Da Vinci conquered the world with dazzling colors, Caesar with iron swords and hooves, Beethoven with soulful music, Shakespeare with dancing words... And when mankind invented the wonderful game of football, they gained yet another reason to worship！
—From Ye Wudao's preface to *The Chronicles of the Chinese Football Empire*
The second half kicked off amidst a series of cold sneers from the high school players. Zheng Yan still wasn't on the field, and the little beauty and the tall beauty were whispering about something. Ye Wudao stood at midfield, chewing gum with a look that screamed 'I'm the best in the world.' His expression made the opponents' faces grow uglier by the second, itching to tackle him to the ground and give him a good beating.
The middle school team kicked off first, passing the ball to Ye Wudao. After receiving the ball, facing the high school player charging at him aggressively, Ye Wudao didn't pass it or dribble sideways. Instead, he unexpectedly took a direct shot. The football roared towards the distant goal like a cannonball shot from a chamber. The guy who rushed to intercept was stunned by this powerful blast. Even a high schooler couldn't have had such leg strength. If it had hit him, he'd probably be rushed to the hospital on the spot.
The high school goalkeeper was way too far forward. By the time he reacted and jumped to block, the ball had already sailed over his head and into the net. Dazed, he couldn't believe it as he watched the guy being tossed into the air by his teammates. He turned back to look at the ball still lying in the goal, feeling like he was still dreaming.
The whole field went silent. That was too fast, wasn't it！？ After a long pause, a thunderous roar of cheers erupted. The girls shrieked across the field, asking each other who this handsome guy was. With his unrestrained expression, head-to-toe luxury brands, a languid look in his eyes, and astonishing football skills, the 'heard-the-name-but-never-seen-the-face' trashy playboy Ye Wudao quickly won the adoration of a crowd of swooning fans.
Then it was time for Ye Wudao's one-man show. He stole a pass, firmly controlling the ball at his feet. Starting from the backfield, he dribbled forward, leaving everyone in his dust as he successively shook off three opposing midfielders and cut straight into the penalty area. His elegant moves dazzled the crowd. Without slowing down at full sprint, he chipped the ball over the first defender and regained control before it hit the ground. Then, unbelievably, he back-heeled the ball over his own head, perfectly shaking off the second defender as well. Finally, from a tight angle, he blasted the ball into the net, drawing gasps of amazement from the entire audience.
He was like a great interpreter of classicism, a pursuer of aestheticism, his waltz-like footwork and light ball control immersing everyone in a wonderful visual feast. The coach watched Ye Wudao's personal performance as if looking at a monster, his whole body trembling involuntarily. The No. 10 midfielder from the junior high school, who had scored one goal, had a strange gleam in his eyes—admiration, envy, but mostly a fierce fighting spirit ignited by Ye Wudao.
That prodigy goalkeeper who had participated in the national U-15 soccer tournament and been named best goalkeeper had been annoyed at letting in a goal due to carelessness （the other was an own goal from a teammate's header clearance—a goal that even gods couldn't save, so nothing to regret）. When he saw Ye Wudao's goal, he felt as if he were burning inside. Competing with such an opponent on the same field was true enjoyment, whether you were opponent or teammate!
Just as Ye Wudao was about to break into the penalty area with his fancy dribbling, a defender's obvious pulling motion earned a yellow card from the referee, and Ye Wudao was awarded a free kick from an excellent position. The junior high No. 10 silently walked over to him, his eyes fixed on every tiny detail of Ye Wudao's movements. When Ye Wudao noticed him, he blushed.
“Are you going to take this free kick？” Ye Wudao asked with interest. He had high hopes for this junior high school midfield organizer. Besides lacking some physical fitness, his ball control, speed, vision, and game-reading ability were all top-notch, completely out of step with his age. A football prodigy like this reminded him of Tsubasa Ozora from the manga "Captain Tsubasa"—both were attacking midfielders, both were creative, and this made Ye Wudao, who was currently in need of various talents, start scheming again.
Little did Ye Wudao know that his casual action would create another myth about a great number 10 in football history, directly leading him to extend his business tentacles into the football world in the future, injecting fresh blood and stimulants into Chinese football—a game that had broken the hearts of hundreds of millions of Chinese fans—and creating a legend for Chinese football！
“Do you know the principle of the cannonball shot in snooker？” Ye Wudao suddenly asked. Seeing the bewildered number 10 midfield teenager, a strange smile crept onto Ye Wudao’s face. “Watch closely. I’m about to show you what it means when the wall is useless！”
Ye Wudao sent the ball toward the goal with a powerful, ferocious shot, but to the disappointment of the number 10 teenager and everyone else, the ball had no curve at all—completely incomparable to his two previous awe-inspiring shots. However, what happened next made the young man bow down to Ye Wudao in complete submission. Even after he later became the savior of Chinese football, he still harbored a baffling reverence and respect for Ye Wudao.
That powerful yet directionless ball hit a defender’s leg, changed direction, and bounced into the goal. The goalkeeper couldn’t judge the ball’s true trajectory at all, watching helplessly as it breached his goal, insulting his dignity as a goalkeeper time and time again.
So this is what Ye Wudao meant by the grafting principle of snooker in billiards—using a collision with a third party to change the ball's direction and score it into the goal. This was the angle he had deliberately calculated, allowing him to bypass the trouble of dodging the 'human wall' block and instead, through a collision with the defensive wall, direct the ball into the goal in a mind-boggling way.
'Soccer is a pretty interesting game, isn't it？' Ye Wudao smiled at the boy, who was dumbfounded with eyes full of admiration. 'Next, let me and you take the battle to them, conquer their fortress with soccer！' The boy running back behind him nodded vigorously.
The head coach of Mingzhu College's soccer team began to choke up with excitement, speaking haltingly： '***This is the real hope for Chinese soccer. Forget about breaking out of Asia, forget about breaking the curse of never beating South Korea—if we had three such genius teenagers, how could Chinese soccer not prosper？'
Several important figures in the stands were captivated by Ye Wudao's outstanding performance, especially the little girl sitting behind the cold-faced, crew-cut young man. Her eyes sparkled with brilliance, her small hands clenched tightly, all her attention focused on Ye Wudao, who was like a ruler on the field.
'As the midfield commander, you must be sure to grasp the rhythm of the entire game, understand？' Ye Wudao lectured the number 10 youth in a seasoned tone while running. 'Control the midfield, and you become the master of the whole match！ The God of soccer！ Holding the judgment right to decide the outcome of the game！'