The digital clock on the stadium screen ticked past the 70th minute.
The snow was falling harder now, creating a white veil over the Theatre of Dreams, but the heat coming from the pitch was palpable.
"Here come the changes," Martin Tyler announced, his voice cutting through the tension. "Pep Guardiola is rolling the dice. He is not a man who settles for a point, is he?"
"Never," Gary Neville replied, leaning forward in the gantry. "He's taking off his captain, Vincent Kompany, and bringing on Ilkay Gundogan. Gabriel Jesus makes way for Eliaquim Mangala. That is a massive structural shift. He's sacrificing a defender to flood the midfield."
"And Jose Mourinho responds," Tyler continued. "Chris Smalling, who looked shaken after that error for the goal, is coming off. Victor Lindelof replaces him."
There was a collective intake of breath from the Stretford End.
"To be honest, Martin, that's a nervous switch," Neville analyzed, his tone laced with genuine worry for his former club.
"Lindelof has been inconsistent since arriving in England. He's had difficult moments—Huddersfield away comes to mind. Throwing him into the cauldron of a Manchester Derby at 1-1? That is a sink-or-swim moment for the Swede. United are desperate for stability at the back, and the fans are terrified of another mistake."
The match resumed, and the dynamic of the game transformed instantly.
It wasn't just a substitution; it was a metamorphosis.
City shifted into a fluid 3-4-3.
It was a system rooted in the muddy pitches of the Netherlands, a ghost of Johan Cruyff's "Total Football," now perfected by his greatest disciple, Guardiola.
To the untrained eye, it looked like chaos. To the players on the pitch, it felt like a cage closing in.
The United players immediately felt the air leave the stadium.
The pressing intensity didn't just increase; it became suffocating.
It wasn't just man-marking anymore; it was an all-encompassing, coordinated hunt.
73rd Minute, Nemanja Matic received a routine pass from Pogba near the center circle.
Before he could even lift his head to scan the field, a blue wave crashed over him.
Gundogan and De Bruyne were on him instantly, tackling with the ferocity of hungry wolves.
"They are swarming!" Tyler cried out as the ball spilled loose. "City are gnawing away at United! They are absolutely relentless!"
Gone were the patient, intricate triangles of the first half.
This was direct, vertical, and ruthless.
The City players were driving forward with jaws wide open, looking to devour United's defensive shape.
On the sidelines, two men with opposing philosophies stood in the snow. Guardiola, frantic and animated, conducting his orchestra.
Mourinho, hands in pockets, stoic and grim, watching his fortress under siege.
United retreated. They had no choice.
The Red Devils fell back to the edge of their own penalty area.
The distance between their midfield and defensive lines shrank until there was barely a meter of space for City to operate.
They were squeezing the life out of the game, abandoning all pretense of attacking to survive the storm.
"Mourinho has parked the bus," Neville observed, circling the formation on his tactical screen.
"But look at the discipline. It's an impregnable fortress. It looks passive to the viewer, but the mental concentration required to hold this line without breaking is world-class. One lapse in concentration, one yard of space, and City will kill you."
It was a stalemate of philosophies.
City controlled the ball 30 meters from goal, circulating it wide, probing, waiting for a crack in the red wall.
To the 75,000 fans at Old Trafford, it felt like a tightening noose.
78th Minute, The pressure reached a boiling point.
Manchester City worked the ball laterally, stretching United from touchline to touchline.
Kevin De Bruyne, drifting into that dangerous right half-space that he calls home, spotted a flicker of movement.
He didn't hesitate. He whipped a diagonal pass across the face of the defense.
The ball arced like a beautiful, deadly rainbow through the falling snow.
At the back post, Ashley Young was isolated.
Under immense pressure, and blinded by the flurry, he misjudged the flight of the ball. He jumped, but the ball sailed agonizingly over his head.
Leroy Sane was waiting.
The German winger controlled the ball with his chest, cushioning it perfectly.
He didn't wait for it to drop to the turf.
Bang!
A venomous left-footed volley whistled through the cold air, destined for the top corner.
The City fans behind the goal rose as one, ready to scream, their arms already raising in celebration.
