April 9th, 1:30 p.m.
Matchday 32 of the Eredivisie. Ajax welcomed AZ Alkmaar to the Amsterdam Arena.
Yang Yang remained on the bench until the 70th minute. By then, the score was still goalless. Both teams had struggled to break through, but Ajax had clearly held the initiative, pressing higher, maintaining possession, and creating more chances.
Once Yang Yang stepped onto the pitch, Ajax immediately rediscovered their rhythm. It was as if the missing piece had been slotted into place—the tempo sharpened, the movements became more purposeful, and the crowd sensed the shift.
Barely three minutes after his introduction, Ajax struck.
Yang Yang received the ball on the right flank just outside the penalty area. With a swift glance and decisive movement, he sliced a diagonal pass into the box before darting forward along the right channel.
Nicklas Bendtner, who had drifted out to receive, controlled Yang Yang's pass and played it back to Maicon, who was stationed near the top of the box.
The Brazilian right-back paused for a split-second, then clipped a delicate pass into the penalty area.
Yang Yang had continued his diagonal run and now found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Joris Mathijsen. Using his frame, he shielded the ball from the Alkmaar defender, cushioning it to his right with his first touch. Then, in one seamless motion, he pivoted and struck it left-footed.
The ball arced powerfully into the top-left corner of the net.
It was a finish of clinical precision and effortless grace. From the first touch to the strike, there was no hesitation—just fluidity, balance, and lethal execution. Mathijsen was left rooted, a helpless observer in a moment of pure instinct.
The Amsterdam Arena exploded.
Forty-four goals.
"With this strike, Yang Yang becomes the Eredivisie's all-time single-season top scorer, surpassing Coen Dillen's legendary tally."
"Unbelievable! He came on and changed the game instantly!"
"And what a way to make history—a goal born of intelligence, strength, and flawless technique."
"At just 19 years old, Yang Yang is already an Eredivisie legend!"
His name echoed from every corner of the stadium. Fans stood, clapped, shouted. They knew they had witnessed a goal not just of importance, but of greatness.
He opened his arms like a glider slicing through the Amsterdam wind, his smile radiant, his path straight toward the corner flag, embraced by history.
...
...
On the sidelines, AZ Alkmaar's head coach Louis van Gaal stood motionless, his face marked by visible frustration.
His team had held on for more than an hour. Disciplined, concentrated, structured. They had executed his plan with precision.
And then Yang Yang stepped onto the pitch.
Three minutes later, all that effort lay in ruins.
The goal had been a masterpiece—nothing short of it. But for Van Gaal, it was a dagger, cleanly driven through the heart of his tactical setup. He was angry, not at his players, but at the inevitability of it all.
He couldn't fault Mathijsen. The Dutch centre-back had battled hard, tracked the run, applied pressure. He did everything right—except stop Yang Yang.
And who could?
But as Van Gaal's initial irritation subsided, another emotion rose from deep within.
Three years.
It had been three years since he first encountered the boy who no one believed in—an overlooked youth in Almere who many thought would be released without ceremony. A kid whose name drew shrugs, not attention.
But now?
Now that same boy had become one of the most electrifying footballers in Europe.
Van Gaal felt something stir in his chest—pride.
Others always claimed Yang Yang was born with rare talent. They said his rise was inevitable. But they didn't see it. They hadn't been there. They didn't know.
They didn't see the long nights at the deserted Almere skate park, the empty goals under the dull streetlights. They hadn't stood near the fence at De Toekomst, watching Yang Yang train alone until sweat soaked through his training top and dusk turned to night. They hadn't seen the sun barely rising over the lake in Ouderkerk, where Yang Yang ran three laps every morning, or how he pushed himself in the gym with Winston Bogarde, no shortcuts, no excuses.
Now, on this stage, he was dazzling.
Adored by fans. Hunted by Europe's giants. A single touch of his boot could make headlines across the continent. A change of shirt could shift market value. He was, in every sense, a superstar.
