Thirty-three-year-old veteran Ramon van Haaren, once a dependable defender for Feyenoord, had seen plenty in his career. But he knew instinctively when something was about to shift.
From the backline, he watched closely as Yang Yang called over Sneijder and Yaya Touré, speaking intently with them. Van Haaren's eyes narrowed. He could read it instantly — the momentum was about to swing.
"Stay alert. Yang Yang's not just any player," he warned his teammates, his voice sharp and urgent. "Something's coming."
His words were enough to jolt Waalwijk's players from their brief moment of euphoria. The celebration of their opening goal quickly faded into tension. They had faced Yang Yang before — many of them had. And more than a few carried scars from those encounters, some physical, some psychological.
In the Eredivisie, defenders joked nervously in private: facing Yang Yang wasn't just a tactical problem, it was mental. His pace, his precision, his relentlessness — even before kick-off, he made teams doubt themselves. And doubt, in football, is as fatal as a red card.
With Van Haaren's warning echoing in their ears, Waalwijk's players retook their positions.
The referee signaled, and the game resumed.
...
...
Yang Yang had learned quickly from the opening phase of the match. Drawing on his own observations and past lessons, he understood that Ajax couldn't continue forcing attacks through the congested central lanes. RKC Waalwijk had packed the midfield with bodies, clogging passing lanes and cutting off any momentum in tight areas.
To dismantle their block, he needed to stretch them.
The wings would be the key.
After the restart, Ajax deliberately shifted their point of attack, gradually opening up both flanks. Maxwell and Maicon began pushing forward more aggressively from the fullback positions, overlapping to support in wide areas. Yang Yang himself floated more freely to the right, increasing his involvement near the touchline.
First, he whipped in a teasing low cross that Bendtner nearly converted with a glancing header in the box. Moments later, Maicon surged into the right half-space after a diagonal layoff from Yang Yang and fired a dangerous low drive just wide of the post. The shots didn't go in, but the warning signs were clear.
Then came the 25th minute.
Maxwell, surging up the left, received the ball in stride and swept a perfectly weighted diagonal pass into the penalty area. Yang Yang, timing his run to perfection, broke in from the right, brought the ball down beautifully on his chest, and lashed a left-footed volley toward the far post.
The strike had power, but the angle was slightly too central. Waalwijk's keeper reacted quickly, diving to parry the shot away with both hands.
It was a close call — and for Waalwijk, a wake-up call.
Sensing blood, Yang Yang went straight to Sneijder and discussed a variation. He took the corner himself.
Inside the box, Ajax's attackers and defenders moved into position, jostling for space. Waalwijk tried to hold a compact line, but Yang Yang's body language betrayed something different — something calculated.
Then, he moved.
With a swift approach, he struck the ball cleanly with his right foot, using his star skill [Beckham's Technique]. The corner curved in low and fast, the spin deadly and precise. The delivery cut through the air like a missile, aimed for the near post.
Heitinga broke free of his marker just in time and lunged forward with a quick stab of his foot.
The ball was past the keeper before anyone could react.
"Goooooooooooooooooooooal!"
"Ajax equalize!"
"What a corner kick from Yang Yang!"
"Just seven minutes after going behind, Ajax level the score through Heitinga!"
"This is a textbook response — controlled, clinical, and immediate. Once Ajax settled down, the goal was inevitable."
Heitinga wheeled away in celebration as the rest of the Ajax players sprinted to the corner to mob Yang Yang.
The message was clear now — the game had started in earnest.
"Let's push again," Yang Yang shouted amid the cheers. "We're not done yet!"
...
...
With the score now level, Ajax resumed control of the game, dictating tempo and piling pressure on Waalwijk's defensive block.
But Adrie Koster, clearly aware of what was coming, made his move. He withdrew one of his defensive midfielders and dropped him into the back line, switching to a rigid five-man defense. Just ahead of the rearguard, he positioned two holding midfielders — forming a thick wall of bodies between Ajax and the final third.
It was, unmistakably, a full-scale catenaccio.
An iron-clad bunker.
And like every elite team in world football, Ajax now faced the age-old challenge: breaking the deep block.
Yet this was far from unfamiliar. In the Eredivisie, Ajax encountered these setups weekly. Their solution wasn't novelty — it was discipline. Patience.
Yang Yang understood this better than anyone. He could see that Waalwijk had no interest in open play now. They had surrendered the ball and bet everything on survival. What mattered now was control — over possession, over rhythm, and over emotion.
