The Premier League has long been known for its managerial tolerance and decentralization of power.
Here, the man in charge isn't merely called a head coach—he's called a manager.
The distinction isn't just linguistic. The term manager implies far more than overseeing training sessions or picking the starting eleven. In England, the manager functions like a project director—bearing responsibility for nearly all sporting operations, including significant control over transfers and squad planning. It's a model steeped in tradition, but one that has also drawn increasing criticism in recent years.
As the stakes and sums have grown, so have concerns. There have been repeated calls for greater oversight and the curbing of managerial authority—particularly in light of multiple corruption allegations that surfaced in the early 2000s. Instances of "black gold" dealings in transfers—where managers or their associates allegedly took secret fees—tarnished the league's reputation.
At Manchester United, it was whispered that Sir Alex Ferguson's brother, who worked as a scout, had a direct line to key transfer dealings. At other clubs, the line between sporting decisions and personal interests blurred.
Even so, the centrality of the manager has remained intact—especially at the clubs that value stability and identity.
Only at a few elite institutions, such as Manchester United and Arsenal, did the full managerial model remain untouched. At most other clubs, there's been a gradual shift toward restricting that autonomy, often by elevating the influence of sporting directors or boards in transfer decisions.
Yet no matter the structural trends, the manager remains the undisputed center of a club's competitive life.
At Liverpool, that figure is Rafael Benítez.
The Spaniard is not only the strategic brain behind the team's approach but also the architect of its backroom hierarchy. Many within his coaching staff hail from Spain, forming a familiar and trusted circle that reflects Benítez's meticulous style.
His most prominent lieutenant is assistant manager Pako Ayestarán, a wiry and disciplined figure who oversees the team's daily training. His expertise in physical conditioning is well-respected across Europe.
When Steven Gerrard introduced him to Yang Yang, the Liverpool captain made a point to emphasize something particular.
"Pako has always been our bridge to the gaffer," Gerrard said. "He's the one we go to when something's not working, and he always makes sure Benítez hears it the right way."
That comment lingered in Yang Yang's mind.
He immediately took note of Ayestarán—thin, soft-spoken, always with a composed smile. He bore a similar appearance to Benítez: bald, understated, but evidently commanding respect.
The rest of the technical staff followed a similar Spanish pattern.
Goalkeeping coach José Manuel Ochotorena, scouts Edu Aldo Marcia and Frank McParland, and fitness coach Giusto Lillo Díaz—all were familiar faces within Benítez's trusted setup.
Among them, one stood out to Yang Yang for a different reason: Giusto Lillo Díaz. Young, perhaps in his early twenties, Díaz had recently arrived from a Spanish Segunda División club, Éibar. His energy was obvious, but his demeanor felt overly casual. There was something in the way he spoke—quick to promise, slow to listen—that made Yang Yang skeptical.
"You're still a bit thin for the Premier League," Díaz said, inspecting Yang Yang with a trainer's eye. "But don't worry—under my program, you'll reach top form in no time."
Yang Yang smiled politely. Outwardly appreciative. Inwardly… hesitant.
Not all confidence is earned, he thought.
Among the more experienced voices was tactical analyst Duff McDonough, a quiet but vital presence. According to Gerrard, McDonough had prepared the match reports and tactical breakdowns for nearly every major Liverpool match over the past two seasons. His fingerprints were everywhere—on pre-match setups, on video reviews, on strategy tweaks mid-game.
There had been one more key figure in the staff: Paco de Miguel, another Spaniard and one of Benítez's original lieutenants. But he'd departed earlier that summer, accepting a directorial role at a La Liga club. His move had been amicable and unsurprising—such transitions were common in European football.
After all, Benítez's growing success had not gone unnoticed. And as managers rise, so too do their inner circles.
...
After meeting the full coaching staff, Gerrard and Carragher personally took Yang Yang, Su Ye, and Raiola on a guided tour of Melwood.
They moved from the outdoor training pitches to the indoor facilities — the player lounges, state-of-the-art gymnasium, the recovery rooms, hydrotherapy pools, and even the nutrition and dining areas where daily routines were meticulously managed by club dietitians.
"This is strictly a first-team environment," Gerrard explained as they walked through the corridor linking the main building to the gym. "The academy's down at Kirkby. Over here, it's just the senior squad and staff."
Yang Yang nodded. He appreciated the privacy and focus of the setup.
Then Gerrard turned to him, lowering his voice slightly but speaking with complete sincerity.
"To be honest," he said, "I've been hearing your name around the club for over a year now. And I've always believed someone like you should wear our red shirt."
Yang Yang raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, but Gerrard wasn't done.
