“The match is over!
Full time!”
“Wolfsburg 3–1 Frankfurt, earning their first Bundesliga win of the season!”
“Naldo, Vieirinha, and Qin Ming each scored a goal—Qin Ming also recorded an assist!”
“Congratulations to him for such a perfect Bundesliga debut.
We hope he keeps it up and continues to grow!”
Liu Jiayuan had been commentating on the Bundesliga for years, but now he finally relived the excitement he once felt watching Yang Chen play for Frankfurt.
Deep down, he was looking forward to Wolfsburg’s next match.
At Volkswagen Arena, Wolfsburg fans rose to their feet in unison, applauding the young player on the field.
Without question, the one they once saw as just a mascot—a marketing pawn of Volkswagen—had become one of the brightest stars of the match.
Most importantly, he was young.
Wolfsburg fans felt as though they were witnessing the rise of a dazzling new star.
On the sideline, Dieter Hecking patted Qin Ming on the shoulder, his wrinkled face blooming with delight.
“You gave me a surprise I couldn’t even dream of.”
Before the game, he had fantasized about a good performance—but even in his wildest scenarios, he only imagined Qin Ming might get an assist.
As for a goal?
He hadn’t dared to expect it.
After all, a debutant in the Bundesliga, playing in front of 30,000 fans—how nervous must he have been?
Qin Ming grinned and said, “Coach, I’ve got a really big heart.
If you’ve got anything stressful coming up, just hand it to me.”
The more pressure, the more drive.
Besides, he liked being in the spotlight.
He liked the feeling of scoring goals.
“Haha!
Then get ready—you’ll be in the starting lineup soon.”
Hecking admired ambitious young players.
Volkswagen Arena wasn’t far from the training base.
Qin Ming returned with the team bus, showered, and got a recovery massage.
Even though he only played a few dozen minutes, high-intensity matches still took a toll on the body.
Massage therapy was absolutely necessary.
The players chatted in their downtime, and of course, the topic was the match.
“Hey, Qin, check out our official Twitter—the comments are exploding!”
Malanda stared wide-eyed at his phone.
To be honest, each time he refreshed, dozens more comments appeared.
Sure, Wolfsburg was a Bundesliga team…
But when did they ever get this much attention?
“Maybe you guys forgot—Qin’s country has 1.3 billion people.”
De Bruyne explained helplessly.
“One, two, three…”
Malanda counted on his fingers, then sighed.
“That’s a hundred times more than us.
What a country.”
On the nearby bed, Qin Ming opened his phone and tapped into Wolfsburg’s official Twitter.
“Wolfsburg 3–1 Frankfurt — Chinese player scores and assists in his Bundesliga debut!”
“Stunning debut!
The 17-year-old Chinese talent is bursting with potential!”
“Graceful elastico dribble—he looks like he’s dancing ballet on the pitch!”
“…”
Qin Ming couldn’t help but wonder if Wolfsburg’s social media manager had trained with UC News—those headlines were wildly exaggerated.
And looking through the posts, most of the content revolved around him.
Clearly, they really wanted to sell cars.
He clicked on one of the reports.
Sure enough, the comments were flooded with Simplified Chinese:
[Now that’s what a genius looks like!]
[I’m sorry—I was wrong.
I shouldn’t have called Qin Ming a mascot.
He’s the missing piece of Wolfsburg’s rise!]
[I’m buying a Passat tomorrow to support Qin Ming!]
[Don’t overhype it.
What if this is just a one-time wonder and he goes downhill afterward?]
[Could be.]
[Like Pato!]
[Dong Fangzhuo scored 18 goals and won top scorer in Belgium’s second division, but couldn’t make it at Manchester United either.]
[And Frankfurt didn’t know anything about Qin Ming’s style—they may have been caught off guard.
Future opponents will prepare.]
[…]
Maybe it was because of past letdowns—Chinese fans weren’t eager to believe again.
So even after a stellar performance like that, skepticism remained.
But Qin Ming didn’t mind.
He closed the app and opened the Bundesliga stats database.
Yup—his name was on the scorers list.
Sure, it was near the bottom—but it was there.
He stroked the screen, imagining the day his name would appear at the very top.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
He shook his head.
He wasn’t even a regular starter yet—dreaming about the Golden Boot wasn’t exactly grounded.
You eat a meal one bite at a time.
You walk a road one step at a time.
The next day, the sun was bright.
Before the temperature peaked, Qin Ming started his solo training.
Ball control, juggling, shooting—you name it.
An hour and a half later, he walked to the sideline, wiping sweat from his brow.
Eyes closed, he opened his system interface.
Nearly 40 days had passed since he transferred to Wolfsburg.
His template fusion rate had risen from 65% to 69%.
Pretty quick, he thought—especially since he could feel the massive boost that 4% had given him.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have performed the way he did in his debut.
And the system had previously told him: once fusion reaches 70%, new features will unlock.
“From now until September 13th is the international break.
It’s the perfect time to train harder and try to hit 70% before the Bundesliga resumes.”
Qin Ming made a mental note.
Most of Wolfsburg’s players had been called up for national duty.
Those who hadn’t were off enjoying vacation.
The training base was eerily quiet.
But he enjoyed the solitude.
Before crossing over, he’d been a corporate drone.
Outside of work, only the silence of late nights had brought him peace.
Now, he could do what he loved—and get paid better for it.
He was content.
The only regret?
Perhaps he’d been too eager.
The national team hadn’t sent an invitation.
Did he want to join?
Well, as a fan, he’d had plenty of gripes with the national team.
But he had always followed them—had even gone to games in person.
Still, from hope to disappointment, from disappointment to despair…
Now, if he had the chance to represent China—to do something for the long-suffering fans, for his past self—
He wouldn’t say no.
One day… two days… three days… Time rolled on until September 4.
Perrin, newly appointed six months ago, had lost his first match 1–3 to Iraq.
But sometimes, miracles happen when all hope is lost.
Thailand scored two against Lebanon, China converted a penalty, and their goal difference edged them past Lebanon—qualifying for the Asian Cup alongside Iraq.
Today, in a friendly, China beat Kuwait 3–1.
After the match, Perrin spoke to the media and was asked about Qin Ming.
“I watched his performance,” he said.
“If I were to describe it using a Chinese idiom… I think the right one is ‘tian fu yi bing’—naturally gifted, is that right?”
“At this stage, I don’t plan to call him up.
Experience in a top league is very important.
I want him to develop without too many external distractions.”
“Maybe next year—at the AFC Asian Cup.”
(END CHAPTER)