Chapter 223: I Like Watching My Opponents Fall from the Clouds
After Mario Balotelli finished his shot, his eyes never left the ball.
He watched the ball roll toward the goal, saw his friend Joe Hart's terrified look, and watched the England fans behind the net go slack-eyed like zombies...
As the ball splashed into the net, Balotelli turned, spread his arms and ran into the wind.
Cabrini, Maldini, Grosso... their spirits seemed to possess him. In this moment Balotelli was not fighting alone; the predecessors of the Azzurri were charging forward with him!
When Balotelli sent the ball into the net, after the Italian fans' cheers they cruelly roared "Istanbul."
That shout of "Istanbul" was more damaging than the goal itself—like a heavy hammer pounding at the fragile hearts of the England fans.
The England supporters froze on the spot as a nine-year-old buried memory surged up like a tide.
"Fuck! That was a club issue—we won't pay for it at the national level."
"We didn't open champagne, only bought some beers."
"Haha… Dad! Mum and sister bought the champagne."
"…"
Ah... the ominous premonition triggered panic...
England fans didn't want to hear the word "Istanbul," but it infiltrated like the wind.
Though they still held a two-goal advantage, they felt as if disaster were about to strike.
At the critical moment, experienced Arsenal fans shouted Xia Qi's name.
Xia Qi's name floated across the Arena da Amazônia... "floated" is not the wrong word!
Many England fans, hearing Xia Qi's two characters, suddenly calmed from frenzy.
They believed with conviction:
The Arsenal prince would surely save England the way he saved Arsenal—even Tottenham rivals believed this!
That was the confidence Xia Qi had given them over two seasons!
"You can always trust Xia Qi!"
...
Roy Hodgson forced himself to stay calm.
Players can panic,
assistants can panic,
but as head coach he absolutely must not panic.
Hearing fans shout "Xia Qi!" was like a splash of cold water waking him up.
Right!
I have Xia Qi!
"What would Xia Qi do in this situation? How can I help him?"
With that thought Hodgson spread his thinking...
When play resumed Hodgson stood on the touchline directing the game.
His tactic was simple: give the ball to Xia Qi.
Nearby, Cesare Prandelli showed a look of disdain.
England is a joke!
Defend with Xia Qi, attack with Xia Qi,
organize with Xia Qi, receive with Xia Qi—
what kind of shitty tactic is that?
Even tying a dog to the bench would be better.
Yet, it happened to be right!
Xia Qi was everywhere—organizing, linking, attacking, defending—seamlessly connecting every phase.
Under his management England's setup functioned like a precise instrument while Real Madrid's plan—sorry, Italy's plan—was being twisted and distorted by Xia Qi's presence.
If not for the fighting spirit sparked by the earlier goal the players might have collapsed and conceded again.
How to counter "give the ball to Xia Qi"?
Prandelli chewed his nails thinking...
...
On the pitch, Balotelli was Italy's most active player.
In the 62nd minute Balotelli dragged the ball out of the box and called for it. He used his body to force Gary Jagielka aside,
then began to sprint with the ball, but just as he started a "torpedo" slid on the turf and took the ball from his feet.
The perfect sliding tackle was executed by his friend—Xia Qi!
Surprised shouts of "Ah!" and "Woah!" buzzed around the stands.
On the pitch:
"Xia...!"
Balotelli, furious, shouted in a cracked voice: "Why didn't I notice you were so annoying before?"
The iceberg-like Xia Qi didn't even acknowledge the raging Balotelli.
He gestured to Steven Gerrard, ordered Luke Shaw—who had the ball—to combine with Gerrard, and ran back near the center circle.
In AI-assisted mode Xia Qi gave everything every second!
Seeing Xia Qi so committed, Balotelli put his broken feelings aside and ran harder.
When people more talented than you work this hard, what right do you have to complain?
Xia Qi received the ball at the center, looked to the right at Theo Walcott but lifted his left foot instead,
and made a long pass—the ball threaded into the left flank.
Raheem Sterling immediately launched:
"Through on goal!"
"No offside!"
"Nice no-look! Xia Qi's passing is getting more like Ronaldinho."
Damian chased hard after Sterling, and finally caught up just in front of the penalty area.
He accelerated and, positioning himself in front of Sterling, kicked the ball to goalkeeper Gianluigi Buffon.