"I'm not going to sell you dreams about how strong we are. You can judge that on your own. But what I can promise you is this — in the Premier League and across Europe, we are one of the most unified dressing rooms. We don't play for show. We play to win. Every last one of us."
His tone grew more impassioned as they stopped briefly in front of the players' tactical meeting room.
"The club, the coaching staff, and especially Jamie and I — we all work to make sure the dressing room is a place where you can give your best without drama. We protect that."
There was no arrogance in his words, just quiet conviction.
This was the voice of Liverpool's soul — their captain, their heartbeat.
Carragher nodded, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. "And since last year," he added with a grin, "when you had the balls to nutmeg me in Amsterdam — I knew you weren't just another wonderkid."
Yang Yang smiled at that.
"I said it then, and I'll say it again," Carragher continued. "You're tough. And I respect that. So will the fans."
Raiola, walking quietly at the back of the group, shot Yang Yang a look — the kind of subtle glance that meant we'll talk about this later.
Yang Yang caught it. He understood. No decisions yet.
He didn't give an answer immediately. Instead, he turned to both Gerrard and Carragher, clasping their hands firmly in thanks.
"I appreciate everything," he said warmly. "Truly. It means a lot to hear this from you both."
He exchanged numbers with them — a small gesture, but a personal one.
"I'm looking forward to what comes next," Gerrard said, offering a genuine smile.
Yang Yang nodded, eyes steady. "Me too."
As they continued the walk back to the main building, Yang Yang found himself reflecting on Gerrard's presence — not just as a player, but as a leader. This was the first time he truly grasped what it meant to be part of his Liverpool.
And he was beginning to understand why they called Gerrard the captain of the people.
...
...
After bidding farewell to Benítez, Gerrard, and Carragher, George Owen drove Yang Yang, Su Ye, and Raiola from Melwood to Liverpool John Lennon Airport, where they caught a flight back to London.
During the drive, Yang Yang and Raiola began quietly exchanging their thoughts.
"There's no doubt Liverpool has shown genuine sincerity," Raiola began, his tone analytical. "Both Benítez and Gerrard made it clear how much they want you. That much is now undeniable."
The agent's eyes were sharp behind his tinted glasses as he leaned slightly toward Yang Yang.
"Now, let's look at the landscape realistically. Arsenal is out of the picture. They've backed off. Chelsea's priority is Shevchenko. Abramovich wants him — it's personal. Unless you're willing to wait until they complete that transfer, and then hope they come back for you, Chelsea are not a viable first-choice option right now."
Yang Yang nodded silently.
"As for Manchester United," Raiola continued, "yes, they're interested. But what Liverpool is offering — tactically, structurally, and symbolically — United can't match. Think about it. At Old Trafford, you'd be stepping into a squad that already has Wayne Rooney and Cristiano Ronaldo. Ferguson is brilliant, yes, but not even he can balance three rising stars without friction. You'd be competing for territory."
And Rooney, Raiola reminded him, had the weight of England behind him — the national press, the FA, the fanbase. He was the future of English football.
Yang Yang understood. On paper, they might be equals. But in practice, he would be a distant third. A foreign teenager, no matter how talented, doesn't just walk in and supersede the established hierarchy — especially not in England.
He remembered Van Nistelrooy's recent fall from grace. Once untouchable, now pushed toward the exit because he clashed with Ronaldo.
In football, talent alone didn't secure your spot — especially when your role clashed with another's. The one with seniority, with backing, with national sentiment, usually won.
Real Madrid had offered similar lessons. When Florentino Pérez assembled the Galácticos — Zidane, Ronaldo, Figo — club icon Raúl had to retreat. First from the front line, then gradually into the background.
Why?
Because status was king. Prestige trumped loyalty. You weren't just playing football — you were playing politics.
Van der Vaart learned that the hard way too.
If Yang Yang went to United now, he wouldn't be building a team — he'd be negotiating for a place in it. A place that may or may not exist.
Sure, in a dream world, the three could coexist. A terrifying trident. But even then — who controls the ball? Who gets the freedom to shoot? Who's the star?
At Ajax, Yang Yang never had to wonder. Ronald Koeman built the attack around him. He had the freedom to roam, to shoot, to dominate. That wouldn't exist at United.
And let's not pretend Liverpool was some minor club.
They'd won the Champions League in 2005 and were still among the most competitive teams in England. Their only real weakness? Attacking depth.
That was why Benítez brought Yang Yang to Melwood in the first place. That was why he and Gerrard made their pitch so direct. Because Yang Yang wasn't just another signing. He was the missing piece.
"When you strip it down," Raiola said, voice calm but certain, "Liverpool is the most logical and suitable destination for you. Right now, nothing else comes close."