Every time the tempo slowed, Yang Yang clapped his hands, gesturing for calm. Every wayward pass or blocked shot, he offered an encouraging nod or a few words. His message was clear: Stay composed.
The longer Ajax held the ball, the harder it became for Waalwijk. Not just physically, as legs grew heavy from chasing shadows, but mentally — the constant pressure, the fear of a single lapse costing everything.
So Ajax pushed.
They worked the wings through Maicon and Maxwell. They rotated the ball endlessly through Sneijder and Yaya Touré. Bendtner made near-post runs. Sneijder made blindside cuts. Every minute added a new wrinkle, a new variation. And still, Waalwijk held.
From the equalizer in the 25th minute, the scoreboard didn't budge.
Thirty minutes. Still 1-1.
Thirty-five minutes. No breakthrough.
Forty minutes. Growing tension.
The crowd began to murmur. Reporters on the sidelines leaned forward, pens frozen mid-sentence. Even in homes across the Netherlands, fans were sitting on edge.
On the pitch, frustration flickered in Ajax's rhythm. Misplaced touches. Impatient shots. But amid the rising unease, Yang Yang remained centered.
He gathered teammates, called instructions, lifted heads. One word kept coming from him: Opportunity.
It was his mantra. There will be a moment.
Because no matter how disciplined a defense might be, no one can hold perfect focus forever — especially not against an opponent as relentless as Ajax. Yang Yang knew this. He believed in the wear and tear of dominance. He believed in the exhaustion that sets in when you're always chasing. And above all, he believed in striking when that moment came.
The first half was nearing its final minutes.
And Yang Yang's eyes, sharp and focused, were already scanning for the breach.
As one Chinese proverb goes, "Walking a hundred miles, ninety is only halfway."
Football is no different. Games are not won in the first attack or the first surge of adrenaline. They're won in those final ten minutes — when willpower outruns fatigue, and clarity cuts through chaos.
And once again, football was about to prove him right.
...
...
As the clock neared the forty-fourth minute, a hush swept across the Mandemakers Stadion. On the touchline, the fourth official raised his board—three minutes of added time to come.
But before that, Ajax pressed forward once more.
It began down the left flank, with Maxwell surging up the wing. The Brazilian fullback exchanged a quick one-two with Yaya Touré, drawing Waalwijk's midfielders into the trap. Then, with a subtle shift of hips, Maxwell broke into space and fed the ball low into the penalty area.
Nicklas Bendtner, stationed in the middle, outmuscled his marker and rose to meet it. But the angle was tight. He couldn't get a clean header on goal, so he knocked it outward instead—towards the left, into the path of Steven Pienaar.
The South African found himself surrounded. Three yellow shirts closed in, and the momentary hesitation in his feet betrayed his dilemma: hold it up and risk losing possession, or improvise?
That's when he saw it.
Charging in from the top of the box, cutting across the shadows cast by the floodlights, was Yang Yang.
He didn't call out. He didn't need to.
Right hand raised, eyes locked onto the ball, his intent was unmistakable.
Pienaar didn't think twice. He chested the ball to control it, then popped it first-time with his right foot—a clever lob that arced over the defenders and dropped right into Yang Yang's path.
The crowd held its breath.
On the left edge of the arc, just outside the box, Yang Yang watched it come down.
Everything around him slowed.
It was not just his God's Vision that kicked in—it was the totality of his preparation. Every cut, every drill, every repetition converged in this moment. He read the pressure. He scanned the defenders. He gauged the keeper's stance.
Then, without breaking stride, he let the ball strike his chest and drop toward his right hip. As it descended, he pivoted over his plant foot and swung his left leg with clinical grace.
The strike was clean. A rising shot, pure and true, tearing through the air like a comet.
The net rippled.
Pandemonium erupted.
"Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooal!!!"
"Yang Yang scores!!"
The stadium roared. On the Ajax bench, players leapt to their feet. Reporters fumbled for words. Even the home fans stood in stunned disbelief.
The commentator's voice trembled with emotion.
"Forty-fourth minute! Remember this moment!"
"On April 16th, 2006, at exactly 14:14 local time, in Round 34 of the Eredivisie season, Yang Yang—just 19 years old—has scored his 48th league goal of the campaign!"
"With this strike, he surpasses Dudu Georgescu's legendary record of 47 goals, set in the Romanian Divizia A in 1977!"
