Shanghai, China: Ctrip International Travel Agency
March 7th, 2018
The large digital screen on the wall blinked.
SOLD OUT.
Zhang Wei, a young employee with trendy glasses, stared at the monitor with suspicion.
"Li, seriously? It's been three seconds. All 80 spots for the 'Premier League Viewing Tour' are gone? Is it bots?"
"Bots?" Li Tao, the middle-aged senior manager, laughed as he poured himself tea. "Who uses bots for a 30,000 RMB (£3,500) holiday package? Every booking requires ID verification. These are real people, Zhang."
"But... it's football," Zhang Wei muttered, scratching his head. "I've watched a few games. They run around for 90 minutes and score maybe once. It's sleepy. Give me the NBA any day. A fadeaway jumper is way cooler." He mimicked a basketball shot.
Li Tao sighed, looking at his younger colleague with pity. "Kid, you clearly haven't been watching the highlights. Have you not seen Ling's goals trending on Weibo and Douyin?"
Ding-ding-ding-ding!
Li Tao's phone exploded with notifications before he could finish his lecture.
He winced and checked WeChat. The "Red Devils China" fan group was in meltdown.
@OldWang: Li! Any tickets left? I'll pay double!
@UnitedForever: Start two more groups! We have money!
@TechGuy: Your booking system is trash! I clicked and it died!
Li Tao typed a quick reply: 'Brothers, blame your slow hands. Wait for the next round.'
The group chat erupted in wailing emojis.
"See?" Li Tao said, showing the screen to Zhang Wei. "When do we ever see this kind of demand for Europe? Usually, getting people to get visas and book hotels is a nightmare. But Ling changed the game."
Since Ling's meteoric rise at Manchester United, he hadn't just become a star; he had become an industry.
Ctrip had spotted the trend early.
Fans wanted to see him play, but the logistics of traveling to England—language barriers, train tickets, match tickets—were daunting.
The "Ling Tour" solved everything. Flight, hotel, ticket, guide.
All inclusive in one go.
"Why is he so popular?" Zhang Wei asked, genuinely curious now.
"Because he's actually playing!" Li Tao explained patiently. "If he was sitting on the bench like past Chinese exports, nobody would care. But he's top three in the scoring charts. He's scoring winners against big team. He's the real deal."
United's upcoming schedule was perfect for a pilgrimage: Brighton, Sevilla (Champions League), and Liverpool. Two massive home games. It was a dream itinerary.
"Li," Zhang Wei asked, eyes lighting up. "Will we do an NBA tour later?"
"Of course," Li Tao replied instantly. "We just need to wait for the next Yao Ming."
"Tch!"
"Stop dreaming," Li Tao snapped, switching back to boss mode. "Get to work. Prepare the guidebooks. Travel routes, hotel logistics, stadium tours. This isn't a vacation for us. It's work!"
...
Manchester, England: A Café near Carrington
The rain tapped gently against the windowpane. Inside the private booth, the aroma of roasted coffee beans filled the air.
Jorge Mendes sat opposite Ling with an iPad on the table between them.
"Your social media is live," the super-agent said in his smooth, measured tone. "Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Douyin. We have a team managing the content. The numbers are already... frightening."
Mendes had practically moved to England recently.
Ling was his next big priority project.
He had already secured preliminary agreements with several global brands—luxury watches, sportswear, automotive.
"Jorge, I trust you," Ling said, pushing a fresh coffee toward the Portuguese agent.
"I've prepared a short-term career map," Mendes said, tapping the screen. "Take a look when you have time. But let's talk about the big picture."
Mendes leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper.
"Ling, if you maintain this form... the Golden Boy award in December is yours. No question."
"And," Mendes added, a glint in his eye, "you could break into the top 30 for the Ballon d'Or. As a teenager."
Mendes was calculating.
Cristiano Ronaldo, his greatest client, was still a machine, but he was getting old.
Tensions at Real Madrid were high. A departure was inevitable.
If—or when—Ronaldo's influence began to wane, Mendes needed the next king.
He was looking at him.
Ling was bright, hardworking, resilient, and possessed a quiet arrogance that champions need. If Mendes could guide him correctly, his status as the world's super-agent would be secure for another decade.
"By the way, Ling," Mendes asked casually, though the question was anything but. "Do you plan to stay at United for the long term?"
The spoon clinked softly against the china cup as Ling stirred his coffee.
"Hmm... probably not." Ling didn't hesitate.
His answer was direct.
Before his "rebirth," Ling had seen the future. He knew about the decline of Manchester United. It wasn't about the players or the manager; it was the rot at the top.
The Glazers and the lack of structure.
Right now, they were united by the pursuit of a title. But in two or three years? The cracks would widen.
The roof would leak. (literally lol)
'A fine bird chooses a tree to nest in,' Ling thought. 'And United is a dying tree.'
He thought about the Ballon d'Or. Ronaldo had just won his fifth. Modric was next. Then Messi again.
Did Ling want it? Does a fish want to swim?
Ronaldo won his first at 23. The Brazilian Ronaldo won it at 21. Michael Owen at 22.
With the System, Ling believed he could shatter those records. If United won the Premier League or Champions League this season, the "Legendary Treasure Chest" reward would boost his stats to stratospheric levels.
"Don't worry," Mendes said, sensing Ling's ambition. "We are partners. I will always prioritize your interests. If we leave..."
Mendes stroked his chin. "Real Madrid is always watching."
"Jorge," Ling interrupted gently. "There's no need to rush. I don't want to leave as a promising talent."
He stopped stirring the coffee. The liquid swirled, dark and intense.
"If I join another club," Ling said, looking Mendes in the eye, "I want to go there as a King. With trophies in my bag. Not just as an 'ordinary' player."