Chapter 171: Three Champions League Games—Li Ang Proves His Worth Completely
Li Ang's rapid one-two with Modrić to slice through Manchester United's midfield was no coincidence.
Mourinho saw it immediately—Li Ang was executing the central breakthrough tactic that the coaching staff had used against Arsenal in the previous round.
And remarkably, it was just as effective now against United.
Did it catch Ferguson off guard? Mourinho didn't know.
But it definitely surprised him.
He'd rated Carrick quite highly. Fans often mocked Carrick as soft, average, a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. But in reality, he was a well-rounded deep-lying playmaker, excellent at distributing and shielding the backline.
Sure, Carrick had struggled defensively earlier in his career. He was never a destroyer-type midfielder.
But with age and experience, he had matured and reached his peak over the last two seasons. His defensive game had improved significantly.
That said, Carrick's biggest flaw remained—his lack of speed.
Against opponents with high mobility and explosive bursts, that shortcoming would be exposed.
Ferguson had tried to cover this weakness by surrounding him with Anderson and Cleverley—neither elite, but energetic enough to plug gaps.
Compared to Arsenal's midfield, United's looked more balanced on paper.
Wingers like Nani, Ashley Young, and Valencia were all capable of tracking back and helping Carrick defensively.
Which is why Mourinho had opted for a cautious approach at kickoff.
There may have also been a subconscious factor at play: respect for the name "Ferguson."
Mourinho, perhaps unknowingly, had elevated United's threat level in his mind.
And it was Li Ang—through one bold run—who shook his coach back to reality.
It wasn't that Carrick was bad.
It was that his partners were so unreliable, they couldn't protect the area in front of him.
After a quick tactical reassessment, Mourinho flipped the switch.
Madrid shifted from a cautious, flank-defensive setup to full-on central pressure.
If the opponent had tactical and personnel weaknesses, you exploited them ruthlessly.
That was Mourinho's philosophy—and he wasn't about to pass up such a golden opportunity.
The question now was, could Li Ang and Modrić turn that tactic into goals?
"If they can't protect their midfield core, we go straight through the middle—hammer it until they understand the value of midfield defense."
Li Ang, fired up after Mourinho's adjustment, turned to Modrić with excitement.
Modrić was a bit hesitant. His own memories of facing United in the Premier League weren't great—he'd lost too many times.
But seeing Li Ang so confident, and with the boss backing them, he took the leap.
"Once I blow apart their shape, get into the channels and link with Karim. Let him drag Ferdinand—if he steps, hit the space behind him."
After shutting down another United wing attack, Li Ang took advantage of a stoppage to make a final whisper to Modrić.
Modrić nodded.
Message received.
Li Ang threw himself into the fight again—diving headlong into the midfield and wing battles.
Rooney, starting at attacking midfield, drifted wide to help Evra double up on Di María.
Anderson dropped deeper to help shield the middle.
In physical terms, Rooney was stronger than Anderson. He'd bullied Di María off the ball more than once already.
But when Li Ang brought his physicality to the party, Rooney started to struggle.
Sure, Rooney still had the edge in raw strength.
But Li Ang's stamina and tenacity made him a nightmare—a glue trap in midfield.
Same thing he did to Messi.
No, he wasn't faster. But his positioning and relentless stickiness made even the best uncomfortable.
Rooney could explode and knock Li Ang off temporarily. But that didn't matter—Li Ang would just latch on again.
Rooney was getting irritated.
Stamina wasn't exactly his strong suit. After a few powerful bursts, fatigue set in, and his touches grew heavier.
That's when Li Ang struck again.
For the second time in the first half, he stripped the ball clean off Rooney.
This time, instead of resetting the play, he drove forward.
From Madrid's defensive third to the halfway line, Li Ang surged upfield, brushing aside Anderson's weak challenge.
Anderson's only response?
An angry glare, as if to say, "Really?"
But that was all he had left.
No speed, no strength, no foul—nothing.
Cleverley was drawn wide by Di María.
Nani tucked in to chase, but couldn't catch up.
Li Ang spotted Carrick stepping out to intercept and grinned—
"Too late."
He slotted a sharp pass into the left channel—
Modrić, on cue.
The Croatian was ready. He still remembered Li Ang's plan.
Link up with Benzema.
Drag Ferdinand out.
Create space for Ronaldo.
Even with just half a season together, Modrić already trusted Ronaldo's killer instinct.
He passed to Benzema just outside the box and began darting right—pulling defenders with him.
Benzema shielded the ball. Ferdinand stepped in.
Benzema didn't panic.
He laid it off—not to Modrić.
To Li Ang, who had slipped forward again, shielded by Modrić's run.
It was a clean, fluid attacking sequence—one of Madrid's finest this season.
Li Ang collected the return pass and didn't hesitate.
Ferdinand had stepped. Ronaldo darted inside. Evans and Rafael tried to close down.
Li Ang had planned to slide a through ball.
