Chapter Eight: Approaching, Immersing, Inheriting-I'm Just a Striker(If there’s no discount, then create one.)

In the stadium of Hannover 96, the small group of Frankfurt supporters began to sing the club anthem “Heart of Europe,” rewritten in honor of Yang Chen.

Your fans are in Frankfurt,
Our support for you is as solid as rock,
With Morning Yang, it feels like heaven,
You shine like the sun,
We are all your fans,
In Frankfurt,
There is only one you in all of Frankfurt,
No matter what happens, you will always be everything to us.
Everywhere here are your supporters,
In our Frankfurt,
You are like our heart.

Peter Neururer’s expression was grim as he started to roar at his players on the field. He pointed at his watch in front of the fourth official, indicating that Yang Chen was wasting time. Yet his shouts at the players only made them more flustered, and his protest to the fourth official earned him nothing but a warning.

Yang Chen, the meritorious player of Frankfurt, had always played a vital role in their battles for survival. People still remembered his first goal for Frankfurt back in the Bundesliga—facing Mönchengladbach, Yang Chen scored with a powerful long-range shot, stirring excitement among Chinese fans everywhere.

His second and third goals came against Leverkusen, where he used his speed to seize two one-on-one opportunities and netted twice. The fourth and fifth followed soon after; a brace against Köpke had the nation shouting his name.

Now, though much had changed and Yang Chen’s performances were less dazzling as opponents grew to know and mark him, tonight his display rekindled memories of that once-invincible Yang Chen for the Frankfurt supporters.

After all, this was the home ground of Hannover 96, the AWD Arena, and the home fans began to cheer for their own players. The club anthem, “Love Since ‘96,” rang out once more:

“No one stands alone. We move forward, hand in hand.
Together we are strong as a fortress wall.
Thank you, you have given us so much. You are precious in our lives.
Love since ‘96. Your red is far more beautiful than those blues and yellows.
Let others talk about Bayern or Bremen. We are always on your side, 96, our Hannover!
For so long you have earned our trust. With you, we never lose faith.
Be it rain or snow, or sunshine and fair weather, we are always here.
Not just in the good times.
Things don’t always go our way, but our love never ceases.
We may shed tears, but even in the hardest times we will keep rowing our red ship.”

Watching the sweat-soaked, battling players, Mo Mo felt his blood boil with excitement. He longed to step onto the pitch, to test himself against his seniors, to run, to play, to score in the AWD Arena.

This was football—passion, wildness. Yang Chen once again collected the ball; he was in superb form tonight, easily beating the pressing Hannover defender. He struck—a long-range shot thundered off the goalkeeper’s hands.

The Hannover keeper couldn’t hold on; the ball bounced free. Frankfurt’s striker, Pavel Križanović, rushed in, leaping high—header!

All eyes followed the ball as it soared toward the net, but, unfortunately, it flew just over the crossbar. Peter Neururer couldn’t help but let out a long breath, but then his eyes widened and he shouted loudly, “Attack! Attack! Push up!”

The match was already in the 37th minute. The Hannover keeper sent a long goal kick that found the 1.93-meter-tall Karl. But under the pressure from Frankfurt’s defender Rada, Karl hesitated for a split second, and in that instant, Rada cleared the ball away.

From kickoff to now, Karl had been ineffective, wandering aimlessly like a helpless child. Dörf was left to struggle alone; with little attacking support, he chose to hold the line in their own half, not allowing Frankfurt to extend their lead.

The halftime whistle finally blew. During that period, the Frankfurt players sang and danced, spirits high, and Chinese fans watching the match talked excitedly to those around them, repeating Yang Chen’s name over and over.

Some even began to speculate whether China could reach the quarterfinals or semifinals of the World Cup—some, in jest or self-mockery, even mentioned the championship, world champion.

Mo Mo wanted to greet Yang Chen, but Peter Neururer ordered everyone, including the substitutes, to the dressing room. Neururer’s face was grim, and Mo Mo didn’t want to provoke him. After Karl’s poor performance in the first half, Mo Mo still had a good chance of getting on the pitch.

Meanwhile, far away in China, fans watching the game suddenly noticed a black-haired, yellow-skinned young man on the screen, still a little boyish, with “37 MOMO” on his back.

“Is that a Chinese player?” In a room somewhere, a fan watching the match overnight turned to ask his friend. The friend thought for a moment and replied, “Probably not! Look, his shirt says MOMO. That doesn’t sound like a Chinese name. Maybe Japanese? Korean? We only have a handful of overseas players, each one precious—none would be missed.”

Similar conversations echoed in countless homes and other places where people were staying up all night to watch the match. Many of them knew little about the Bundesliga or Bundesliga 2, or did not usually follow it, but wherever there was a Chinese player, they would tune in.

Mo Mo sat in the dressing room, looking somewhat dazed. Peter Neururer’s furious voice rang out. Poor Karl, despite his height of 1.93 meters, now looked like a meek kitten, head bowed, silently taking the scolding.

Mo Mo tilted his head back, lost in thought. Suddenly, memories flooded his mind—he recalled that Yang Chen’s most glorious days were also connected to another player, his teammate Bernd Schneider.

It was Bernd Schneider who assisted Yang Chen’s first goal, as well as his last of the season in the crucial relegation battle. They had a spectacular season together, collaborating brilliantly.

In China, Yang Chen was seen as someone who would never run blindly. In Germany, he was considered to have clever movement, but in truth, that always required a good midfield partner to bring out his best. Frankfurt, unfortunately, lacked such a midfielder.

