"I'm really sorry, but I have a connecting flight to catch. If you're interested, please come watch the match!"
David Qin was in a bind. While he was genuinely touched by the fans' adoration, time was a luxury he didn't have. The chaotic environment of a public terminal made individual autographs and selfies an impossibility. Offering a sincere apology, he clutched his gear bag and ducked into the VIP lounge to escape the swell of the crowd.
Simultaneously, the top headline on Dongqiudi shifted from Barcelona 5-1 Sevilla: Messi Hat-trick to Our Young Star David Qin Arrives at Pudong, Heading for Hongdou Changbei International Airport. The comment section was a torrent of activity:
@TacticalGnome: My bad, guys. I just swung by the airport for a look, didn't think there'd be a literal army there.
@BundesligaBanter: Is this a 'Try Not to Laugh' challenge? Because I lost. The hype is unreal.
@DragonFan88: Ever since the official announcement that David was coming back for the friendlies, tickets vanished in seconds!
@Goal_Digger2: It's just a friendly, why are you lot scapping for seats? Everyone should refund their tickets so I can go!
@CFA_Skeexptic: Exactly! What's so interesting about playing New Zealand anyway?
@HistoryBuffed1: Interesting? Thirty-two years ago, China was on the brink of the 1982 World Cup. We practically had the tickets in hand. All Saudi Arabia had to do in the final qualifier was not lose by five goals to New Zealand. Given the gap in skill, a Saudi collapse seemed impossible, yet they lost 0-5. We were forced into a playoff against New Zealand, lost 1-2, and stayed home. That was New Zealand's first time ever qualifying.
@StatMannz: And don't forget, New Zealand was the only undefeated team in the 2010 South Africa World Cup! (Three draws, but still!)
@KiwiWatcher: They aren't weak. Chris Wood is a regular for Leicester City, and Winston Reid is a mainstay at West Ham.
While the fans debated, David arrived at the Hongdou Changbei International Airport and was whisked away to the training base.
"Long time no see, kid!"
David felt a firm hand clap his shoulder and turned to see a familiar face—Zheng Zhi.
"Forgot me already? I praised your play back when you were just a boy in the camp," Zheng Zhi said, his gaze filled with nostalgia. "I didn't think it would only take a few years for you to become a Bundesliga starter!"
Zheng Zhi looked at David with a mix of pride and awe. Years ago, David had been part of the inaugural class at the Evergrande-Real Madrid Football School, causing a sensation with his prodigious talent before eventually heading to Germany via the Bayern youth project. He hadn't gone to Real Madrid simply because he hadn't caught their scouts' eyes back then.
"Oh... Brother Zheng! Good to see you. How have you been?" David replied, the memories clicking into place.
"How else? I'm thirty-four now, just trying to keep the engine running," Zheng Zhi said with a bittersweet smile. He had been named Asian Footballer of the Year last season, but his body was finally starting to feel the miles. Time waits for no man.
Yet, the National Team was still dependent on him. As the defensive screen in the midfield, the role demanded not just stamina and physicality, but a depth of experience that the younger generation lacked.
"Get some rest now that you're here. Join the drills for a few days, and I'm sure you'll slot right into the squad," Zheng Zhi said, his voice carrying across the training ground.
He was speaking loudly for a reason: protection. Factionalism was an inevitable poison in any national team, and hazing young players was common practice. Zheng Zhi had been on both sides of it. By asserting his support as the team's elder statesman and captain, he made it clear that no one was to give David any trouble.
"Thanks, Brother Zheng," David smiled.
"We've got a welcome ceremony ready for you. Your Number 13 shirt is waiting!"
David nodded. They had discussed the numbers beforehand. It wasn't that David was particularly attached to 13, but as a newcomer, taking a prominent number wouldn't have been appropriate. Zheng Zhi held the 10, and Wu Lei wore the 7. For now, 13 would do just fine.
"David, what's it like playing in the Bundesliga? I've been thinking about heading abroad myself," Wu Lei asked quietly once the formalities were over.
Wu Lei was an undisputed prodigy in Chinese football. He had broken the record for the youngest appearance in the professional leagues at fourteen and had netted three hat-tricks in his debut CSL season last year. Most importantly, he was only twenty-three. Rumor had it that during a training camp in Spain, he had caught the eye of Ole Gunnar Solskjær. However, his mentor Xu Genbao had declined the offer, believing the Norwegian league was a step down.
"I haven't played in the CSL, but the tempo in Germany is definitely faster. You learn more, and you learn it quicker," David said honestly. There was a reason the "Big Five" leagues were the gold standard; even a high-spending CSL couldn't compete with that level of intensity. "If you're serious, put on a show in the Asian Cup. I can put in a word for you with some people."
David genuinely wanted to see Wu Lei abroad. If you don't test yourself when you're young, you'll spend your retirement wondering 'what if.' He remembered the future Wu Lei expressing regret about not leaving China sooner.
Wu Lei's eyes lit up. "I'd appreciate that!" He had spoken with Xu Genbao; his mentor felt the Norwegian league's "long ball" style didn't suit him, but he might approve of a move to a more technical league like the Bundesliga or La Liga.
"What are you two whispering about?" Gao Lin cut in, playfully punching David's arm. "You used to say my shots were the coolest thing you'd ever seen. You've gotten too famous to recognize me now?"
David: "..."
Cool? Your shots usually end up in Row Z, David thought, though he kept the snark to himself. Criticism aside, Gao Lin was a key player who had helped Evergrande to an AFC Champions League title the previous year. "It's just been a long time," David laughed.
Nearby, Zheng Zhi watched the group with a sense of relief. David was fitting in perfectly. After making the rounds with his new teammates, David headed to the manager's office.
"David! I've watched every one of your matches. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person," Alain Perrin said, offering a warm hug before the translator could even start.
David sat down, observing the man. Born in 1957 in Lure, France, Perrin was famous for taking Troyes from the third division all the way to Ligue 1. He had coached Marseille, leading them to a third-place finish and Champions League qualification with players like Drogba and Mido under his wing. But the most interesting fact to David was that Perrin had once served as an assistant to Arsène Wenger.
"The Master called me just the other day," Perrin said with a twinkle in his eye, referring to Wenger. "He told me I mustn't waste your talent and even shared a few tactical suggestions for your integration."
Perrin was smart. He knew his own resume might not command the immediate respect of a teenager playing for a top German club, so he played the Wenger card early. After all, what young player in the world wouldn't want to be on Wenger's radar?
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