Liverpool, a port city in northwest England, is one of the eight core cities of the country.
It’s a place full of stories—from being home to Britain’s first dock, having the highest unemployment rate in the country, to birthing The Beatles.
But nowadays, what garners the most attention are its two outstanding football clubs:
Liverpool and Everton.
Red and Blue.
Their clashes are known as the Merseyside Derby.
Fans also call it “The Red-Hot Derby.”
In their 49 Premier League meetings, referees have issued a total of 21 red cards.
Among them was a match in September 1999, where Liverpool keeper Westerveld and Everton’s Jeffers were both sent off for a scuffle, and Gerrard also received a red card for stamping on an opponent.
But on the road to Goodison Park, all Qin Ming could see was blue.
“Qin, this is your first European match—don’t get nervous.
Just treat it like any other game,”
Malanda said, thinking Qin’s silence was due to nerves.
“Thanks.”
Qin Ming didn’t explain.
Suddenly, he spotted someone on the street in a green-and-white kit—with an Asian face.
“Chinese?”
He rolled down the window and called out in Mandarin.
“Chinese!”
One of the young men looked surprised, hurriedly swallowed his fries, and waved enthusiastically.
Compared to Germany, there were more Chinese students in England, thanks to the wider use of English.
Surrounded by England’s rich football atmosphere, many of them had become loyal fans.
But today, they weren’t cheering for Liverpool or Everton—they were cheering for the visiting Wolfsburg.
“Qin Ming, good luck today!
Score one for us!”
Grinning, Qin nodded back.
“Just watch the show!”
Malanda looked on with envy.
Whether in Wallonia or Wolfsburg, he’d never had fans recognize him like that.
Being cheered on by strangers in the street… it had to be every footballer’s dream.
“Don’t be surprised—Qin has fans in every country.
And they’ll all be his supporters.”
Olić understood.
He’d had a similar experience back in Croatia.
While players were warming up, the pre-match press conference was underway.
“In past seasons, we may have slightly underestimated the Europa League,”
Roberto Martínez admitted, still sporting a full head of hair.
In the Premier League, clubs like Tottenham and Everton—frequent Europa League participants—consistently ranked in Deloitte’s Football Money League Top 20.
So the small financial gains from the Europa League weren’t much of a motivator.
And the league’s congested fixture list didn’t help either.
“A Thursday Europa match, then a Premier League game on the weekend?
It’s exhausting.”
That was a direct quote from Tottenham coach Pochettino.
But with UEFA’s recent reforms—adjusting coefficient weightings between the Champions League and Europa League—no one dared ignore the competition anymore.
For Martínez personally, last season he’d led Everton to a record-breaking 72 points (21 wins, 9 draws, 8 losses), borrowing players like Lukaku and Barry.
But he still lacked a meaningful trophy to solidify his role as head coach.
“Qin?
I don’t know much about Chinese players, but I doubt he’s ever faced Premier League intensity.
I think tonight, he’ll get a fresh taste of what football is really like.”
Martínez said with confidence.
Meanwhile, in another press room—
When a reporter relayed Martínez’s words, Dieter Hecking simply adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and replied:
“It’s true—the Premier League is intense.
But our players aren’t made of glass.
They’re among the elite from another top league.”
“As for Qin—he won’t be so easily overwhelmed.
Maybe tonight, he won’t rediscover football… but Premier League fans might discover him.”
With age, one tends to avoid trash talk and prefers to let results speak.
Thirty minutes later.
In the players’ tunnel.
The two teams lined up facing each other.
Qin Ming stood near the back, watching as De Bruyne looked visibly annoyed, clearly uninterested in talking to the bald guy across from him.
“Kevin… that assist you gave me in the last national team match was insane!
I think we’ve got better chemistry than twins!”
Lukaku’s thick lips flapped excitedly.
Though he’d known Courtois longer, he wasn’t particularly fond of him.
Why?
Who likes a guy who cheats with his teammate’s girlfriend?
By comparison, a teammate who provides quality service—like De Bruyne—was definitely someone to stick close to.
Soon, the referee gave the signal, and the players began to walk out.
De Bruyne exhaled, relieved.
Lukaku was a chatterbox, and he—being naturally introverted—just couldn’t keep up.
Worst of all, Lukaku often botched chances.
Even with a pass on a silver platter, he’d still find a way to miss.
And that’s the kind of striker midfielders hate the most.
As they emerged from the tunnel, the deafening roar of the stadium hit them like a wave, stinging Qin Ming’s eardrums.
He instinctively looked up.
A vast ocean of deep blue surged like an endless sea.
“PPTV!
PPTV!”
“Good evening, viewers!”
“Welcome to Matchday 1 of the 2014–15 UEFA Europa League Group H!”
“Everton at home versus Wolfsburg!”
“I’m your commentator for tonight, Zhan Jun, and next to me is the renowned analyst, Coach Zhang Lu.”
Zhan Jun greeted the audience cheerfully.
He had just joined PPTV this past August—and the network had acquired broadcast rights for the Europa League.
So he was lucky to be calling a Qin Ming match.
Previously, he’d been envious of Liu Jiayuan, who got to commentate Wolfsburg’s Bundesliga games.
Now, getting to use his expertise to explain Qin’s matches to fans across China… that made him proud.
After all, Qin Ming’s performances in his first two games had already won over most of Chinese football’s skeptics.
“Coach Zhang, who do you think has the edge tonight?”
Zhan Jun asked.
“Hehe… rationally speaking, I’d say Everton.
As they say in the Premier League these days…”
“Goodison Park has become the new benchmark for measuring Premier League strength.
If your team is good, you have to fight to take three points here to prove yourself.
If you’re not ready, expect a thrashing.”
Zhang Lu’s football insight ran deep.
“Haha!
Then I’ll root for Wolfsburg.
If Qin Ming maintains his form, their attacking concerns might vanish—and maybe, just maybe, they’ll survive Goodison Park.”
Zhan Jun laughed.
(END CHAPTER)