"That season, Georgescu was 26 and played in a league far less competitive than the modern Eredivisie. Yang Yang, still a teenager, has broken that record in one of Europe's top leagues."
"History has been made in Waalwijk!"
"Yang Yang now stands alone, the highest single-season goalscorer across all top-flight European leagues!"
"A 19-year-old from China, wearing the red and white of Ajax, has just written his name into the eternal archives of football history!"
...
The instant Yang Yang's left-footed volley hit the back of the net, the Mandemakers Stadion erupted.
It wasn't just Ajax fans who leapt to their feet. Even among the home supporters of Waalwijk, many couldn't help but join in the applause, swept up in the gravity of what they had just witnessed.
A 30-year-old record, long thought untouchable, had just been broken right before their eyes.
Yang Yang didn't stop to think. He tore away in celebration, sprinting along the touchline with his arms spread wide. As he raced past the stands, dozens of hands reached over the railings—Waalwijk and Ajax fans alike—stretching out to touch the player who had just made history.
He slapped a few of them on instinct, his grin unable to contain the fire that burned behind it.
This was glory.
This was legacy.
The record Dudu Georgescu had set in 1977 had stood untouched for nearly three decades, and now, in a modest Dutch stadium packed beyond its usual limits, a 19-year-old Chinese teenager had overtaken it.
It didn't take long before he was swarmed by teammates.
Sneijder got to him first, grabbing him by the shoulders with a yell, before Maicon, Pienaar, and Heitinga followed. They piled onto him in a mass of red and white, a huddle of unrestrained joy.
Ajax's bench stood and applauded. Even the typically reserved Louis van Gaal couldn't help but break into a wide smile.
On commentary, the voices of the broadcasters echoed across millions of televisions and radios:
"A stunning goal!"
"It all began with Bendtner's intelligent header to keep the play alive, followed by a smart pick-up from Pienaar—he saw Yang Yang running into the perfect space."
"Then came the moment: a calm chest control, and without a moment's hesitation, a blistering volley with the left foot. Clean, precise, unstoppable."
"Waalwijk's defenders could do nothing but turn and watch as the ball sailed past them into the net. No foul. No deflection. Just pure technique and timing."
"What we're seeing tonight is not just another goal—it's history unfolding."
"Congratulations to Yang Yang! He's officially surpassed the legendary Dudu Georgescu to become the highest single-season goalscorer in top-flight European football!"
"But it's not over. There's still an entire half to play. And with the form he's in, the next milestone—50 goals—is within reach. Can he do it today?"
...
Yang Yang certainly cannot hear the voice of the live commentator.
But he heard the voices from fans and media reporters in the stands.
Everyone in the audience shouted at him.
"Two more goal! Two more goal !!! Two more goal !!!"
After Yang Yang celebrated with his teammates, he was also very excited when he heard the cry of the fans.
When he walked back to the stadium, he also ran to the visiting team's coach specially, shaking hands and hugging with Ronald Coman, Luther Carroll and others.
Everyone is encouraging him to continue to inspire and strive for another goal.
"But there is no need to be too anxious, we still have the second half."
After reversing Waalwijk 2-1, Ajax can play more patiently and will deal with the game more calmly in the second half, especially as Waalwijk's players physical energy is consumed, the more it will be for Ajax Come more and more advantageous.
And these are opportunities for Yang Yang.
Yang Yang is also ambitious.
A hat-trick, this is his pursuit of this game.
It is certainly exciting to tie Georgescu's record, but for a person like Yang Yang, he likes to be miles ahead everyone.
Therefore, he must work harder to get another two goals.
...
Halftime came and went. When the second half kicked off, Ajax resumed their siege on Waalwijk's territory with even greater intensity. The hosts were pinned inside their own half, barely able to string passes together or cross the halfway line.
Then, in the 68th minute, Ajax struck again.
After winning the ball deep in their own half, Johnny Heitinga carried it forward decisively before laying it off to Maicon on the right flank. Wasting no time, the Brazilian full-back unleashed a lightning-fast, driven pass down the channel toward Yang Yang, who had dropped deeper to receive.
Seeing the ball approaching, Yang Yang immediately sensed the pressure closing in behind him—the Waalwijk left-back was right on his heels, determined to block or disrupt the control. But Yang Yang had already calculated the move.
He adjusted his posture subtly, letting the ball roll across his body, then—without breaking stride—used the outside of his right boot to flick the ball up and over the lunging defender while simultaneously spinning away from contact.
