Chapter 170: We Said We'd Crush Your Midfield—and We Meant It
"Good thing Chelsea dipped out to the Europa League early. Otherwise, Real Madrid might've slapped them too. Premier League teams are having a rough year in the Champions League!"
"Eh, can't be helped. Most of the English big clubs are in rebuild mode now. Remember when Madrid were in transition? We were crashing out in the Round of 16 every season."
"Don't talk nonsense—Manchester United are about to win the Premier League again this year. That doesn't sound like a team that needs rebuilding."
"Only because Ferguson's a magician. The moment he retires, United will nosedive, mark my words. They don't even have a proper CEO. Their rebuild's gonna be brutal."
"Bull! United make more money than any club on earth. As long as they have cash, they'll never fall. What do you think this is—AC Milan?"
The moment the Champions League quarterfinal draw and bracket placements were announced, Premier League fans in China began wailing in despair.
This season, only one English team remained in Europe's elite competition: Manchester United.
And who did they draw?
The current juggernaut of world football—Real Madrid.
Talk about bad luck.
This season, Madrid had become the boogeyman of English football.
They had booted City out in the group stage.
They had eliminated Arsenal in the Round of 16.
And now? United.
This series of "coincidences" had fans across the globe raising eyebrows.
Was UEFA deliberately feeding Premier League teams to Madrid for a good old-fashioned beatdown?
Because seriously—what were the odds of drawing three English clubs in a row?
If this was a true coincidence, then Arsenal should brace for a Bayern draw next year.
After all, it would be "perfectly reasonable," right?
By now, United fans had very mixed feelings.
They didn't want to play Madrid. Of course not.
But seeing Cristiano Ronaldo return to Old Trafford?
They were excited too.
It was complicated.
Madrid fans, for their part, weren't thrilled either.
No one thought United would be easy.
They were still first in the Premier League and, on paper, a very balanced squad.
In hindsight, that United side would eventually be exposed—but at the time, they looked dangerous.
So while Li Ang projected confidence in the team chat, few teammates echoed him.
From Li Ang's point of view, United's midfield was there for the taking.
A soon-to-be 32-year-old Michael Carrick as the anchor?
And partnered with either Tom Cleverley or an out-of-shape, injury-prone Anderson?
Please.
Kagawa couldn't adjust to the tempo of English or European football.
Li Ang hoped he played—so he could experience the full force of La Liga pressing.
That midfield trio?
It had massive built-in flaws just waiting to be exploited.
Just like Arsenal, Madrid needed to hammer the middle.
Carrick, with no real partner to shield him, was going to be United's soft spot.
Both Li Ang and Modrić had a speed advantage on him, and they knew it.
As for Cleverley and Anderson?
Li Ang didn't rate them at all.
In fact, he welcomed their fouls—Madrid's set pieces would make them regret every one.
Ferdinand was still elite when it came to aerial duels and direct challenges.
But he was aging.
With Vidic still out, pairing him with Evans or Phil Jones wouldn't hold up against Madrid's pack-style attacks.
To Li Ang, this matchup felt like a dream.
As long as they watched out for Rooney's creativity and United's wing play, they'd be fine.
Van Persie?
He'd already burned through his prime last season.
He might still trouble Ramos or Pepe—but that was the extent of it.
But for the rest of Madrid's squad, United looked strong.
A balanced mix of youth and experience.
Star power.
Recent Champions League finalists.
Still top of the Premier League.
Like most fans, Madrid's players respected them as a formidable opponent.
Mourinho, preparing to face Ferguson, left nothing to chance.
The deep respect his players and staff showed for United left Li Ang with only one takeaway:
Reputation matters.
Ferguson's name alone gave United an aura of danger—one that commanded preparation and fear.
So Li Ang dropped the subject.
But deep down, he had something bold in mind.
He wanted to rip the mask off United's midfield. Expose their weakness.
Why not?
The way he saw it, that match was going to be fun.
He couldn't wait.
※※※
After a full week of rest, Madrid returned to La Liga action on March 16, hosting Mallorca in Matchday 28.
After this round, all leagues would pause for international break.
Since most starters would go on to play two intense World Cup qualifiers in ten days, Mourinho rotated the squad.
Nacho, Varane, Carvajal, Callejón—all got starting roles.
Li Ang and Ronaldo anchored the front line.
From the opening whistle, the strategy was clear:
Feed Ronaldo.
Let him shoot as much as he wanted.
Mallorca, sitting third from the bottom, had conceded 52 goals in 27 games.
Only Deportivo had a worse record (58 goals conceded).
Their defense was fragile, their midfield thin.
Ronaldo played 67 minutes, took 13 shots, 8 on target, scored 2 goals.
By the 68th minute, Mourinho subbed him off to rest.
As for Li Ang?
No international duty.
No need to rotate.
So Mourinho let him play the full 90.
Madrid won 3–1.
With the international break starting, Li Ang got a full week off.
He used the time to push his long-pass training to the limit.
And finally—on the last day of the break—he hit his goal:
Long pass rating: 85.
It had been a grind.
Easily the slowest skill for him to level up.
But his persistence paid off.
Now, he could confidently say that his long-passing ability was at the elite threshold.
Comparable to midfield maestros from top-8 La Liga clubs.
Once he pushed it to 87 or 88?
He'd be a top-tier passer, both long and short range.
Hitting 90 would be elite-of-elite—football's gold standard.
It wouldn't be easy.
