This was the true meaning behind the saying: never draw the sword lightly, but when you do, it must draw blood.

Klose, in his early days, relied on his excellent sense for positioning to score plenty of goals, attracting the attention of top clubs, and eventually transforming into an all-around striker. For a forward, the most important thing is still to score.

Picking up the ball, Mo Mo began to shoot, one after another, finding joy in the process. But Bobic frowned—these shots had no real power.

Bobic stepped in front of the goal, just standing there exuded pressure. Instantly, Mo Mo lost his earlier sense of freedom.

“What are you waiting for? You call that shooting? No angle at all. If my leg weren’t hurt, I’d save every one!”

Mo Mo knew he was right. He composed himself and tried again, realizing in the process what “shooting skill” really meant. That attribute was simply shooting accuracy: the higher it was, the more precisely he could aim. But without the right technique, it was meaningless.

Countless attempts followed, shots from every angle inside the penalty area, but neither power nor angle was quite enough. These were things that couldn’t be taught, only accumulated through years of experience and habit.

At that moment, Mo Mo recalled something: when Cristiano Ronaldo first joined Manchester United, he was a winger obsessed with dribbling and flair. But after scoring from a cut inside during a match, Ferguson transformed him into an inside forward and introduced a unique training method—painting the four corners of the goal in different colors, and having Ronaldo shoot for them relentlessly. Years of relentless practice turned him into the goal machine he became.

Mo Mo was not above borrowing this method. So, in the days that followed, he trained his shooting every day using this approach. Under Bobic’s guidance, at least his instep shots became decent, and the training points he earned brought his shooting attribute up to 7.2.

Name: Mo Mo
Age: 17
Height: 170cm / 60kg
Number: 37
Preferred foot: Right
Position: Forward (clumsy)
Club: Hannover 96 (listed for transfer)
Interested clubs: None
Each attribute maxes out at 20.

Shooting: 7
Off-the-ball movement: 14
Composure: 18
Technique: 6
Leadership: 1
Receiving: 10
Determination: 15
Anticipation: 14
Aggression: 14
Creativity: 18
Passing: 3
Heading: 2
Ball Control: 8
Long shots: 2
Vision: 14
Crossing: 2
Teamwork: 1
Work Rate: 15
Balance: 8
Strength: 7
Agility: 12
Acceleration: 15
Jumping: 6
Speed: 12
Stamina: 9
Fitness: 10

April 13, 2002. Matchday 31 of the 2. Bundesliga: Hannover 96 versus Frankfurt. When Mo Mo saw the squad list, he was surprised—a fellow Chinese? Yang Chen!

Frankfurt fielded a 3-5-2 formation.
Forwards: Yang Chen and Pawel Kryzalaweicz
Attacking midfielder: Albanian international Skela
Central midfield: Heider and Schur
Left midfielder: Blanco
Right midfielder: Preuss
Defenders: Korean Shim Jae-won, veteran Czech Lada, and Rasiewski
Goalkeeper: Heinen

Hannover 96 lined up in a 1-1-4-4 for defensive counterattacks.
Striker: the 193-cm-tall Karl
Shadow striker: Doll
Mo Mo didn’t pay attention to the others. He was on the bench for this match. His gaze burned as he watched Yang Chen warm up on the pitch, clad in a fiery red kit that recalled the flag of their homeland.

Yang Chen, meanwhile, looked deeply troubled. Threatened within the squad by Macedonian striker Sirkic, he no longer had the swagger of his early days at Frankfurt. Wearing the number 21 shirt, Yang Chen knew he had to perform well in this match, or being put up for sale would become reality.

When he first arrived in Frankfurt, as the first Chinese player to set foot in the German leagues, other clubs paid him little attention. His speed matched Frankfurt’s style, and in the 1998–99 Bundesliga season, he played 23 times and scored 8 goals.

But as teams grew familiar with him, his goals dwindled each season. In 1999–2000, he played 27 matches, scoring 4 goals. In 2000–01, he was relegated to the 2. Bundesliga, making just 15 appearances and scoring 4 goals.

Around them, Hannover 96 fans began singing their club anthem, “Love Since 96”—written for the club’s 96th birthday, a song both strong and steadfast, declaring unwavering support for the beloved team.

“No one is left alone. Hand in hand, we march forward.
Together, we are strong as a wall of steel.
Thank you, you’ve given us so much. You are priceless in our lives.
Ninety-six years of love. Your red is far more beautiful than blue or yellow.
Let others talk about Bayern or Bremen. We’ll always stand by you, our Hannover 96!
For so long you’ve earned our trust, with you we never lose hope.
Rain or snow, storm or shine, we’re always here—
Not just for the sunny days.
Sometimes things don’t go our way, but our love will never waver.
We may shed tears, but even in the hardest times, we’ll keep steering our red ship.”

As the anthem echoed through the AWD Arena, a palpable home atmosphere filled the air. Mo Mo’s eyes locked onto Yang Chen—the first Chinese player in the top five European leagues. What would he show under this kind of pressure?

Yang Chen turned his head; though the distance was great, Mo Mo seemed to see through everything, glimpsing a burning will to fight in those eyes.

That fiery red shirt stood for more than just the man—it represented the world’s impression of Chinese players.

Mo Mo clenched his fists, feeling his blood ignite.

Senior! What you didn’t achieve, I will carry on. I will let the world know that China is not just about table tennis.

Senior! Let me see your glory once more! Let me see the Yang Chen who first conquered the Bundesliga, the pride of all Chinese players abroad!

Senior! Don’t worry. Though you have entered your twilight years, our country will always have new suns rising.

The opening whistle sounded. Yang Chen charged toward Hannover 96’s half, his red jersey blazing—impossible to miss.