The ball arced through the air, sailing cleanly over the defender's challenge, and when it came down, Yang Yang was already past him, accelerating along the touchline with space to run.
"Incredible from Yang Yang! He's completely outfoxed the left-back and is surging forward with intent!"
With the crowd rising in anticipation, Yang Yang continued driving down the flank. As he neared the edge of the penalty area, Ramon van Haaren—Waalwijk's veteran defender—stood in his path. But Yang Yang didn't slow down.
He launched into a series of stepovers, his feet moving with bewildering speed, feinting left and right, baiting van Haaren into committing. At the final moment, Yang Yang cut sharply to his left, running along the edge of the box. Sensing an opening, he prepared to shoot.
Van Haaren lunged in with a perfectly timed tackle, aiming to block the shot.
But Yang Yang had anticipated this, too.
Instead of striking, he dragged the ball inside with his left foot, letting van Haaren slide past him helplessly on the turf. With the angle now shifting inside the box, Yang Yang planted his right foot and lashed a vicious cross-shot with his left—rifling the ball into the far side-netting.
"Gooooooooooooooal!"
"MAGNIFICENT! Simply MAGNIFICENT from Yang Yang!"
"Another stunner from the Chinese star—his second goal of the game and his 49th in the Eredivisie this season!"
"He's now just one goal away from the unthinkable—50 league goals in a single season!"
The stadium, already electric, erupted once again. Fans knew they were witnessing history. And Yang Yang? He didn't linger in celebration. After the embrace from teammates and the applause from the bench, he jogged back into position, focused and hungry for one more.
Waalwijk, already under siege, dropped even deeper after the fourth goal. Moments after the restart, Ajax launched another fluid attack. Yang Yang, still orchestrating from the right, slipped in Yaya Touré with a sublime diagonal through-ball. The Ivorian midfielder hammered it home for 4–1.
That made two goals and two assists for Yang Yang. All four Ajax goals had come directly from his brilliance.
But for the next fifteen minutes, Waalwijk tightened the screws.
Adrie Koster, recognizing the danger of conceding again, made three substitutions starting from the 61st minute. Fresh legs, deeper lines, and a suffocating defensive block. It was clear they had one final mission—deny Yang Yang a 50th.
Whether motivated by pride, professionalism, or simple resistance to being immortalized in someone else's story, Waalwijk fought hard.
Ajax, meanwhile, pushed even harder.
Ronald Koeman responded by bringing on Filipe Luís for Pienaar, who was visibly exhausted. A signal of intent: more width, more forward thrust, more support for Yang Yang.
As the match entered the final ten minutes, the anticipation reached a fever pitch.
The scoreboard read 4–1. The match was over as a contest. Yet all eyes remained fixed on one man.
Could he do it?
Yang Yang began to roam freely across the pitch—left, right, deep, central—hunting for the slightest crack in the defense. His teammates were clearly trying to feed him, every pass angled his way. The fans could sense it. The cameras zoomed in.
The stadium held its breath every time he touched the ball.
He had the chances—brilliant dribbles into the box, curled efforts from the edge, one-twos in tight spaces. Some shots flew wide by inches. Others were parried by the keeper. A few were blocked heroically by defenders throwing themselves in his path.
He was everywhere, relentless.
But for now, fate kept the 50th just out of reach.
And with each passing second, tension built—across the stands, on the bench, inside every living room with the broadcast on.
Yang Yang had come so far.
Now, he stood one step away from the summit of Dutch football history.
...
...
That night, across every corner of China, millions of fans were united by one heartbeat—cheering, praying, hoping for Yang Yang.
From dorm rooms to tea houses, from public squares to quiet homes, the country held its breath for him. The whole nation had seen his determination on full display: the way he ran relentlessly, back and forth, without rest—pushing himself past the limits of fatigue. It was as though he had made a pact with himself not to stop until the final whistle or the 50th goal, whichever came first.
He was exhausted.
Every sprint, every sudden burst, chipped away at what little energy he had left. After each run, he bent over, gasping, hands on knees, chest heaving. The camera didn't have to zoom in to tell the story—his pain was etched on his face.
He was breaking, but never backing down.
Even through the filter of a live television broadcast, the strain was tangible. Fans could feel it. And in living rooms across the country, hearts were breaking with him.