But Li Ang knew:
Even going from 89 to 90 felt like crossing a chasm.
He'd felt it before—back when he trained his stamina stat.
When he returned to team training, his passing range stunned everyone.
Once again, Li Ang had leveled up.
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The moment Mourinho half-jokingly suggested that Li Ang start practicing his finishing, the entire Real Madrid squad burst into laughter.
Even Mourinho, realizing what he'd said, waved his hand sheepishly.
Shooting? That wasn't the same as training midfield skills.
If Li Ang could master shooting with the same brutal dedication he had for passing, positioning, and vision—well, then his talent truly would be monstrous.
Li Ang chuckled with his teammates but didn't say much more.
Shooting?
Maybe. Someday.
But not now.
Only after he pushed every midfield attribute over the 90 mark would he consider developing a striker's instinct.
And by then… he'd probably be in his thirties, right?
"Maybe I'll pull off some mind-blowing late-career position switch at 30,"
Li Ang thought with a grin, imagining himself toppling Messi and Ronaldo off their golden pedestals—battling Lewandowski and Benzema for the Golden Boot.
Just thinking about that made his blood pump.
But that was for the future.
Switching positions wasn't as simple as flipping a switch.
You had to shift your perspective, your habits, your game entirely.
So for now, Mourinho dropped the subject, and Li Ang stopped daydreaming.
March 30, some Real Madrid starters still nursing knocks from international duty were given another rest day.
Once again, Mourinho fielded a heavily rotated XI in the La Romareda to face Zaragoza.
Matchday 29 of La Liga—also the final league game before the Champions League quarterfinals.
Madrid's starting XI didn't feature many of the core stars.
Sir Alex Ferguson, watching from afar, was annoyed—he'd been hoping to scout Madrid's top form.
The day before, United had deployed their full-strength squad against Sunderland to widen the gap on City.
It was like two generals preparing for war.
One showed half his army and full supply lines.
The other kept everything hidden.
It was clear: whoever showed their hand first would be at a disadvantage.
In the end, all Ferguson saw was Real Madrid's Castilla boys balling out with confidence.
Only Li Ang and Modrić remained from the core, orchestrating the match with dual-pivot brilliance.
Their alternating movements and well-timed forward runs ensured Madrid's young front line was never short of chances.
Goals from Morata and Vázquez earned Madrid a 2–1 win.
The goal conceded?
Ferguson paid it no mind.
No way Mourinho would start Nacho, Varane, and Adán against United.
Impressed by Madrid's depth, Sir Alex turned back to rewatch footage of Madrid's clashes with Barça and Arsenal, scribbling notes for his game plan.
April 2—Madrid's first team boarded the plane to Manchester.
Their third Champions League trip to England this season.
By now, they knew the drill.
After the evening training session at Old Trafford, Li Ang joked with Ronaldo:
"Better not choke tomorrow, big bro. You'd better smash United."
He got a fierce bear hug in return.
But in Ronaldo's eyes, there was nothing but fire.
Li Ang could tell—the King of Portugal was locked in.
April 3, evening.
Madrid's warm-up finished.
Players returned to the dressing room for final prep.
Some were still stunned by the ovation Ronaldo received from the home fans.
Li Ang, meanwhile, pulled Modrić and Alonso aside.
Whispers. Short, sharp instructions.
Alonso squinted at him, then slapped his shoulder.
"We'll try it once. If it doesn't work, we follow the plan."
Modrić gave a subtle nod. He'd draw defenders and open the lane.
Li Ang flashed a smile and thanked them both.
Mourinho had no idea his trusted lieutenant was cooking up a surprise of his own.
As the teams finished their entrance ceremony, Mourinho sat confidently on the bench.
Old Trafford. The place he once silenced with a knee slide.
The boos raining down? White noise.
He knew United's main threat: wing play feeding Rooney.
If Rooney and Van Persie got the combo going, Madrid's back line would have to dig deep.
Rooney might not be scoring much this season, but he was still world-class in big matches.
So Mourinho's initial plan?
Secure the flanks.
Let Li Ang lock down Rooney through the middle.
Except…
"What the hell is that kid doing?"
Mourinho's eyes widened.
So did Ferguson's.
"Li Ang is pushing forward with the ball. Looks like Madrid won't be playing conservatively after all!"
Zhan Jun's voice crackled with intrigue on the Chinese broadcast.
Li Ang calmly shielded the ball, brushing off Cleverley's attempt to press.
He flicked it to Modrić, sprinted forward—and with one smooth motion, blew past both Cleverley and Carrick.
"Beautiful break forward! Carrick has no chance keeping up! Cleverley should've fouled him earlier—Li Ang lays it off… C Ronaldo breaks through on the wing!"
Li Ang and Modrić had split United's midfield with one sequence of passing and movement.
The United faithful gasped.
Mourinho, halfway through cursing, changed mid-sentence.
"Who told you—
…good lad, Little Lion!"
He clapped excitedly, watching Ronaldo's shot skim just wide.
Then turned to Karanka.
"Time to rethink the game plan."
On the pitch, Li Ang was grinning.
Looking back at Carrick and Cleverley—still shaken—he beamed with a radiant smile.
He jogged back slowly.
Ferguson stood, pacing toward the edge of the technical area.
Li Ang wasn't done. Not even close.
"United… oh United…
When your spine is this old and your youth can't pick up the slack…
You leave me no choice."
"We said we'd break you through the middle—
And that's exactly what we'll do."
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