Gary Neville leaned forward in his chair, his expression turn unusually serious.
He wasn't speaking as a pundit now, but as a forr Manchester United captain.
"I had no friends outside the team," Neville said softly. "I had no life beyond football. I didn't even have any experience chasing girls. All I knew was the training ground."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"Later, I beca the captain of a team full of geniuses. Beckham, Scholes, Giggs, Ronaldo. The reason I am saying all this is to tell Ling—and any young player watching—that there are no shortcuts. Talent gets you in the door, but hard work keeps you in the room. Hard work is the greatest talent of all." Neville spoke with genuine emotion.
It was his lived truth.
Then, the sentintal mood broke.
He collected himself with a mischievous glint returning to his eye as he looked sideways at his co-host.
"By the way, Carra. Ling scored a winner in the Derby. How many do you think he'll score in the next North West Derby against your lot?"
Jamie Carragher leaned back while crossing his arms. "Liverpool have Virgil van Dijk now. We just spent £75 million to fix our defensive problems. Van Dijk is a mountain."
Carragher smirked. "So, I don't think Ling will score at all. In fact, I think VVD will puts him in his pocket."
The studio fell silent at the harsh prediction.
"Right then," Neville said, his face full of scheming. "Let's make a bet. I predict Ling scores at least two goals against Liverpool this season. If you lose, you have to wear a Manchester United jersey—with Ling's na on the back—live on this show. How about that?"
Carragher's smile froze.
The thought of wearing a United shirt made his skin crawl!
"Fine," Carragher shot back, knowing he couldn't back down on live TV.
"But if I win, and he doesn't score two? You have to wear a Liverpool jersey. And you have to sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone'."
"Deal."
As the show approached its end, the host, David Jones, threw out one final question.
"Gentlen, prediction ti. Which team has the best chance of winning the Premier League this season?"
"Manchester United!" Neville answered instantly.
"Manchester City!" Michael Brown countered resolutely.
Carragher looked at the table. He wanted to say Liverpool, but even he couldn't justify it.
"Manchester City 50%, Manchester United 49%," Carragher said diplomatically.
Then he grinned. "Tottenham 1%. Arsenal 0%."
Across North London, thousands of Arsenal fans threw their remotes at their televisions.
...
Ti passed quickly.
After seeing his parents off at the airport for their flight back to China, Ling returned to his routine.
He continued his rigorous "three-point line" daily routine: Dormitory, Canteen, Training Pitch.
However, he proactively reduced his intensity.
The Christmas schedule in England is a at grinder, and he knew he had to manage his body to avoid fatigue injuries.
Before they knew it, the new year had arrived.
Matchday 22.
Manchester United traveled to rseyside, not to face Liverpool, but to face the blue half of the city: Everton.
In the reverse fixture earlier in the season, United had crushed Everton 3-0 in a dominant display—a match that marked Ling's first start.
But this was a different Everton side.
Back then, Ronald Koeman had been in charge, and the team was a disorganized ss despite spending £150 million.
Now, "Big Sam" Allardyce was at the helm.
Allardyce, the Premier League's famous "relegation firefighter," had done what he did best.
He simplified the tactics, clarified the roles of the three number 10s, and dragged the Toffees from the relegation zone up to 9th place.
They had won four of their last five gas and the Goodison Park was rocking again.
...
United faced a crisis up front.
Rolu Lukaku was struggling for form and fitness, looking heavy-legged.
Zlatan Ibrahimović was suspended for one match following his altercation with Leroy Sane in the Manchester Derby.
Suddenly, Mourinho was without a good center-forward.
Mourinho made a bold call.
"Ling leads the line," Mourinho announced in the dressing room.
He deployed Ling as a False Nine, flanked by Martial and Lingard.
It was an experint, an attempt to develop a more fluid attacking system.
Ling didn't feel the pressure; he had played centrally before and understood the chanics of the role.
Allardyce countered with a sturdy 4-2-3-1, benching the creative talents of Eriksen and Sigurdsson in favor of grit and energy.
He notably started Wayne Rooney, the forr United legend, in midfield.
...
Peep!
The referee blew the whistle, and the roar of the Goodison crowd washed over the pitch.
United imdiately dropped into a 4-1-4-1 defensive shape out of possession, prioritizing stability.
They invited Everton onto them.
Everton tried to launch fierce attacks, but their engine room was sputtering.