Yang Yang trusted Raiola's instincts. That was why he had chosen him in the first place — not just for his infamous negotiating tactics, but for his honesty and strategic planning.
And if he was this sure?
There was little left to doubt.
Sometimes, transfers came down to gut feeling — you prepare, you weigh the odds, and then… you jump.
"I understand," Yang Yang replied, nodding. "You can move forward. Talk to Liverpool."
Raiola nodded once, sharp and satisfied. "Leave it to me. I'll get you a top-tier deal. One that reflects your real standing — fame, performance, salary. First-line European player."
Yang Yang didn't doubt that for a second.
"For now," Raiola continued, "you're free to rest. Either go on holiday or return to China. But be careful when speaking to the media. Keep your tone neutral. Don't confirm or deny anything."
He leaned back, smirking slightly.
"Just the fact that Liverpool gave you a personal tour of Melwood — that's already a strong signal. Now it's your turn to show sincerity. But let me handle the numbers."
His voice turned calculating.
"Gerrard is the highest earner at Liverpool right now — £100,000 a week. That's the bar. Top English players like Ferdinand, Lampard, and Terry are around the same. As for Chelsea, they've just offered Shevchenko £120,000 per week."
He glanced at Yang Yang, his smirk widening.
"So. If Liverpool wants you, and they want you now, they'll need to make an offer that reflects their ambition."
Yang Yang considered the numbers.
A £100,000 weekly wage translated to roughly €150,000. With the UK's 45% tax rate, that came down to a post-tax salary of around €70,000.
At Ajax, his after-tax wages had recently risen to about €50,000 — double what he earned a year ago.
But this?
This would be another level entirely.
And Raiola?
He wasn't interested in just doubling Yang Yang's salary.
Not when he knew his client was worth much more.
...
...
By July, the curtain was falling on the 2006 FIFA World Cup in Germany.
In the semi-finals, hosts Germany were defeated by Italy after a dramatic extra time, while Portugal fell to France, led by the ageless Zidane. In the third-place playoff, the Germans redeemed themselves somewhat with a 3–1 victory over Portugal in Stuttgart.
Then came the final. A night steeped in tension at the Olympiastadion in Berlin. Italy faced France in a rematch of past European clashes. After a 1–1 draw in regular and extra time—highlighted by Zidane's audacious Panenka and Materazzi's controversial equaliser—the game went to penalties. But the biggest shock of the night came before the shootout: Zidane, in the final match of his illustrious career, was sent off in extra time for headbutting Marco Materazzi. His red card stunned the world. The icon who had already announced his retirement exited not to applause, but to stunned silence.
Italy triumphed 5–3 on penalties. For a country still reeling from the Calciopoli scandal, it was an unexpected and redemptive end. Marcello Lippi's tactical leadership was hailed, while Fabio Cannavaro and Gianluigi Buffon were immortalized, hoisting the World Cup amid the ruins of domestic disgrace. Italian football, battered but unbroken, stood atop the world once more.
With the tournament concluded, the individual awards followed.
FIFA's Golden Ball, awarded to the tournament's best player, went to Zidane—his artistry and influence still undeniable despite the dramatic ending. Cannavaro and Andrea Pirlo received the Silver and Bronze Balls, respectively.
The Golden Boot went to Germany's Miroslav Klose for his five goals, but it was the Silver Boot winner who turned heads globally: Yang Yang, who scored four goals in the group stage alone.
That, more than any other moment, signified a global breakthrough.
Dozens of elite forwards—Henry, Podolski, David Villa, even Ronaldo—had scored fewer. Stars of powerhouse nations were eclipsed by a 19-year-old from China. The football world took notice. Yang Yang, the symbol of China's emerging football dream, had become a global talking point.
And the accolades didn't stop there.
FIFA named him Best Young Player of the tournament, beating out Lukas Podolski, Cristiano Ronaldo, and others. No one could deny the impact of his pace, his movement, his finishing—and above all, the fearless way he played against the world's elite.
Buffon claimed the Golden Glove. The Fair Play Awards went to Brazil and Spain, and Argentina received the award for most entertaining team. All honours would be officially presented at the annual FIFA Gala in December.
In China, the reaction was electric.
The nation had already celebrated its first-ever goals and points in World Cup history. Now they were witnessing something unprecedented: a Chinese player winning two of the most prestigious individual awards in world football. The media exploded with coverage. Fans filled forums, streets, and bars. Yang Yang's image was everywhere.
But alongside the praise came a more pressing question—what next?
With the World Cup winding down, another seismic shift was underway in Spain: the Real Madrid presidential election.
