With countless Chinese fans watching, the match quietly reached the 67th minute.
Qin Ming, after being subbed in, finally touched the ball for the first time.
As he noticed Makoto Hasebe blocking the through pass and Ignjovski cutting off the lateral route, a thought flashed through his mind.
Should I take it myself?
The next second, he made his decision—his right foot popped the ball up sharply!
Three-dimensional thinking.
Unlike other players, his Ronaldinho template gave him extraordinary spatial awareness.
He never limited himself to the ground.
“What a clever touch!”
“He’s going for Bendtner—the King of Confidence holds off Zambrano—is he going to turn and break free?”
“He hesitated… and there it is—Anderson steps up and intercepts!”
“Ball possession returns to Frankfurt!”
For most players, ball-hogging is a flaw that can’t be hidden.
But for a select few, it’s a sign of genius.
They can hold the ball, shield it, and even tear apart the opponent’s defensive line solo—drawing defenders away for teammates.
Clearly, Bendtner was not a genius.
Just a guy with too much confidence.
Hasebe received a pass from a teammate, stopped abruptly, then burst forward again—shaking off Qin Ming’s pressure.
He quickly combined with Nelson and Ignjovski on the right flank, forming a fast three-man triangle.
In the blink of an eye, they beat Guilavogui and slipped past Rodríguez.
“Same old tactic—a direct cross!”
“Targeting Seferović!”
“Brilliant!
Knoche, standing 189 cm tall, Wolfsburg’s own youth product!”
“He’s a beast in the air.
Since being promoted two seasons ago, he’s locked down a starting role!”
“Who’s first to the second ball?”
Wolfsburg defended the edge of the box tightly.
Malanda controlled the rebound and passed to Guilavogui, who let it run behind him.
The ball rolled smoothly along the turf toward De Bruyne—Hasebe was already anticipating it.
“Kevin!”
Qin Ming’s voice pierced through the air and into De Bruyne’s ear.
Without hesitation, the Belgian braced against Hasebe and faked a step to the left—then used the outside of his boot to pass the other way.
Snap!
The ball seemed to grow eyes, curving perfectly into Qin Ming’s path.
“Beautiful!”
Qin Ming couldn’t help but admire it internally.
With heat bearing down on him and the crowd roaring, he accelerated.
“Don’t let him through!”
Hasebe shouted.
Frankfurt’s right-back—Ignjovski, a 174cm, 68kg Serbian known for agility and flexibility—moved to stop him.
Trying to beat him like he did Tim Klose?
Not going to work.
Qin Ming controlled the tempo and lifted his head to scan the field.
De Bruyne was shadowed by Hasebe in the middle.
Bendtner stood at the edge of the box, arms spread, calling for the ball.
And—Vieirinha was open on the far side.
Ideas clicked in his mind.
He changed rhythm.
A light touch with the outside of his right foot hinted at a cut to the middle.
At the same time, his body turned toward Bendtner, toe aimed directly at him.
What’s this?
The experienced Ignjovski instantly guessed—he’s not dribbling, he’s going for an outside-foot pass!
So he shifted half a step laterally.
But the very next second, what unfolded made his body stumble uncontrollably.
It wasn’t a pass or a cut!
In that brief moment of imbalance—
Wolfsburg’s number 13!
With the subtlest flick of his ankle, as if performing magic, he redirected the ball.
“Huh?
Huh!”
“Elastico!”
“A dramatic Elastico from Qin Ming shakes off Ignjovski!”
“He’s got a clear path ahead!”
Well… not quite clear.
Qin Ming could see it clearly—Zambrano was racing over to cover.
And Frankfurt’s keeper had already shifted toward the near post.
Shooting or adjusting would take too long.
So he went with an outside-foot lofted pass!
Pop!
The camera followed the ball’s arc—30,000 fans watched as it dropped to a figure in green and white.
Vieirinha!
In Portugal, wingers are known for being fast and sharp.
Cristiano Ronaldo was like that.
So was Vieirinha.
Cutting in from the right edge of the box, he met the ball mid-air with a full-swing volley!
Trapp, stuck at the left post, wasn’t The Flash—he couldn’t teleport.
He could only watch as the ball rocketed into the net.
2–1!!!
“Vieirinha!
Vieirinha scores!”
“Wolfsburg retakes the lead!”
“Qin Ming—our very own young player—delivers a crucial assist in his Bundesliga debut!”
“Let’s watch the replay: Qin Ming fakes out Ignjovski, then curls an outside-foot pass to Vieirinha!”
“The pass wasn’t perfect, but since no one was marking him, Vieirinha had all the time he needed to finish!”
Liu Jiayuan’s voice trembled with excitement.
He’d never imagined Qin Ming would notch an assist in his Bundesliga debut.
The joy surged up through his chest—it was overwhelming.
Chinese fans watching at home stared blankly for a moment, then locked their eyes on the replay.
At Volkswagen Arena, Wolfsburg supporters erupted.
“Wasn’t that kid supposed to be just a marketing prop for Volkswagen?”
“Marketing prop?
Have you ever seen a prop pull off a move like that?”
“Exactly!
That slick dribble looked like he was dancing!
That’s right—dancing!”
“…”
On the diehard fans’ stand, all eyes were now on Qin Ming.
A debut assist in the Bundesliga?
That deserved celebration.
That deserved to be remembered.
On the pitch, Vieirinha didn’t forget the man who fed him the chance.
He grabbed Qin Ming and dragged him to the corner flag in celebration.
Grinning, he said, “Qin, that move was slick—reminded me of my idol, Ronaldo.”
Qin Ming: “…”
He didn’t think he resembled Ronaldo at all—neither in youth nor in style.
But if Vieirinha wanted to say that, he wasn’t going to argue.
After all, it was a compliment.
Staring at the green-and-white wave in the stands and the roar of the crowd, only one thought filled his mind—
Let the wave rise for me.
Let the cheers ring for me.
An assist wasn’t enough.
He wanted a goal.
“Hey kid, you’re nothing like Ronaldo.
More like me—well, not in skill, but in spirit back in the day.”
Bendtner said confidently.
Qin Ming: “…”
He was starting to wonder if anyone at Wolfsburg was normal.
Either overly confident or painfully shy.
Was he abnormal too?
As everyone gathered around Qin Ming, De Bruyne stood on the outside, flicking his wrist as his version of a celebration.
As expected, he didn’t join the huddle—but in his mind, he replayed Qin Ming’s move.
That spark of magic… something intangible, yet real—he had felt it.
(END CHAPTER)