At Su Ye's home, she sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clenched, tears threatening to spill. Every time the camera panned to his face, contorted in fatigue, something inside her twisted. She wanted to cry—but held it back.
He's strong, she told herself. I can't fall apart before he does.
But in Quanzhou, far to the south, inside the modest apartment where Yang Yang grew up, his parents couldn't hold back. His father and his mother were already in tears—pride, pain, and worry all overflowing in silence.
They weren't alone.
Countless fans across the country were deeply moved. It was no longer about just football. Yang Yang had become a symbol—of perseverance, of fire, of what it meant to give everything to the game you love.
Even the commentators on the national broadcast couldn't maintain their composure. As the match neared its conclusion, one of them, voice cracking with emotion, made a heartfelt appeal to the entire nation.
"Let's all cheer for Yang Yang."
"There's almost no time left, but look at him—he's still pressing forward, still refusing to quit."
"In him, we see the purest essence of football. The truest face of competitive sport."
"If there is justice in the world—if football really has a soul—then tonight, it should reward this young man."
"Because what Yang Yang is showing us tonight is not just about scoring goals."
"He is reminding the world: this is how football is meant to be played."
...
In every corner of the Netherlands, millions were glued to their television screens, following the final minutes of Ajax's match with bated breath—not for the club, but for one player.
Yang Yang.
Many watching weren't Ajax supporters. In fact, some of them had seen their own clubs humbled by this Chinese prodigy, victims of his relentless scoring streak. And yet, tonight, all of that was forgotten.
He had won them over—not just with goals, but with grit.
"God, if you are fair," one fan posted on a live blog, "please let Yang Yang score."
"He deserves it. He's done everything a footballer can possibly do."
In living rooms, cafes, and bars across the country, the sentiment echoed again and again. The crowd was united in admiration for one of the greatest seasons ever seen in Eredivisie history.
But back on the touchline of the Mandemakers Stadion, Adrie Koster had no room for sentiment.
The Waalwijk head coach was still on his feet, bellowing orders from the technical area, hands waving, voice sharp. He had seen Yang Yang punish teams too many times to let up now.
Even trailing 1–4, he refused to give in.
He shifted his midfield, pulled his backline deeper, and barked out instructions to double-mark Ajax's number 11. He wasn't thinking about records, legacy, or sentiment—only his team's pride.
"Adrie Koster's side has shown incredible tenacity tonight," the Dutch national broadcaster's commentator said, his voice a mix of admiration and regret. "They've denied Yang Yang every inch, fought for every ball, and refused to give up—even in a game that looks lost on the scoreboard."
"They may be trailing, but their professionalism is unquestionable."
"And so, we reach a crossroads—an emotional tug-of-war."
"On one side, a nation, and perhaps even a continent, willing a 19-year-old to carve his name into football immortality."
"On the other, a team that refuses to become a footnote in someone else's fairytale."
"It's a beautiful conflict. A cruel one, too."
"But this… this is football."
...
...
Eighty-five minutes. Then eighty-six.
Yang Yang was still running.
There was no clock in his mind now. No scoreline. No fatigue.
Only the rhythm of his own footsteps.
From the right to the middle. From the middle to the left. Then back again. Always searching—hunting—for a crack in the defense.
The Waalwijk players were beginning to falter. Ajax had worn them down for over eighty minutes, dragging them across the pitch in relentless waves. Even with all three substitutions made, the strain was too much. Their shape was cracking. Their lungs were heaving.
And Yang Yang saw it.
He darted to the left flank to receive the ball. Felipe Luís passed it to his feet, but two defenders immediately closed in. There was no room to breathe, no window to cut inside.
Yang Yang tried to power through, but the double-marking succeeded. One jabbed the ball free.
It fell back to Felipe Luís.
In one glance, the Brazilian understood. Yang Yang's left hand flicked forward, indicating the run he was about to make. Felipe Luís shifted the ball with a sharp feint, cutting into the half-space and dragging more defenders with him.
Yang Yang, almost casually, peeled down the sideline to the byline.
Waalwijk's defense was content to let him go wide. He wasn't in the box. Felipe Luís was the immediate threat.
All eyes turned toward the Brazilian as he made his run into the rib of the area and threaded a ball across the box to Nicklas Bendtner. No one noticed Yang Yang had suddenly broken from the baseline and arced into the penalty area at a sharp angle.
The movement was clinical—almost mathematical.
Yang Yang's change of direction caught his marker off guard. The defender stuttered, lost half a step, and paid dearly for it.