But now, with the defense shifting, he changed his mind.
Ferguson knew Cristiano Ronaldo all too well.
Just from the way United had set up defensively, it was clear that even after Ronaldo had left the club, Ferguson had continued to study his evolution and style.
He was intimately familiar with Ronaldo's cutting patterns from the wing into the box—when he liked to shoot, how he liked to shift his weight.
United's defenders were prepped and ready for Ronaldo.
But they made one crucial mistake.
They left Li Ang open—with the ball, in shooting range, and no one closing him down.
That was all the invitation Li Ang needed.
If United dared to give him space, he certainly wouldn't hesitate.
Using his left foot?
No problem.
Li Ang had trained his left foot since his first day in a professional academy.
He wasn't an elite finisher—not yet.
But within 20 meters and without pressure?
He had the confidence to hit it. Hard.
With barely a second of setup, he adjusted his stance and swung his left leg through the ball in one clean, explosive motion.
No scuff. No hesitation.
Just a full-power, rising shot curling toward the far corner from just outside the box.
It was risky.
There was a very real chance the shot could've sailed into the stands.
But it had to be risky.
Standing in front of the United net was David de Gea—
Young. Confident. Brimming with potential.
A future contender for world's best.
Li Ang knew: he couldn't leave De Gea any room to react.
He had to make a shot that left no margin for error.
As the ball rocketed toward the goal, De Gea's confidence began to crumble.
He didn't hesitate.
He launched himself at the top far corner.
But the ball was too fast.
The wind off its spin grazed his gloved fingertips.
That's when he realized—
"This guy… this guy doesn't care if he fails. He'll take the shot anyway."
De Gea's neck twisted, but the ball had already snapped into the top corner before he could fully follow it.
Goal.
The stadium was stunned.
So quick was the strike, so unexpected the shooter, that even the commentators hesitated for a heartbeat.
Even Zhan Jun was momentarily frozen—before exploding with passion:
"My god! What a bolt from the blue!!! It's in!
LI ANG—!!!
With a strike completely unlike his usual style, he's just scored the best goal of this round of the Champions League!
De Gea reacted fast, but it was nowhere near fast enough.
A shot that left no escape, no backup plan. A world-class rocket!
Real Madrid leads 1–0 at Old Trafford—and we're only twelve minutes in!
It's Li Ang who opens the scoring!"
The Manchester United fans fell silent.
It was like someone had cut the mic on the stadium.
But high up in the traveling fan section, nearly 10,000 Madrid supporters were bouncing, shouting, waving scarves.
Below them, Li Ang tore down the sideline, roaring like a wild beast.
After nearly 30 meters, he dropped into a full knee slide, arms wide, face lit with unrestrained joy.
On the touchline, Mourinho clutched his head in disbelief—
Then, just like his player, he broke into a run and mimicked the same celebration.
Years had passed, but once again, Mourinho was sprinting down the Old Trafford touchline.
The home fans, recovering from their shock, saw him and erupted in boos.
Some cheered. Most jeered.
Cristiano Ronaldo, just as fired up, jogged a few steps before stopping, chest heaving, lips pursed.
As the team mobbed Li Ang, Ronaldo stood back, grinning.
Then, once the group began to break up, he stepped in and gave Li Ang a massive hug.
"Cristiano," Li Ang said, still catching his breath, "if you wanna laugh, just laugh—don't hold it in so hard."
Ronaldo didn't answer—he just slapped him harder on the back.
The tension. The adrenaline.
Now this kid was mocking him for not celebrating enough?
Madrid's bench was a party.
With such an early lead, Madrid now had full control over the tactical battle.
United, meanwhile, were rattled.
On the touchline, Ferguson paced—clearly blindsided.
They'd done everything right.
Marked Ronaldo. Watched Benzema. Kept an eye on Modrić.
But Li Ang?
They hadn't expected him to be the one to break the game open.
Ferguson tried to calm himself and think.
But as he replayed the buildup in his head, his frustration only deepened.
It wasn't just the goal.
It was the fact that Madrid had completely ripped through United's midfield.
Twice in 12 minutes, they had broken the central line without resistance.
Once, Modrić had been halted only by Rooney's emergency tracking.
But when Rooney wasn't there—Cleverley and Anderson?
They were exposed.
Ferguson now understood: this wasn't a coincidence.
Madrid were targeting the middle.
When the match resumed, Madrid upped the tempo again—and Ferguson's suspicions were confirmed.
Anderson, for some reason, had made it personal.
While Carrick and Cleverley stayed home, Anderson insisted on chasing Li Ang up and down the pitch.
It was a mess.
Anderson was no longer the golden boy of Brazil.
His skill hadn't grown. His body had deteriorated.
Ronaldo felt sorry watching him struggle—but on the pitch, mercy didn't exist.
When Li Ang brushed Anderson off and fed Cristiano with a slicing through-ball…
Ronaldo didn't hesitate.