They saw the goal. They felt the victory.
But a hand appeared from nowhere.
David De Gea, moving with cat-like reflexes that defied physics, threw a strong right hand at the ball.
Smack.
He parried it away with incredible strength.
"A MIRACULOUS SAVE!" Martin Tyler screamed, his voice cracking. "David De Gea is not human! He is radiating pure invincibility!"
"The rebound falls to Gundogan!" Neville shouted, panic rising in his voice. "He strikes it!"
Thud.
Victor Lindelof threw his body across the turf.
The ball smashed into the Swede's chest with a sickening thud and deflected away.
"Great block, Victor!" De Gea roared, hauling his defender up by the shirt. "That is how you defend! That is the passion we need!"
United scrambled the resulting corner clear.
They were hanging on by their fingertips, battering back the waves of blue.
"That is brave defending," Neville said, exhaling loudly.
"They are putting their bodies on the line. What are teammates for? Mutual trust. Suffering together. United are suffering right now, but they are holding."
...
High above the pitch, behind the glass of the VIP box, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Yan Lanxia sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She watched her son, Ling, down on the pitch.
He was covered in mud, his chest heaving as he chased shadows on the wing. His face was flushed with the cold and exertion.
She didn't speak. She didn't cheer. She just watched with a mother's heartache and pride.
She knew he was suffering down there, pushing his body to the limit, but she also knew this was his dream.
All she could do was offer silent prayers.
Next to her, Ling Changzheng clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
His mind drifted back to the old days in Dalian, watching Shide FC in the bitter cold.
In those desperate moments, when the team was on the ropes, a hero would always step up.
'Be the hero, son,' he thought fiercely. 'Grind it out.'
A few seats away, Sir Alex Ferguson stood up, pacing slightly.
He watched the City onslaught with a grim expression.
He often called them the "Noisy Neighbors," but he was a football man first.
He respected their power.
He could see the future champions in them. If United wanted to restore their glory, they had to survive moments like this.
They had to prove they could suffer.
80th Minute, The game had become a war of attrition.
Mourinho made his move.
"Jesse Lingard makes way," Tyler announced. "He has run himself into the ground today. An exceptional shift from him. Juan Mata replaces him."
Lingard trudged off, gasping for air. Ling and Rashford weren't much better.
Their legs were heavy with lactic acid, their lungs burning from the freezing air. But Mourinho kept them on.
He needed their raw speed for one last roll of the dice.
83rd Minute, The intensity finally took its toll on the visitors.
City's pressing dropped—just a fraction. They weren't machines, after all.
They couldn't sprint at 100% for the full 90 minutes.
United sensed the shift.
The "Red Bus" began to unlock its brakes.
"United are pushing out," Neville noted, surprised. "They aren't settling for the draw. They want the win."
The tempo accelerated again.
A 1-1 draw would preserve the unbeaten home record, but in the context of the title race, a draw was useless.
Today had to have a winner.
De Bruyne, looking for a way through, tried to fire a pass through the lines.
To bypass Rashford's screen, he put extra power on the ball.
It was slightly erratic.
Ilkay Gundogan received it awkwardly.
His touch was heavy—the ball bouncing a few inches too far away from his boot.
A tiny mistake. But in the Premier League, a tiny mistake is blood in the water.
"Mata is closing down!" Tyler yelled.
Juan Mata, with fresh legs and a sharp mind, lunged at the German midfielder.
Panic set in for City.
Gundogan couldn't turn; the trap had sprung too quickly. He was forced to play a blind, panicked square pass toward David Silva to reset the play.
Ling saw it.
Despite having run a marathon already, despite his legs screaming in protest, he found a reserve of energy from deep within his soul.
He sprinted at Silva, using his body to slam into the Spaniard, disrupting his balance.
"They are fighting for every inch!" Neville shouted. "Look at the desire! Look at the hunger!"
City, usually so composed, cracked under the ferocity.
David Silva tried to recycle the ball back to Gundogan.
But Mata had anticipated it and the little Spaniard gambled.
He stepped into the passing lane.
"Interception!" Tyler screamed. "Mata has won it high up the pitch! The City defense is split! United are in!"
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