Inside the box, Bendtner didn't hesitate. He had already calculated the pace and the angle of Yang Yang's approach. The Danish striker let the ball roll into his feet, shifted his body to block the central defender, and casually turned his hip—creating a makeshift screen, like a perfect pick-and-roll from the basketball court.
Yang Yang burst through, brushing past the pick, and let the ball roll just ahead of his stride.
One touch. Then another.
Then his right foot rose.
Even in this moment—after eighty-six minutes of endless running—his form was exact. The countless sandbag drills Winston Bogarde had imposed were paying off. His legs screamed for rest, but his core remained strong, balanced. His technique didn't falter.
His body coiled, then snapped forward like a bowstring released.
The shot exploded off his right foot with a violent thud.
A fierce arc cut through the stadium's airspace, curving toward the top-right corner of the goal.
It wasn't perfect—fatigue had taken its toll—but it didn't need to be.
The ball dipped just slightly off target, grazed the inside of the post with a sharp metallic clang, and ricocheted across the line.
"Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooal!!!!!!!!!"
"Goal! Goal from Yang Yang!!!"
The stadium erupted. The Mandemakers Stadion, already shaken by the waves of Ajax's dominance, now trembled as if it could barely contain the weight of history unfolding within it.
Yang Yang dropped to his knees inside the penalty area. His body, pushed to its final limits, could carry him no longer. He didn't care. The fatigue. The cramping. The blinding lights. It all vanished in the face of what had just happened.
He tilted his head to the heavens and screamed.
Not in pain. Not in anger.
But in unfiltered, transcendent release—a raw cry from deep within his soul. The kind of sound only history could summon.
Fifty.
Fifty league goals.
"It's unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable!" the commentator roared, his voice cracking with awe. "Nicklas Bendtner's pick-and-roll screen—yes, a basketball move on a football pitch!—cleared the path, and Yang Yang didn't miss!"
"A hat-trick! Fifty goals! Five-one to Ajax!"
"This is a new record—not just for the Eredivisie, but for the entirety of European football!"
"In the 88th minute of play, we have witnessed the birth of a legend!"
Around the pitch, the reaction was unanimous. Reporters stood up, spontaneous clapping overtaking their pens and microphones. Photographers scrambled to capture the image of a generation: Yang Yang on his knees, fists clenched, tears nearly in his eyes.
The Ajax bench emptied in seconds.
Every player sprinted toward him, embracing him, piling on in celebration. It was chaos—beautiful, historical chaos.
Even Waalwijk's players, though beaten, did not turn away. They stood frozen, watching with silent respect. Some nodded. Others simply sighed. They had done everything. They had fought, fouled, blocked, and tackled. And still, they couldn't stop him.
Because sometimes, greatness just happens—and all you can do is witness it.
Yang Yang tried to stand. His teammates rushed to help him. He winced. His calf seized. Cramp.
He had given everything. No reserve left. Not a drop of energy remained in his tank.
"He's cramped up!"
"He really gave it all!"
"This isn't just a goal. It's a monument."
"Yang Yang has not only rewritten the history books of Dutch football—he's burned his name into the annals of the European game."
"Fifty goals in a single league season!"
"He's 19 years old!"
The camera panned across the stadium. Fans were crying. Applauding. Chanting his name. Some Ajax supporters were embracing complete strangers, while even Waalwijk's home supporters applauded in admiration, acknowledging the extraordinary.
"I can't imagine what the city of Amsterdam will look like tomorrow," the broadcaster continued, trying to stay composed. "Ajax have won the league, yes, but this... this is something more. This is legacy."
"This is what people will remember when they talk about Yang Yang."
"The boy who arrived from Quanzhou."
"The teenager who lit up Europe."
"And now—officially—the greatest single-season goalscorer in the history of any top-flight league in European football."
"His name is Yang Yang."
And tonight, it belonged to him alone.
....
Eredivisie Final standings
1- Ajax 34 games, 30 wins, 3 draws, 1 loss, 120 goals scored, 25 goals conceded, 93 points
2- PSV 34 games, 25 wins, 5 draws, 4 losses, 69 goals scored, 30 goals conceded, 80 points
3- AZ 34 games, 22 wins, 6 draws, 6 losses, 78 goals scored, 32 goals conceded, 72 points
4- Feyenoord 34 games, 19 wins, 9 draws, 6 losses, 79 goals scored, 33 goals conceded, 66 points