Without that support, Yang Chen’s scoring rate dropped, and as he still drew the highest bonuses, his appearances became more limited. For Yang Chen, Bernd Schneider was like Xavi Hernández and Andrés Iniesta to Leo Messi.

The halftime break ended quickly. The players rose, Mo Mo returned to the bench, his eyes on the field, full of longing. As in the first half, Karl remained timid, and Hannover 96 made no headway in attack.

During this time, Frankfurt had several threatening shots on goal. Everyone could see this wouldn’t do. Hannover fans gradually fell silent, while Frankfurt’s supporters sang the Yang Chen anthem with renewed excitement.

Yang Chen dribbled, Yang Chen broke through, Yang Chen shot! Yang Chen, Yang Chen—in this match, he was in top form. Peter Neururer could no longer tolerate it. He marched to the sideline, pointing at Karl and shouting,

“Coward! Go fight for the ball! What are you afraid of? What’s the point of being 1.93 meters tall if you’re useless? Worthless!”

Neururer had lost all composure, ranting like a street thug. Under this immense pressure, Karl made a mistake. In the 63rd minute, during a tussle, he was injured by Frankfurt’s Korean defender, Shim Jae-won, and the Czech veteran, Rada, and had to leave the field.

The entire Hannover stadium erupted. To control the mood, the referee showed yellow cards to both Shim Jae-won and Rada. At this moment, Peter Neururer looked at Mo Mo, then went to speak with the fourth official.

Now, the Hannover fans in the stadium started to chatter. “Who is this? Can this little guy do it? Japanese? Korean? I know, he’s Chinese! Last time he helped us equalize against Saarbrücken! Saarbrücken? That relegation-threatened team?”

Mo Mo ignored all this. He knew only that he had finally set foot on this pitch, finally got to play. He ran to his position, exchanged a high-five with Dörf, and whispered,

“Pass it to me, I’ll be waiting in the open space.”

Karl wasn’t totally useless; he’d won a free kick for Hannover, just outside the penalty area, about 20 yards from goal at an angle—a good position for either a shot or a pass.

Dörf stood over the free kick, hands on hips. From this range, he had a decent chance of scoring directly, but as he glanced around, he saw Mo Mo lurking in a great pocket of space near the goal. If he played the ball there, would it go in?

There was no time to think; the referee was urging Dörf to take the kick. Mo Mo, meanwhile, stared nervously at Dörf, silently pleading, “Please, please, pass to me!” His muttering drew a glance from the nearby central defender, Laziyevsky.

Frankfurt’s goalkeeper, Heining, watched Dörf intently as he prepared to take the free kick. After a moment’s anticipation, Dörf struck the ball, which arced beautifully toward the right side of the goal. Heining couldn’t help but smile—was this a direct attempt on goal?

But the ball’s trajectory wasn’t enough to curl into the net; it was heading out of play near the right post. Unless something unexpected happened, it would be a goal kick. Glancing toward that side, only central defender Laziyevsky was there—no one else in sight.

But just as Heining relaxed, a figure suddenly darted from beside Laziyevsky—it was Mo Mo! He was exhilarated! Though Dörf’s pass wasn’t perfect, it had come his way, hadn’t it?

Mo Mo flashed a slight smile at Laziyevsky, then burst forward with explosive speed. He tried to finish with his left foot, but overestimated his skill—the ball flew wide of the goal.

Here, fortune favored him. Laziyevsky, reacting instinctively, stuck out a foot, the ball ricocheted off him, struck the post, and bounced out again. Heining, now scrambling, was thrown off by the rapid changes in direction and made the wrong choice, diving toward Laziyevsky.

With Heining out of position, the ball rebounded once more off the post. Mo Mo stepped up, controlled the ball on his chest, and let it drop to his toes, nudging it just inside the post and into the net.

The referee’s whistle blew—goal! The entire Hannover stadium erupted in celebration. The fans cheered wildly—it didn’t matter who he was or where he was from; as long as he scored, he was one of Hannover’s own! Their anthem “Love Since ‘96” soared over the AWD Arena:

Mo Mo felt as if his chest might explode, as if his head had been struck by a punch. He shouted loudly, sprinted at full speed, arms outstretched, brushing off his teammates’ attempts to celebrate with him. His target was Yang Chen—he ran straight for Yang Chen.

Though Yang Chen kept his composure, his expression was hardly pleasant. For a player from the opposing team to run to the rival striker after scoring—what could that mean? Was it provocation?

Chinese fans watching the Bundesliga 2 match back home cursed in frustration—what was this? Just because he scored a goal? But what happened next astonished everyone.

Mo Mo reached Yang Chen, wanting to say something but unsure what. After a moment’s thought, he finally did one thing, said one sentence: he mimed tying a red scarf around his neck, saluted Yang Chen with the Young Pioneer salute, and said,

“I am Chinese!”

And then he ran back to his own half, waiting for the restart. Mo Mo’s eyes blazed with fighting spirit—he admired his predecessor, but his own hunger for victory would not be diminished in the slightest.

Frankfurt’s Korean defender, Shim Jae-won, walked up to Yang Chen and asked, “What did he say to you? Did he say he was Korean?”

Yang Chen turned to look at Shim Jae-won, shook his head softly, and with a sharp glint in his eye, and with the satisfaction of a senior seeing a worthy successor, replied,

“No, he’s Chinese. We’re both Chinese.”