Ramon Calderón emerged victorious in a narrow, controversial result, bolstered by mail-in votes. Immediately, he installed Predrag Mijatović as sporting director and began dismantling Florentino Pérez's Galáctico-era inner circle. Only one key executive remained: commercial director José Ángel Sánchez, long considered one of the game's most shrewd negotiators.
Calderón's first public declaration was explosive—Real Madrid were coming for Cristiano Ronaldo.
At the time, tensions around the Portuguese star were boiling over. During Portugal's World Cup quarterfinal against England, Cristiano Ronaldo was seen gesturing to the referee, contributing to Wayne Rooney's red card. British media branded him a traitor. "The wink seen around the world" became tabloid fuel.
Rooney himself made a veiled threat: "We'll have words when we're back in Manchester."
Amid the hostility, Ronaldo grew uncertain about his Manchester United future. Real Madrid, sensing an opportunity, extended their hand. The Spanish press declared it a 'done deal in spirit.'
Meanwhile, Yang Yang's situation began to overshadow even that.
Nicknamed "Mr. 40 Million" by the press, his valuation had become a benchmark for the post-World Cup transfer window. It was widely reported that Ajax would only release him for €40 million—a staggering fee for a teenager.
With Calderón now focusing on Ronaldo, Yang Yang's path to the Bernabéu was effectively blocked. And with Serie A still reeling from scandal, England seemed the obvious next step.
The Manchester Evening News reported that United had a contingency plan. If Ronaldo departed, Yang Yang would be Sir Alex Ferguson's sole target. United were ready to meet Ajax's fee—and offer him a salary matching Premier League elites: £100,000 per week.
But Liverpool were moving fast.
The Liverpool Echo quoted Steven Gerrard himself: "Everyone in the dressing room is waiting for him. We're all hoping he joins us." The Reds had already made contact.
Chelsea, meanwhile, had just finalised a £30 million move for Andriy Shevchenko—equivalent to €44 million. His contract, pre-tax £120,000 a week, made him the highest-paid player in the league.
Even so, José Mourinho wasn't done.
"Shevchenko brings quality, no doubt," Mourinho told the press. "But Yang Yang... he's different. He's only 19 and already one of the most dangerous attackers in the world. I want him here."
British journalist Martin Samuel, with close ties to Chelsea, revealed that Mourinho was lobbying internally for Yang Yang's signing. But a rift was forming. Senior players—Lampard, Terry, Drogba—were concerned that Shevchenko's arrival might disrupt the dressing room chemistry. Yang Yang, young and media-hardened, would have been easier to integrate.
While rumours swirled, Nike made its move.
On July 15, Nike Europe announced a five-year contract renewal with Yang Yang worth €15 million per year—a record for a footballer.
The €75 million total value stunned the world.
Media outlets across continents reported on the deal. Financial analysts joined the discussion. For the first time, a footballer from China had become the highest-paid endorser in global football.
Soon, investigative reporting revealed the story behind the numbers.
It began with Adidas. They had first approached Yang Yang in 2004 but failed to sign him. Ever since, Adidas had lagged behind Nike in Asia—especially in China. When Yang Yang's Nike contract came up for renewal, Adidas seized their chance.
They offered €10 million per year and proposed covering the final year of his Nike deal. More than that, they promised to make him the face of Adidas football in Asia—alongside Kaka and Messi in Europe.
Nike initially balked. Raiola asked for €15 million. Nike countered with €8 million. Negotiations broke down.
Adidas were ready to close the deal—until Nike panicked. In a bold reversal, they accepted the €15 million ask and locked Yang Yang into a five-year, €75 million megadeal.
It was unprecedented. And it changed everything.
From that moment, Yang Yang was no longer just a rising football star. He was a global brand.
The Sun was first to dig deeper, reporting that Adidas, having lost the boot war, had turned to clubs they sponsored—including Liverpool and Chelsea—to push for Yang Yang's signing. The paper claimed Liverpool now had the inside track.
According to the Sun's sources, Yang Yang favoured Liverpool. Not only was the team built around youth and pressing football, but he would have Gerrard and Xabi Alonso behind him. The only sticking point was salary.
Raiola insisted that Yang Yang's weekly wages match Shevchenko and Gerrard—£120,000 per week pre-tax.
Liverpool initially balked. Gerrard was on £100,000, and parity could cause unrest.
But under commercial pressure, the club caved. Gerrard's contract was revised, raising his wage to match Yang Yang's incoming deal.
Then, it happened.
Two days later, on July 17, 2006, Liverpool officially announced the signing of Yang Yang on their website.
The transfer fee: €40 million.
The salary: reported to be £120,000 per week—making him, alongside Shevchenko, the highest-paid player in the Premier League.
The Yang Yang transfer saga, long a point of speculation, was finally over.
And a new chapter, at Anfield, was just about to begin.