The one-on-one chance was destroyed; Sterling looked at Xia Qi aggrievedly.
But Xia Qi had no time for explanations.
The experienced Buffon quickly restarted play.
A pass from the keeper—a one-two style assist—sent the ball flying straight to Balotelli's near post.
Balotelli and Xia Qi both sprinted toward the first bounce point.
Balotelli was ahead of Xia Qi at the near spot—he knew Xia Qi well. Even with a seven or eight-meter lead he risked being sandwiched by Jagielka and Xia Qi if he tried to bring the ball down.
If that happened, shooting would be a pipe dream.
When two meet on a narrow road the brave win!
He went for it.
One meter from the landing point,
Balotelli planted his left foot, dug it into the turf, and swung his right leg.
His body twisted like a top—only half a rotation—but his calf snapped, gathering all the force into his right foot,
and then he smashed the descending ball.
"Balotelli—worldie!"
The commentator He Wei stretched his voice out.
Balotelli struck the volley without controlling it!
The tremendous shot converted into immense forward speed.
Jagielka crossed his arms behind his back and charged forward to block the shot with his body,
but the ball was too fast; as he shifted his side a white blur sped past him.
Joe Hart wanted to slap his own ears for his flippant talk!
Now his body was warm but his heart was freezing.
At that velocity there is no time for any physical reaction beyond mental thought.
The ball cleaved through the air with the hiss of friction and flew into the net, bulging the net into a high tent.
Joe Hart first glanced at the ball in the net, then smiled at Balotelli.
Though the smile was a little bitter, he felt no embarrassment—others did.
"Goal!"
"Italy suddenly woke up in the second half. Balotelli doubles his tally—two goals in quick succession."
"Now England is really in trouble."
"The plot is uncontrollably heading toward an Istanbul miracle night..."
After scoring Balotelli was unusually excited; as usual he jumped onto Xia Qi's back and, face close to Xia Qi's ear, screamed hysterically:
"Xia, am I awesome or what! This goal is a contender for World Cup goal of the tournament, no doubt!"
"Are you panicking now? With a striker like me, you're so lucky—you should split your Ballon d'Or with me..."
Xia Qi tilted his head, dug into his ear nonchalantly, and calmly said:
"Mario, you talk too much. I like watching opponents fall from the clouds!"
If words don't fit, silence fits more.
Balotelli slid off Xia Qi's back, snorted proudly, and retorted: "Now it's Istanbul time, don't you get that?"
Xia Qi's mouth curled: "Smile a little sweeter—later I'll lend you my shoulder."
Friendship's little boat capsized in an instant!
"Haha! Balotelli and Xia Qi's relationship is so good. He didn't celebrate with teammates but jumped on Xia Qi's back."
"Oh dear! The two are quarreling? Balotelli's eyes can cut people; Xia Qi smiles with a wicked charm like a crooked-mouthed dragon king."
Great booing filled the Arena da Amazônia.
Italian fans booed Xia Qi for provoking their "savior,"
England fans booed Balotelli for celebrating against their own players—clear provocation.
The mutual antagonism of the fans didn't change the tense atmosphere in the stadium.
2:3!
Only one goal separated the teams!
Match point had arrived.
Both sides needed a hero!
"The match has reached a boiling point and has become an internal Arsenal affair. Xia Qi vs. Balotelli—these two are the most dangerous men on their respective teams. The coming minutes will decide the final result."
"Will Italy complete a three-goal comeback, or will England escape after a scare? Dear viewers, let's wait and see!"
Both teams returned to position.
Balotelli, walking toward the center circle, looked at Xia Qi with fighting eyes.
He saw Xia Qi looking back, grinned and made a hat gesture.
He intended to signal he would complete a hat-trick next!
Xia Qi kept his usual wicked half-smile; in Balotelli's eyes it looked like mockery.
He felt Xia Qi was saying: "Playing with you—we're done."
...
Play restarted from the center.
Neither coach made substitutions—perhaps both felt their current best eleven were already on the field.
At a critical juncture, remaining unchanged can be the best response.
After England kicked off, Xia Qi—who had vowed to see Balotelli fall from a height—didn't immediately drive the attack.
He instead slowed the tempo.