And yet, Van Gaal knew something else. Behind all the lights, all the acclaim, all the noise—he was still Yang Yang.
The same boy who trained like his life depended on it. The same one who didn't need cameras to be committed.
Van Gaal should have been bitter. As the coach of the opposing team, he should have felt nothing but competitive resentment.
But standing there, watching Yang Yang smile as he celebrated that goal, he didn't feel hatred.
He felt warmth.
Gratitude, even.
He wanted to walk across the touchline, embrace him, and say what he'd never said out loud.
Well done, my friend. Well done.
Because, even if they rarely spoke, even if their communication had been sparse over the years, Van Gaal knew it deep in his bones.
They were friends.
...
...
Ronald Koeman leapt from the bench, his fists clenched and his face lit with joy.
Yang Yang had done it again.
With that goal, the game was in Ajax's hands. At long last, Alkmaar—the final domestic threat—had been subdued. The title race, the league dominance, the aura of invincibility this season… it all remained intact.
But even as the adrenaline coursed through him, even as the Amsterdam Arena thundered with celebrations, reality crept into Ronald Koeman's mind.
Yang Yang is leaving.
He hadn't said it outright. Not to the board, not to the press, not even to the player himself. But everyone at Ajax knew it. The writing was on the wall.
Ajax had grown too small to contain him.
No one said it out loud, but it was obvious: keeping Yang Yang in the Eredivisie now wasn't just unfair to him—it was becoming unfair to the league. He was ready for something more. Something bigger. The four major leagues awaited, and he would not—should not—be held back.
Koeman knew the numbers by heart.
44 goals. 19 assists.
Just in the league.
He had directly contributed to over half of Ajax's goals this season. Without him, the team's entire offensive identity would collapse. Replacing him wasn't just difficult—it was virtually impossible.
The name most often linked was Klaas-Jan Huntelaar. A natural finisher. A classic Dutch number nine. Stylistically, reminiscent of Van Nistelrooy.
But Huntelaar was a striker.
Yang Yang was a phenomenon.
Everything Huntelaar could do, Yang Yang could replicate. And everything Huntelaar couldn't even dream of doing—creating from wide, dribbling past lines, inventing from nothing—Yang Yang already did weekly.
That was the gulf between a great goalscorer and a generational game-breaker.
Maybe the only department where Huntelaar had an edge was in aerial duels. But even there, Koeman had no doubts.
Give Yang Yang time—just time—and he'd master headers too.
He'd already spent the past eighteen months grinding in the gym with Winston Bogarde. He ran the stairs at the stadium every day. He moved weights with the hunger of a man chasing something no one else could see. Everyone in the club had witnessed the transformation.
His vertical leap had become absurd.
Yang Yang himself had joked that the only reason he hadn't added headers to his arsenal yet was because he "hadn't found time" to train them seriously.
But when he did?
He'd turn that into a weapon too.
Koeman watched from the sidelines as the young star sprinted toward the corner flag, arms out like wings, a smile carved across his face, the crowd roaring his name.
A glider in full flight.
And deep down, the Ajax coach felt a swelling in his chest.
Pride.
And a quiet grief.
He knew—truly knew—he would never again coach a player quite like Yang Yang.
Not in this lifetime.
...
...
The match ended 1–0.
Ajax, led once again by a decisive goal from Yang Yang after coming off the bench, defeated AZ Alkmaar at the Amsterdam Arena. With that narrow but crucial victory, they officially secured the Eredivisie title—with two games to spare.
As soon as the final whistle blew, the stadium erupted in jubilation. Red and white flags waved furiously from every corner, and a wave of joy swept through the crowd like a thunderstorm of celebration. Fireworks burst into the evening sky above the stadium, casting brilliant flashes of color over a sea of cheering supporters. For the third consecutive year, Ajax were crowned champions of the Netherlands.
Yang Yang had played less than 25 minutes, but once again, that was all he needed to change the course of the match. After the final whistle, he moved quickly across the pitch, weaving past media staff and teammates until he found a familiar face in the opposing camp—Gao Lin.