A thunderous shot from the left edge of the penalty area—it didn't go in, but it was struck with terrifying power. A perfect test for De Gea's shot-stopping ability.
Although the goal didn't come, Sir Alex Ferguson had seen enough.
In the 27th minute, he made the call: Anderson off, Phil Jones on. United shifted from a 4-3-3 to a more stable 4-2-3-1.
Jones partnered Carrick in the double pivot, Rooney stayed central, and Cleverley moved to the left of the midfield trio.
Immediately, United's defensive structure in the middle tightened.
Jones, fresh off a promising debut season last year, had already won over United fans with his raw athleticism and fearless defending. If not for his constant injuries, the 21-year-old would be one of the most coveted defenders in Europe. Strong in challenges, quick across the ground, and unrelenting in attitude, Jones gave energy to his teammates the moment he stepped on.
Carrick could finally focus on organizing the buildup from the back with less worry.
But Madrid? They didn't push. They held.
With a one-goal lead in hand, Mourinho wasn't eager to press further.
He waited. He watched Ferguson's adjustment carefully.
The moment he saw Ferguson replace Anderson with a defensive player, Mourinho acted decisively:
Shrink the formation. Sit deep. Play on the break.
Ferguson nearly coughed up blood.
On the sideline, Li Ang shared a mischievous grin with Mourinho.
Ferguson likely assumed Madrid would continue pushing forward, hence the introduction of Jones to fortify the midfield and then strike on the counter.
But he didn't expect Madrid to flip the script—to beat United at their own game.
Sure, Anderson wasn't helping much defensively, but at least with him on the pitch, United could push numbers forward.
With Jones and Carrick together now, United had almost no natural offensive engine in the middle.
Carrick could go forward, but his lack of pace made him a risky presser. If he pushed up, he wouldn't get back in time.
That's why Mourinho immediately withdrew and set up a defensive block.
Now it was Ferguson who felt like he'd walked into a trap.
Push forward with Carrick? Madrid would carve up the space he left behind.
Try to play patiently? Mourinho would gladly sit back all night.
Low numbers in attack couldn't trouble Madrid's disciplined back line.
Even if Rooney rolled back the years and played like 2010 Rooney, there was no way he could break through Madrid's fortress on his own.
Li Ang + Alonso
Pepe + Ramos
Four elite defenders, layered and disciplined.
Mourinho was smug for a reason.
"Go on, attack. Please attack. If you don't, how are we going to launch our counters?"
The tactical dilemma was now Ferguson's to solve.
Still, the wily old Scotsman held firm.
He calmed his players and saw out the half at 0–1.
But just like the 2011 Champions League final, Ferguson never backed down from a superior opponent.
That brief lull was just a setup for his next punch.
Second half.
Danny Welbeck came on, and United went on the offensive.
Carrick pushed up to take pressure off Rooney, letting the English talisman focus on attacking Madrid's defensive line.
Mourinho, not one to sit passively, made his own switch.
Modrić was subbed off. Essien came on.
Watching from the bench, Modrić had no complaints. With the way United were attacking, he knew Essien's physicality was needed more than his finesse.
Li Ang was once again Madrid's engine.
His sharp positioning and relentless running broke up wave after wave of United pressure.
Essien, fresh and fearless, joined the fight with his trademark intensity.
Even when United broke through occasionally, Alonso was always there to mop up.
Madrid's midfield was an unbreakable wall.
For 15 straight minutes, United pounded forward—but couldn't penetrate.
Van Persie and Rooney both got shots off from the edge of the box, but they were tame.
Casillas dealt with them easily.
United fans started grumbling.
"Madrid are cowards. Parked the bus."
But the crowd noise did nothing to shake Mourinho's resolve.
70th minute.
Everyone assumed Madrid would defend until the final whistle.
Then Mourinho stood up.
On the pitch, Li Ang stole the ball off Welbeck, passed it laterally—
Alonso launched one of his signature diagonal balls.
It sliced through United's midfield like a knife.
Di María took it in stride on the wing, touched it forward, then lifted it into the box.
Ferdinand couldn't get there in time.
In flew Cristiano Ronaldo—rising over Evans like a predator.
He crushed the header.
De Gea got a hand on it.
Almost kept it out.
Almost.
But the ball bounced in off the post.
2–0.
Game over.
Madrid had executed the perfect counterattack. A textbook lesson.
Ferguson slumped on the bench.
He watched Ronaldo raise both hands in muted celebration—respectfully, refusing to gloat against his former club.
Then he turned his gaze to Li Ang, standing beside Ronaldo, beaming with pride.
And his heart sank.
"Damn it… I should've shelled out €30 million for you back in 2011."
Across the globe, millions of fans were thinking the same thing.
They looked past Ronaldo.
They looked at Li Ang.
This Champions League run—these last three matches—Li Ang had been the difference-maker.
He had gone from rising star… to world-class game-changer.
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