David Luiz quickly adjusted.
Seeing this, Özil rejoiced inwardly and cut the ball back in the opposite direction.
But then he realized David Luiz, with his explosive strength, had forcefully twisted his body back into position.
The next moment!
The ball lay quietly at David Luiz's feet.
Özil, struck by David Luiz's sturdy frame and having overcommitted to his weight shift, tumbled face-first onto the pitch in disarray.
Among current center-backs, who possesses the best passing ability?
Leonardo Bonucci naturally comes to mind first, but David Luiz is no less skilled.
His eyes swiftly scanned the forward positions, quickly locking onto Man United's number 7.
Preferring attack, passing, and spatial awareness over conservative defending, he had once been Chelsea's midfield metronome.
This seems to be an innate talent embedded in Brazilian players.
David Luiz looked down at the ball, swung his right leg high, and brought it down in an instant.
Crack!
A crisp, resonant sound echoed through the Emirates Stadium.
The ball soared into the night wind, streaking like a falling meteor.
A signature long-range guided pass!
It traversed Arsenal's front line and midfield, heading straight for their defensive third.
As the camera panned rapidly, Man United's number 7 moved from the edge of the frame to the center, capturing everyone's attention.
Soon, another figure appeared—Hector Bellerin, gritting his teeth as he sprinted furiously.
Having learned from his earlier marking error, he was hyper-vigilant, tracking Ling the moment he turned.
With his speed advantage, Bellerin was on the verge of overtaking Ling.
He dared not attempt to control the ball, focusing solely on shepherding it out of play to buy time for reorganizing the defense.
Due to David Luiz's technique, the ball not only traveled at high speed but also spun rapidly.
"This is a difficult ball to control!" Drury shouted.
"Ling is not only behind in position but also too close to the sideline! He has nowhere to go!"
Yet what unfolded next on the pitch left him astounded.
Ling quickly glanced back, memorizing the ball's trajectory.
Then he forcefully pushed off the turf, leaping into the air!
His left leg stretched out straight, making contact with the ball just before Bellerin could clear it, hooking it back from the brink of going out of bounds.
His gaze was sharp and fierce, brimming with confidence.
Bellerin had no time to be shocked; he immediately halted his momentum, aiming to dispossess Ling before he could steady himself.
At the same time.
Ling quickly regained his balance, lightly tapping the ball with his forehead to evade Bellerin, who was lunging back toward him.
The latter instantly lost his bearings, instinctively turning around once more.
But the next moment, he realized the ball had long vanished without a trace.
The Emirates Stadium fell into a dead silence.
Everyone clearly saw Ling flick the ball with his toe, sending it playfully soaring over Bellerin's head.
A complete humiliation.
Yet, the Arsenal fans didn't feel insulted.
Instead, they couldn't help but admire the spectacle unfolding before them—the scenes were simply too beautiful.
An asian player.
Was lifting his legs for the sake of beautiful football, performing feats beyond the imagination of the sport.
Perhaps even he didn't know what move he would make next.
Was this the unique football style of Man United's number 7?
A flurry of thoughts raced through their minds, but their focus quickly returned as they watched Ling charging toward the penalty area with the ball.
This time, Koscielny's closing speed was a bit slow.
So Ling didn't hesitate for a moment. On the left side of the penalty area, he twisted his body, nearly parallel to the ball.
His right foot struck the middle of the ball with fierce precision, just as he had done countless times in training.
The ball traced a beautiful arc through the air.
Petr Cech had no mood for appreciation. He leaped, stretching his body to the limit, desperately reaching out with his left hand.
But the curled shot was simply perfect.
Its angle, speed, and power were all impeccable.
The aging Cech couldn't prevent the ball from nestling into the net.
0-2!
"Top corner!" Drury screamed.
"It's in! It's absolute magic!"
"A brace for the boy wonder!"
"Ling magically dribbled past Bellerin on the wing like he wasn't there and delivered a perfect curled shot from the JL7 Zone, helping Man United extend their lead!"
"He is the star of this match! He is the star of the season!"
After scoring, Ling chose not to celebrate.
As this was Wenger's farewell match, he wanted to show the veteran the respect he deserved.
On the sidelines, Wenger wore a deeply dejected expression.
Even in his old age, he couldn't halt Arsenal's decline.
Mourinho suddenly sidled up to him.
"What do you think? Not bad yeah? this player of mine? Forget his talent for a moment—just his sheer dedication is something I've rarely seen in my coaching career."
"Honestly, Arsène, I don't think you need to leave football so soon. Aren't Premier League clubs still sending you offers? Or you could take charge of another team and make a comeback. It could be quite interesting."
Wenger's eyes seemed to flicker several times before he replied with a bitter smile.
"I'm 14 years older than you, Jose, so it's time for me to retire. Maybe I'll join Alex for a meal at a Swiss pub someday. That sounds nice too."
For him, leaving Arsenal marked the end of passion, but not the end of love.
Moreover, due to conflicts with the management and fans, he wanted to completely distance himself from Arsenal and see what his successor could achieve.
Mourinho fell silent upon hearing this.
He fully understood Wenger's stubbornness but couldn't bring himself to agree with it.
Yet, on this day of farewell, he had no desire to argue anymore.
Their ideological battles were over.
...
The match resumed.
With a two-goal lead, Man United quickly made substitutions, bringing on Ander Herrera and Marouane Fellaini in place of Ling and Pogba.
Facing a Man United side that had reinforced its defense, Arsenal's attacks were repeatedly neutralized.
Perhaps sharing similar sentiments with Mourinho, the Arsenal fans unexpectedly began singing in unison.
"There's only one Arsène Wenger!"
"You're not just Arsenal's manager, you're the Arsène of a generation!"
"May you often return home to visit, we miss you, and we'll be waiting for you!"
Amidst the melodious tune, Wenger suddenly turned back and saw two young fans holding up a cardboard sign in the stands.
It read:
"We're too young to remember much, but our father told us everything you've done for the club. You're a legend!"
Amidst the storm of abuse, hostile fans, and the indifference of the club's upper management, he could remain composed.
But in these seemingly insignificant details, he nearly broke down.
Tears seemed to well up in the corners of his eyes.
As the melody reached its end, a piercing whistle sounded immediately.
Beep-beep-beep!
Wenger waved to the two young fans, then turned and walked away without hesitation.
Let the 22-year partnership end like this.
Because of the goodbye that couldn't be spoken.
Ling watched the old man's weathered figure and suddenly recalled a line from a football magazine, realizing it would be quite fitting with some modification.
Perhaps there are two Arsenals in this world, three Highburys.
But there is only one Arsène Wenger in this world.
Arsenal fans might have come for their next victory, or for their next trophy, or perhaps they came for one man.
Mourinho and Ferguson stood side by side, watching that faintly familiar silhouette disappear down the tunnel.
On this day, the two men who had caused Wenger the most headaches in his life became the two most reluctant to see him leave.
...
In the deep player tunnel.
Wenger lingered for a long time, listening to the fading chants, before finally turning back with reluctance..... and regret.
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