Chapter 5 — Benefactors in Life
To create a loving environment,
the two old men lavished Xia Qi with the greatest enthusiasm, so much that it gave him goosebumps.
Fortunately, both sides felt awkward with that enthusiasm; after the small talk they quickly moved to the main business: the medical and the contract signing.
The contract details had actually been worked out before Xia Qi arrived. Arsène Wenger, to avoid a "cold-signing", showed the utmost sincerity.
For example: normally a tight-fisted wage-controller, he offered Xia Qi a weekly wage of £130,000.
Arsenal's three young stars: the heir Jack Wilshere got only £120,000, Theo Walcott and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain were each on £100,000.
In the past Wenger wouldn't have allowed Xia Qi's wage to exceed Wilshere's, because that easily causes locker-room friction — pay and status in the dressing room are still somewhat correlated.
But Cristiano Ronaldo had hurt him too much in the past. Looking back to those years...
He feared Sir Alex Ferguson might retaliate in kind with a "Manchester lift" — skimp here, splurge there, and in the end you get nothing but regrets, especially if Xia Qi might not even end up his player then.
After all, Sir Alex also likes the youngsters!
Similarly, to show his goodwill Wenger gave Xia Qi the number 9 shirt.
That shirt belonged to Lukas Podolski in another timeline, but in this world Podolski had dithered about a transfer and hadn't agreed cleanly, so the number 9 had no new owner.
Although squad numbers after the millennium aren't as sacrosanct as in the '70s and '80s, giving him 9 was a statement: "I intend to develop you as a core player."
For example, after Robin van Persie left, Wilshere took the number 10 — try someone else in and see what happens; trial and error!
Courteous and iron discipline need not contradict!
(With hindsight, Wilshere didn't really deserve the 10, but at the time all England thought otherwise...)
So Xia Qi and Joanna didn't get lost in Arsenal's dressing room and completed the signing ceremony smoothly.
By custom there is a press conference after signing, but Xia Qi has a "social anxiety" persona, right?
Wenger was considerate and arranged a solo interview with a single media outlet.
Xia Qi held the No.9 shirt and posed for a photo with the Professor; the photo would go on the official site and be the front page of the London Daily.
"Why choose Arsenal?"
"For the championship!"
Ah!
In the interview room reporter John perked up, felt the vigor in his pockets and thought: I'm not the kind who won't do my job for cash… the envelope won't be returned!
Pat Rice shot Wenger a look: you're definitely biased against his social anxiety, aren't you!
"When I was small, Arsenal was the champion. Growing up, it swelled and kept selling captains."
Xia Qi counted off fingers: "Vieira, Cesc Fàbregas, van Persie..." With each name the color drained from Wenger's face a little more...
"But even so it remains an undeniable force in the Premier League. At least we're still top four, and a top-16 team in Europe."
Pat Rice glared at Wenger: this kid is subtly complimenting us, but I can't tell if he's praising or mocking.
"Without me Arsenal's in the top four already; strengthening my side is of course aimed at the championship."
The Premier League was lively again!
John gave Xia Qi a big hug when leaving. Since José Mourinho left, paper sales had fallen by a third.
This boy must be a bastard son under God — Sir Alex beware; the son of an enemy has arrived, brothers, let's have some fun…
…
Arsenal's player dormitory had just been completed, very new — top-class environment and facilities. Xia Qi was pleased, but his agent and Pat Rice decided he should live with a host family.
They believed the best cure for social anxiety was to get him interacting with people, not holed up alone.
To avoid resistance they picked a household far from the city center and close to the Colney training base; the family was deliberately simple.
Just a couple and a daughter about Xia Qi's age.
The husband's name was Mike — a 45-year-old, slightly out-of-shape car mechanic. Later Xia Qi found out the man had been modest: he owned a repair shop and actually ran a chain of a dozen garages.
The plump woman named Teri was a secondary-school teacher.
The daughter Alice was in high school and would start university next year. Her name was like a fairy-tale heroine, but the smoky eye makeup and fiery red lips made it hard to associate her with any fairy tale.
A week later Xia Qi learned that Alice's heavy makeup was Wenger's idea — he wanted Xia Qi to feel a sense of familiarity.
Knowing the truth, Xia Qi couldn't help but laugh and feel a little touched; Mancini had scolded him for the heavy makeup, but Wenger was already thinking about how to cure him...
He'd met benefactors in his life!
"Welcome, Xia Qi! Handshake or hug?"
"Either's fine, Mike."
Mike wanted to hug but recalled Wenger's words and went for a handshake instead.
"This is my wife Teri."
"I've heard Mr. Rice speak of you — thank you for taking him in."
Teri kept a little distance and lightly shook Xia Qi's hand.
"Don't say thank you — it's an honor for our family." Teri smiled and said, "You see, our whole family are your fans."
She waved the newspaper in her hand.
The headline read: "One Goal to Fame — 18-Year-Old's Stoppage-Time Winner Helps Manchester City Take Title."
If Xia Qi didn't know Londoners wouldn't normally read the Manchester paper, he might have believed it.
Like how people from Beijing would rarely read the Shanghai paper?
12345... the number reading act was a little theatrical, but thoughtful. Xia Qi felt his heart warm.
They prepared a rich dinner for him, but Xia Qi refused.
His diet was system-prescribed, with strict daily intake requirements.
Ten minutes on stage, ten years of hidden work — success isn't casual.
So tonight his dinner was 200g of red meat (beef), 500g of white meat (chicken), one egg, all boiled — only salt for seasoning.
Three slices of bread with no cheese or spreads and a glass of cool boiled water — that was his dinner.
That kind of meal is certainly not loved by those who enjoy indulgence.
Eating alone made Xia Qi seem unsociable and reinforced his social-anxiety image.
…
After settling in Xia Qi called his parents to tell them he was safe and learned that Manchester City fans, upon hearing of his transfer, had pelted the club gates with eggs.
Luckily the fans got the message that the club was offloading Xia Qi, not that Xia Qi had left voluntarily.
So his parents' noodle shop wasn't harassed, but customer numbers fell to the tens.
The worst off was Roberto Mancini — the first coach in 44 years to bring City the title — he didn't get the respect he deserved. City fans unfurled banners: "Go back to Italy!"
Xia Qi thought for a moment: "Why don't you two come up to London?"
Father: "Can you promise you won't be sold at Arsenal?"
Football is business, and players are commodities.
Xia Qi couldn't promise.
His parents decided to close the shop for two days and wait for the storm to pass.
If business stayed bad they'd come to London to be with their son.
…
The next morning.
The system prompted Xia Qi up for his morning run. He returned and saw Alice sitting at the breakfast table make-up-free, looking like a fairy.
He was about to strike up a conversation, but when she noticed him she froze like a startled rabbit and bolted back to her room. A dozen minutes later she came downstairs made up like a glamorous diva.
Seeing the shock in Xia Qi's eyes, Alice coyly smiled: "Am I pretty?"
If she didn't smile, she was plain. If she smiled, she was worse!
Xia Qi shivered and replied: "Pretty, pretty!"
Now it was his turn to be the startled rabbit.
Both breathed sighs of relief out of each other's sight.
Ah!
Eastern aesthetic tastes are worrying!
Western aesthetic tastes are worrying too!
(END CHAPTER)
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