The turf at Wembley was a bit softer than at Stamford Bridge, giving an unsettling feeling of sinking deep into it with every step.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, the sunlight was cut off by London's signature heavy clouds. Under the massive Wembley Arch, only the pale floodlights illuminated the pitch as brightly as an operating table.
This was indeed a surgery. However, it wasn't about saving lives; it was about amputation and bloodletting.
As referee Kavanagh blew his whistle, the red and blue tides instantly collided near the center circle. There was no feeling out, no transition; the match entered the red zone of intensity from the very first second.
Klopp's 'Heavy Metal Football' was showcased to its fullest at this moment.
In the 3rd minute, Liverpool midfielder Mac Allister charged like a fired cannonball, sliding through both the ball and Caicedo. The referee didn't blow the whistle, signaling advantage for the attack.
Luis Díaz sprinted forward with the ball.
"Stop him!" Mourinho roared from the sidelines.
Lin Yuan moved laterally, his massive frame leaving a trail of afterimages under the high-speed cameras. The moment Díaz was about to cut into the penalty area, Lin Yuan used a less-than-clean shoulder barge to send the Colombian winger flying.
Díaz rolled three times on the turf, clutching his ribs in pain.
Whistle. Foul.
But the referee only gave a verbal warning.
Lin Yuan didn't even glance at the fallen Díaz. He just stared coldly at Nunez, who had run over to protest, and slammed his shoulder hard into the Uruguayan, muttering under his breath, "This hurts already? This is just the beginning."
This was the standard for a final. Kavanagh clearly didn't want the game to become fragmented, which to some extent indulged the physical combat from both sides... For the first twenty minutes, Chelsea played with extreme difficulty.
Klopp had clearly done his homework. Whenever Lin Yuan got the ball, Liverpool's Wataru Endō and Szoboszlai would close in like a pair of pincers. They would rather foul than give Lin Yuan time to turn and scan the field.
That "scalpel-like through ball" that had stunned everyone in the previous match had no room to be executed under this suffocating high-press.
In the 22nd minute, Lin Yuan tried to shield the ball with his back and turn, only to be covertly kicked in the ankle by Wataru Endō from behind. A sharp pain shot through him, Lin Yuan stumbled, and the ball was stolen.
Liverpool immediately launched a counterattack!
Salah got the ball on the right, cut inside, and fired a shot!
The ball grazed the post and flew past the goal line.
The Blues fans broke out in a cold sweat.
"Damn it!" Lin Yuan spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva—he had bitten his lip during the previous collision. He rubbed his ankle, his eyes growing even more ferocious.
Want to shut down my passing? Fine.
Then I won't pass.
Since the technical route is blocked, I'll drag the game back into the quagmire I'm most familiar with.
In the 30th minute, Chelsea earned a corner kick.
This was the first true "War of Giants" of the match.
Lin Yuan stood near the penalty spot, and the man responsible for marking him was none other than the Liverpool captain, Virgil van Dijk.
The two were similar in height, and both possessed top-tier physical strength.
As Chilwell ran up to take the corner, intense wrestling broke out in the box. Van Dijk used his arm to firmly block Lin Yuan's neck, trying to suppress his jump. Lin Yuan, in turn, grabbed Van Dijk's jersey as if he wanted to tear the red fabric to shreds.
"Don't even think about getting past me," Van Dijk growled in his ear.
"Get lost," Lin Yuan replied.
The ball curved into the penalty area.
At that instant, both men jumped simultaneously. The scene was frozen by the sideline photographers into a shot worthy of a Pulitzer Prize for sports photography—two bodies as full of tension as Greek sculptures collided violently in the air, muscle lines bulging under their jerseys.
Thud!
It was a dull impact sound that made one's teeth ache.
Neither side won outright. Relying on the jump bonus from his [Violent Header] talent, Lin Yuan barely managed to reach the ball first, but due to Van Dijk's heavy interference, he couldn't generate power for a shot and could only smash the ball hard toward the ground.