Wayne Rooney, perhaps feeling the effects of the festive period's "excessive exertion," looked sluggish.
His passes were a fraction late, his touches heavy.
This lack of sharpness from their captain killed Everton's montum before it could build.
United, anwhile, found their rhythm.
With Nemanja Matic and Ander Herrera controlling the engine room, they bypassed Everton's press with crisp, vertical passing.
27th Minute
The breakthrough arrived.
Matic, reading the ga perfectly, stepped in to crunch into a tackle in the defensive half.
He won the ball and imdiately pinged a diagonal pass forward.
Paul Pogba, operating in a free role today, killed the ball with a velvet touch.
He drove forward, his long strides eating up the ground.
He shimmied past one defender, rolled the ball past another, and slid a perfectly weighted through-ball down the left channel.
Jesse Lingard was on his bike.
He overlapped at speed, reaching the byline before cutting a sharp cross back to the edge of the area.
It was the perfect "cut-back" zone.
Ling was waiting.
He received the ball with his back to goal, with Michael Keane breathing down his neck.
Ling dropped his left shoulder—a feint to go wide—then snapped his hips and turned inside.
Keane bought the dummy and was left grasping at air.
Space created.
Ling unleashed a powerful right-footed drive.
Bang!
Jordan Pickford, Everton's agile keeper, reacted instantly, but the shot was too fierce.
It flew past his gloves and rippled the net!
0-1 Manchester United!
The traveling Red Army in the Bullens Road stand erupted.
On the sideline, Rui Faria punched the air.
"Boss, have you noticed? Since beating City, Ling has evolved. He is playing with supre confidence."
Mourinho didn't smile.
He shook his head slowly. "Actually, Rui, I want him to fail."
Faria blinked. "Sorry?"
"I want Ling to taste a setback," Mourinho said, his eyes fixed on the young star celebrating.
"Confidence is good. But arrogance is dangerous. Only when he faces a painful failure—and overcos it with his head held high—will he truly develop a champion's ntality."
"Are you worried he'll end up like so of the City players? Complacent?" Faria asked.
"No," Mourinho murmured. "I am worried about his body. I am worried about... Ronaldo."
He wasn't talking about Cristiano.
He was talking about the Fenônon.
"I was there at Barcelona with Sir Bobby Robson," Mourinho whispered. "I saw R9. He was a god at 20. But he played too much. He played through pain. And his knees exploded. I will not let that happen to Ling."
The match resud.
The first half ended without further drama.
Ling's role as a pivot striker was functional, but he clearly lacked Lukaku's ability to physically dominate center-backs with his back to goal.
His strength lay in driving at people, not holding them off.
The second half began, and Everton retreated further, wary of United's counter-attack.
This played right into Mourinho's hands as United took control of possession.
57th Minute
Another mont of magic.
Jesse Lingard drifted inside, dragging a defender with him.
This opened a highway on the left for Paul Pogba.
Pogba drove into the space.
Ling, acting as the decoy, made a sharp diagonal run across the face of the goal. It was a selfless run. It drew both center-backs, terrified of his pace, toward the near post.
This left the top of the box completely vacant.
Juan Mata ghosted into the space. Pogba spotted him and squared the ball.
Mata didn't need to take a touch. He swept his left foot through the ball, curling a beautiful, precise shot into the far corner.
0-2 Manchester United!
The players embraced, high-fiving with a swagger that spoke of a team in form.
They had been baptized by the Derby victory, and now they carried an aura of invincibility.
With the two-goal cushion secured, Mourinho acted decisively.
"Rashford, you're up," he barked.
He substituted Ling imdiately.
Since Ling's previous injury scare, Mourinho had been managing his minutes with obsessive care.
The Premier League is a physical beast.
Ling was still developing physically; his bones were still settling. His playstyle—explosive stops and starts—put imnse torque on his joints.
Mourinho had seen too many "wonderkids" burn out by 24.
He would be the villain who subbed Ling off early if it ant Ling was still playing at 30.
Within minutes, Allardyce hauled off the exhausted Rooney, signaling a surrender on this match.
Everton tried to push, but they were walled off by United's dense midfield block.
In fact, Rashford nearly made it three on a late counter-attack, hitting the post.
Peep-peep-PEEP!
The final whistle blew at Goodison Park.
Professional. Clinical. Victorious.
Manchester United had started 2018 with a win, and the pressure on the chasing pack increased once again.
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