He let Gerrard move up while Rooney dropped back to add midfield thickness; Xia Qi then detached and pushed to England's front line.
"Xia Qi and Rooney exchange runs; Rooney organizes the attack."
This little trick threw Marco Verratti completely off balance.
Rooney had the ball in midfield; Marchisio and Candreva stepped up to double-team.
Rooney saw the overload and didn't want to be the hero; he quickly knocked the ball to Gerrard.
Gerrard pulled the ball, changed direction, and was stopped by Daniele De Rossi.
Gerrard's horizontal pass returned the ball to Rooney's feet.
Marchisio and Candreva again doubled Rooney.
It seemed Rooney would run out of tricks and be forced to reverse the triangle to defense.
But at that moment Rooney saw Xia Qi discreetly gesture with the back of his hand.
Amazing!
Trapped in the double team and still daring to ask for the ball.
Rooney mentally grumbled at Xia Qi's boldness but couldn't refuse the pass.
Although Xia Qi was a rookie, this was his team—Rooney dutifully adjusted to be the "second-in-command."
Feigning to receive but actually passing without controlling the ball,
he lofted the ball!
The ball flew over Marchisio and Candreva's heads into Italy's penalty area.
At the same time,
Xia Qi sprinted hard forward.
He had Marco Verratti and Andrea Barzagli near him.
Those two reacted relatively quickly and didn't let Xia Qi shake them off entirely; they followed him forward and raised their hands to claim Xia Qi was offside.
The referee ignored them because the linesman did not raise his flag.
The linesman was running alongside the pitch, his gaze locked on the play.
"Not offside!"
"This is not offside!"
Huang Jianxiang shouted excitedly.
His partner He Wei also yelled: "Beautiful timing—this is a chance."
Barzagli and Verratti had not heard the whistle and suddenly panicked.
They gulped in air, pushed their legs like they were on fire and sprinted full-tilt.
Verratti had a touch of regret—at the start he should have reached out and pulled him,
but the free-kick in front of the box and the danger of Xia Qi being offside made him hesitate.
Now he had to give everything and not let Xia Qi get away.
The ball flew through the sky,
three men ran on the grass,
suddenly,
Xia Qi braked hard, turned, and burst forward!
He had deliberately dashed an extra two or three meters while flanked by the defenders, dragging them along,
then stopped and turned back to recover!
"Stop him!"
Buffon panicked—he had abandoned his line when Xia Qi sprinted.
He thought his teammates would at least buy a little time for him to claim the ball.
But Xia Qi was too sly!
Both teammates had left free men—what terrible teammates.
At this moment Xia Qi could not control the ball and turn; doing so might mean losing any chance to shoot.
He faced three opponents, one of whom could use his hands.
AI is not invincible!
The only feasible option:
a bicycle—or rather a scissor-kick—goal!
Xia Qi met the descending ball, leapt high, arched back in a head-over-heels pose,
legs high, head down.
In midair,
his left leg swung downward while his right leg swung up, and the instep of his right foot met the falling ball with a hook.
Boom!
A loud sound!
His right foot struck the ball cleanly.
The ball shot like a meteor toward Italy's goal.
Buffon's sortie had achieved only three quarters of its mission; he was close to Xia Qi yet at the horizon of despair!
Seeing Xia Qi complete the shot, Buffon leapt in his sprint and slapped at the incoming ball with outstretched arms.
But Xia Qi had left no chance for last-second saving—this was a high-arcing shot.
Buffon thumped the air.
The ball rose above the goal and then descended directly into the net.
Boom!
Two sounds—one light, one heavy.
The light was the ball hitting the ground,
the heavy was Xia Qi's back meeting the turf.
This is the downside of "one-key auto": it doesn't care about the host's physical well-being.
That fall would have Xia Qi massaging the sore spots with healing balm for days.
Worse, before he could get up,
a dark shadow pounced and pinned him to the ground. In his ear it thundered: "Beautiful scissor—half the medal is mine. I pulled Giorgio Chiellini away for you..."
"And me—I pulled Damian away."
Before the words finished, another shadow piled on.
Then another...
Xia Qi thought that FIFA had gone utterly irresponsible—banning shirtless celebrations yet not banning piled-on celebratory body stacks!
Now, I need Yunnan Baiyao!
(END CHAPTER)
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