Although Auxerre finished third in Ligue 1 last season, they had yet to find any real form this year.
Five draws and two losses in their first seven league matches, plus a 0–3 defeat to AC Milan in their Champions League opener—this was a team that hadn't won a single ga all season.
Calling them "the third-best in France" at this point felt like a stretch, to say the least.
Because Mourinho wanted to be cautious, he started the match conservatively, testing the waters before committing. But once Real Madrid had assessed Auxerre's capabilities, everyone on the pitch had the sa thought:
"This is a warm-up match!"
Even Mourinho was confused.
This team played like a lower mid-table side in La Liga—marginally above the relegation zone at best.
No major squad overhaul, no managent shakeup, yet their quality had dropped so drastically from last season? It was baffling.
Still, for Real Madrid, this was a gift.
"Push up! Keep the pressure on their back line! Let's try to break the deadlock in the first half!"
Mourinho shouted from the touchline, waving his arms, issuing new tactical instructions.
Madrid's attackers lit up.
But among those charging forward, there was no sign of Li Ang.
He still moved up slightly with Xabi Alonso, supporting his partner while offering defensive cover.
Alonso could step over the halfway line.
Li Ang? He never went farther than the center-circle arc in his own half.
Sotis Sergio Ramos pressed higher than he did.
But Li Ang? He'd stay put, anchoring alongside Pepe, guarding the gate to Madrid's defense.
That's what made the others feel so comfortable pushing forward.
Under Madrid's constant pressure, Auxerre barely held on.
In the 18th minute, they finally managed to mount their first dangerous counterattack of the ga.
The ball soared over Alonso's head, flying toward Madrid's left flank. Auxerre winger Contout had already made his run.
Marcelo, having just joined an overlapping attack, was nowhere near.
Fans watching from their screens instantly shifted their focus to the one man who had been lingering quietly in Madrid's half:
Li Ang.
Pepe had to stay central. He couldn't drift wide.
There was only one man who could match Contout stride for stride.
Li Ang.
Contout was your classic speedy Black winger—good dribbling, average passing, poor vision.
But on a counterattack? He was lethal.
Fast, aggressive, agile.
Normally, Li Ang wouldn't win a sprint against him.
But what Li Ang lacked in pace, he made up for in two other areas: anticipation and physicality.
The mont Auxerre intercepted the ball and launched their long pass, Li Ang was already on the move.
He hadn't been standing around these last 20 minutes.
He had been watching.
He'd noted how Auxerre's attacks gradually shifted to Contout's flank—not because he was the best option, but because Khedira had shut down their central playmaker Oliech.
With Marcelo frequently overlapping, Contout had beco the most viable route.
Li Ang had read it all.
Now, that preparation paid off.
He moved before Contout received the ball, cutting off the path with flawless positioning.
"Oh! Beautiful read! Contout tries to go around Li Ang's side, but Li Ang holds his ground! He muscles Contout off the ball and forces him out of bounds! What a defensive stand!"
He Wei's voice crackled with excitent as Li Ang outmuscled the speedster, shielded the ball, and calmly laid it back to Pepe.
"Top-tier defending!
Reading the play, cutting off the route, using physical strength—Li Ang's presence lets Madrid attack without fear!
Just like Makélélé once did behind the Galácticos, Li Ang has beco the rock behind this generation of stars!"
Zhang Lu, usually calm and asured, was also pumped.
It was his first ti co-comntating a Li Ang match live on CCTV.
He had seen the replays, watched the stats, but being there in the mont, feeling the tension and release—it was different.
Yes, Li Ang wasn't world-class yet.
But among young players, he was elite.
And as far as Chinese fans were concerned?
"We don't care how objective it is—just praise him harder! We love it!"
Back on the pitch, the Madrid defenders showered Li Ang with applause.
Mourinho gave a thumbs-up from the sideline.
Pepe quickly moved the ball forward to Alonso, who collected and passed to Khedira.
Now it was Madrid's turn to counter.
Auxerre's players scrambled to retreat after their failed surge.
Khedira's decisive drive up the field broke their disorganized transition defense.
At the back, Li Ang noticed Ronaldo sprinting up the left and yelled at the top of his lungs:
"LEFT FLANK—!!"
Did Khedira hear him?
Maybe. Maybe he saw it himself.
Either way, just as Li Ang finished shouting, Khedira lifted his foot and delivered an over-the-top through ball.
Cristiano Ronaldo, onside, controlled and surged ahead, creating a slightly angled one-on-one chance.
Auxerre keeper Sorin rushed out.
Cristiano, ever composed, calmly slotted the ball with his left foot, skimming past Sorin's foot and bouncing in off the far post.
Goal.
The 4,000-plus Madrid fans at the stadium erupted.
Ronaldo ran to the corner flag, sliding on his knees, grinning as teammates piled on.
Back in Madrid's half, Alonso turned to stare at Li Ang in surprise.
He had heard Li Ang shout the warning to Khedira.
But that shout—that was sothing an orchestrator says.
That was the kind of awareness and anticipation that dictated gas.
"This kid… has already developed this kind of vision?!"
In Alonso's mind, a mory surfaced: Li Ang, asking to train with him to learn how to orchestrate play.
Now, seeing Li Ang anticipate the move, shouting into the chaos—
Alonso understood.
"That's not just progress. That's a breakthrough.
That's qualitative growth.
You're not just a destroyer anymore, Little Lion.
You're evolving into a true midfield general."
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