Portugal, Estádio Algarve.
Though not in Lisbon, every eye in Portugal was fixed on this place tonight.
Three days earlier, the bruising battle in Slovakia had made the "Oriental Rottweiler" a household name across Europe. Reporters speculated whether coach Martínez would rest that No. 44 who only knew how to defend (No. 16 for the national team) against lowly Luxembourg.
Yet the starting XI was released: Lin Yuan, still in the first eleven.
Partnering him in midfield were Bruno Fernandes (Bruno) and Bernardo Silva (B Silva) – a wildly aggressive signal.
Pre-match tunnel.
Luxembourg's players glanced at the Asian youngster standing behind Cristiano Ronaldo, a full head taller, face carved from ice. Videos of Škriniar being sent flying had gone viral in players' group chats these past few days.
"Listen, Lin." Before stepping onto the pitch, Cristiano Ronaldo patted Lin Yuan's shoulder, relaxed. "Luxembourg will park the bus. No need to snap like a rabid dog today. Feed the ball into the box—or if you get a chance, take it yourself."
Lin Yuan raised an eyebrow. "Take it myself?"
Cristiano Ronaldo grinned. "I've seen your Chelsea training clips; I know how heavy that boot is. Don't hide it."
…peep—!
Kick-off.
Just as Cristiano Ronaldo predicted, Luxembourg set up an iron barrel. Portugal bombarded their half, but the crowded defence was suffocating.
Lin Yuan hovered near the top of the centre circle, tasked with sweeping up second balls and snuffing counters. In the first twenty minutes he barely touched it, usually just knocking it wide to B Silva or Leão.
Up in the stands, the commentator began pontificating:
"Looks like Lin Yuan's nothing but a pure defensive water-carrier; when you need intricate attacking combinations—"
Before he could finish, the game turned on its head.
24th minute.
A Luxembourg defender half-cleared; the ball looped high and dropped into open space thirty-five metres out.
No one was there—only the tall figure in the red No. 16 shirt.
Lin Yuan stepped in, two strides.
In his vision the system interface flashed crimson:
[Shooting chance detected!]
[Skill triggered: Heavy Artillery (Basic)!]
[Effect: Shot power +50%, ball-speed correction +20%, intimidation MAX!]
Nobody closed him down; the distance looked harmless, the keeper stood off his line, unconcerned.
Lin Yuan inhaled, thigh muscles coiling like steel hawsers. Without settling, he swung his right leg and met the ball half a metre off the grass—
Volley!
BOOM!
The thud rang through the top tier—more like a detonation than a strike.
The ball vanished.
Too fast.
The camera couldn't track it, catching only a white blur, cruise-missile straight, zero spin, arrowing top-right corner.
Keeper Moris twitched, arms half-raised, then heard the thunder behind him.
Clang—swish!
It smashed the underside of the bar and bulged the net, stretching the mesh toward the advertising boards.
1-0!
A second of silence, then a roar wilder than three nights earlier.
"My God! What was that?!" The commentator leapt up, coffee flying. "Speed! Director, I want the speed!"
The giant screen flashed: 128 km/h.
Lin Yuan didn't run. Arms spread wide, the classic "king of the world" pose.
A figure sprinted and jumped onto his back—Cristiano Ronaldo!
"I knew it! I knew you had that in you!" Laughing like a kid, he ruffled Lin Yuan's hair.
That strike shattered Luxembourg's psyche.
What followed was a Portuguese slaughter.
35th minute: Lin Yuan stole possession. Two defenders, scarred by the rocket, scrambled to block his shooting lane.
This time he didn't pull the trigger.
[System alert: Vision open, "Midfield Maestro (Trial)" activated.]
He shaped to shoot, duped them, then clipped a disguised loft that sailed over the back line onto the boot of an onside Cristiano Ronaldo.
No touch needed—side-foot finish.
2-0!
Cristiano Ronaldo pointed at Lin Yuan, "Siu!" and they hugged in the corner flag.
The camera froze the frame; minutes later it headlined every sports page on earth.
Headline: "Birth of the New Twin Stars!"
Second half: Portugal kept pouring forward.
Inácio, Ramos, Jota all scored.
Final score: an obscene 9-0.
Lin Yuan's stats: 1 goal, 1 assist, 100% duels won, 12 km covered… After the match, Chinese social media exploded.
The trolls who'd branded him "a butcher who can't play" and "bench warmer in Portugal" went mute.
The top three trending topics:
1. #Lin Yuan 128km/h Missile# (exploding)
2. #Portugal 9-0 Massacre#
3. #Cristiano Praises Lin Yuan#
On forums, regret flooded in:
User A: "Damn… that power—only seen in Batistuta comps."
User B: "That chip-assist was silk. Defends, thumps rockets, splits defences… how did the FA let him go?"
User C: "Don't ask—'poor discipline'. Now he's wrapped in Portugal's flag, bro-hugging Cristiano while we're stuck with the mess."
User D (top-liked): "Irony? Cristiano calls him Portugal's future core; our FA chief said he'd 'never be elite'. Face-slapping sound: smack-smack."
Meanwhile, Portugal's dressing room:
Fresh from the shower, Lin Yuan's phone buzzed—agent Mendes:
"Brilliant. Adidas and Nike are blowing up my phone. More fun: Chelsea just rang—wanna extend and bump the wage."
Towelling his hair, Lin Yuan smirked.
"Tell them no rush. When I'm back in London, after Old Trafford or Anfield, the price goes up."
He pocketed the phone, looked at Cristiano Ronaldo holding court among teammates.
Euro qualifiers were just the appetiser.
The real war is in the Premier League.
[System settlement:]
Achievement unlocked: [First National Goal] (+2 free stat points)
Achievement unlocked: [Conquered Picky Portuguese Press] (+1,000 reputation)
Current mission update: Return to the Premier League; in the next "Red-Blue Battle" (Chelsea vs Arsenal/ Tottenham/ Liverpool) make at least one BIG-6 star fear you.
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