Now a fellow Chinese international, Gao Lin had gradually grown into a key rotation player under Louis van Gaal's guidance at AZ Alkmaar. In the second half of the season, his physical presence up front had troubled several top sides, and his tactical understanding was clearly improving.
"Congratulations, Yang Yang!" Gao Lin stepped forward with a broad grin and embraced him.
Yang Yang returned the gesture with a firm pat on the shoulder. "Thanks. And you've been doing well lately—seriously," he said. "You're getting into better positions, and the way you're holding up play... it's making an impact. Now all that's missing is to find the net. Once you break through that barrier, the confidence will come on its own."
Gao Lin nodded attentively, clearly absorbing every word. In the background, photographers and cameramen continued capturing the euphoric atmosphere, but the two Chinese players stood calmly in the middle of it all.
Feng Xiaoting had already cemented his place as a starter at Feyenoord. Gao Lin knew he needed to keep up. And when a player of Yang Yang's stature—perhaps the most in-form footballer in Europe—offered guidance, you listened.
"You're still lacking a bit of confidence," Yang Yang added bluntly. "Be brave. Be aggressive. You're a centre forward—you have to plant yourself in the box, hold off the defender, and force them to react to you. You've got the body. Van Gaal wouldn't put his trust in you otherwise."
Gao Lin nodded again, this time with more resolve. "I understand."
The two shared a few more words before parting ways. Since Alkmaar and Oude Kerk were relatively close, they often met during the week when time allowed, especially in the second half of the season. Without European commitments, Gao Lin's schedule had been less congested, and he often used his off days to visit Yang Yang's training sessions, soaking up whatever knowledge he could.
After the brief reunion, Yang Yang approached Van Gaal near the technical area.
Though no longer under the spotlight of the European elite, the veteran Dutch manager had redefined himself at AZ. Free from the political pressure and noise that plagued his later years at Ajax and Barcelona, Van Gaal had focused solely on tactical experimentation and player development. His unorthodox back-three system at Alkmaar was just one example. Though he still struggled with interpersonal relationships and was famously blunt to a fault, his coaching acumen remained respected by those who understood the game. Yang Yang was among them.
Most of the Ajax squad had little patience for Van Gaal during his short stint as technical director, but Yang Yang had always held a soft spot for him.
"There are two matches left," Van Gaal said, placing a hand on Yang Yang's shoulder. "You have to take this chance. Aim for 50 goals. You might not get this kind of opportunity again for a long time."
Yang Yang nodded. He knew exactly what Van Gaal meant.
The single-season goal record across all top European leagues was held by Dudu Georgescu—47 goals for Dinamo București. Yang Yang now had 44. With two games remaining, he was within reach of something historic.
In the Eredivisie scoring chart, he had already secured the Golden Boot. Heerenveen's Klaas-Jan Huntelaar trailed by 14 goals with 30. AZ's Shota Arveladze had 22, and last season's rival, Dirk Kuyt, had managed only 21 in a disappointing campaign. The crown was no longer in doubt. But now the discussion had moved beyond the Netherlands.
Could he surpass Georgescu? Could he hit 50?
Unlike the Premier League or La Liga, the Eredivisie season will end in mid-April due to the compressed calendar ahead of the 2006 World Cup. With no winter break and a fast-closing schedule, Ajax would play their final two league fixtures in quick succession—one midweek and one on the weekend.
After that came the semi-finals of the UEFA Champions League and the KNVB Cup final.
"Barcelona will be tough," Van Gaal warned, his tone measured. "They're resting. You're playing two matches a week. Fatigue will be real. But bringing Ajax this far in the Champions League is already something to be proud of."
Then, after a pause, he added more softly, "But I know you. You won't back down. I'm just saying—use these two games first. Go for it. Score four more goals. Everyone here will support you. Just do what you always do."
Yang Yang looked at him and smiled. "Don't worry," he replied. "I know what I have to do."