The ball bounced and went over the crossbar.
Upon landing, the two fell together in a tangle, their studs carving two deep gashes into the turf.
Van Dijk scrambled up, rubbing his numbed chest, a hint of gravity appearing in his eyes for the first time. That impact just now felt like being hit by an out-of-control bulldozer.
"Are this guy's bones made of iron?" Van Dijk thought to himself... As the match entered the 40th minute, the scene had evolved into a Meat Grinder battle.
Technical statistics showed that the net playing time in the first half was less than 25 minutes; the rest of the time was filled with fouls, dead balls, and disputes.
The midfielders on both sides were already seeing red.
Enzo Fernández's white away jersey (as Chelsea was nominally the away team) had turned grayish-green, covered in mud and grass clippings. He had been stepped on the foot by Mac Allister during a challenge and was currently limping through the pain.
"We need to control the tempo!" Enzo shouted at Lin Yuan, his face drenched in sweat and his expression pained.
Lin Yuan glanced at Enzo. This Argentine kid was nearing his physical limit, and that injury... "Give me the ball," Lin Yuan said deeply. "Go rest in the back for a bit."
During the next five minutes, The Blues fans saw a scene that brought tears to their eyes.
Lin Yuan stopped attempting those exquisite through balls. He switched to his most primitive mode.
He ran and swept across the midfield and defense tirelessly.
In the 43rd minute, he blocked Szoboszlai's thunderous shot with his face. The muffled thud made the entire audience subconsciously cover their own faces. Lin Yuan shook his head and continued defending as if nothing had happened.
In the 45th minute, Nunez tried to use his speed to beat Thiago Silva. Seeing that the aging veteran was about to be bypassed, a blue figure charged out from the side.
With an extremely precise and ferocious sliding tackle, Lin Yuan sent both Nunez and the ball flying out of bounds.
After the tackle, Lin Yuan's momentum carried him off the pitch, slamming him hard into the advertising boards.
Boom!
The advertising board let out a loud bang.
"Lin!" Mourinho was so startled that he rushed out of the technical area.
A few seconds later, a hand reached out from behind the advertising board and grabbed the railing.
Lin Yuan slowly pulled himself up. The old wound on his brow seemed to have split open again; blood flowed down from the corner of his eye, across his cheek, and dripped onto the collar of his pure white jersey like a blooming blood plum.
He casually wiped his face, smearing the blood and making his entire face look even more savage and terrifying.
He waved off the team doctor who was running over, indicating there was no need to enter the pitch.
Then, he turned toward the Liverpool fans in the stands who were booing him, slowly raised his hands, and made a "louder" gesture.
The boos at Wembley instantly turned into a terrified silence, followed by an even more frantic eruption of curses.
But in the Chelsea fans' section, this scene drove them completely wild.
"Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant!"
The shouts of tens of thousands echoed through the sky.
The referee blew the whistle for the end of the first half.
Score 0-0.
But this was undoubtedly the most brutal half of football on an English pitch this season. As the players walked off, no one had the energy to speak; only heavy panting could be heard.
In the player tunnel, Lin Yuan leaned against the wall, letting the team doctor perform emergency treatment on his brow wound.
Enzo walked over, looking at his blood-covered captain, his voice trembling slightly: "Lin, your injury..."
"Just a scratch." Lin Yuan kept his eyes closed, letting the doctor wipe the wound with a stinging alcohol swab without even flinching. "But you, Enzo."
He opened his eyes; there was no pain in them, only a rational coldness to the extreme.
"Be careful in the second half. I feel like those lunatics in red are going to try and take people out. If you can't hold on, just go down. Don't force it."
Enzo froze for a moment, then nodded.
But he didn't expect that Lin Yuan's intuition would be so terrifyingly accurate.
In this bloody battle, the true sacrifices were only just beginning.
--------
Guys if you want to support me and read some chapters in advance please do check out Pitreon.com/AnonymousWriter6