Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

As Zhang Yuning watched the ball go into the net, he spread his arms and ran towards the corner flag. Halfway there, he suddenly stopped and turned around to search for the number 10 figure who had delivered the fatal blow on the empty field.

On the grass slightly to the right of the center circle at Songkhla Stadium, Sun Yang had just managed to get up, supporting himself with his arms. His red number 10 jersey was completely ripped from the back collar to the center of his back, like two tattered pieces of cloth hanging from his shoulders, swaying back and forth in the night wind.

Zhang Yuning roared and sprinted forward. Several of his midfield and forward teammates, including Duan Liuyu and Feng Boxuan, who were passing by, also gathered around him from all directions.

Sun Yang stood still. The tattered jersey severely restricted his shoulder range of motion. He simply stretched out his hands, grabbed the fabric in front of his chest, and pulled it outwards with all his might.

With the sound of tearing fabric, he ripped the ruined jersey off cleanly and casually held it in his right hand.

The broadcast camera immediately zoomed in, giving a wide-angle close-up.

The bright stadium spotlights shone on Sun Yang's upper body. There wasn't a single ounce of excess fat; it was all sharply defined muscles. His extremely low body fat percentage resulted in eight clearly visible abdominal muscles. His broad shoulders and strong pectoral muscles gleamed healthily under the sweat.

The core strength contained within this body is far beyond what those domestically produced "white-cut chickens" (a derogatory term for chickens that are constantly ridiculed by fans online) can compare to.

Zhang Yuning rushed forward and threw himself at Sun Yang, hugging his neck. The other teammates also swarmed in, surrounding Sun Yang. Everyone shouted and jumped, freely expressing their excitement at securing the victory early.

The referee, who had just shown the red card, immediately jogged over across the grass. Following FIFA's rules of the game, he prepared to issue a yellow card to the player who had taken off his jersey.

Sun Yang reacted quickly, raising the tattered jersey in his right hand and waving it at the referee.

"Sir, their captain tore this up. It can't even hold my shoulders anymore. I can't exactly play football in a cape, can I?" Sun Yang spread his hands and explained to the referee with a smile in fluent English.

The referee glanced down at the appalling jersey, then turned to look at the Uzbekistan captain, who was already walking towards the players' tunnel with his head down. He shook his head helplessly and withdrew his hand from his pocket.

"Rules are rules. But this is a special case, so I can hold off on giving you a card. Go to the sidelines right now and get a spare one. Now." The referee waved his hand and pointed towards the Chinese team's bench.

Sun Yang smiled and nodded his thanks. He chatted and laughed with his teammates as he strode towards the sidelines.

Due to the requirement to leave the stadium empty during this special period, only a few event staff and some players' families were present in the stands of Songkhla Stadium. Without the noise of tens of thousands of people, Sun Yang and his teammates' hearty laughter sounded particularly clear in the empty stadium.

These young Chinese Olympic team members displayed such composure for the first time in a top-level Asian competition.

In the CCTV sports channel studio, commentator He Wei watched the entire goal unfold on the broadcast screen. His throat was already dry from the barrage of passionate shouts he'd just heard.

At this moment, the scene shows Sun Yang with his upper body half-naked and angular, waving his torn red jersey, walking proudly towards the sidelines.

This renowned commentator, affectionately known as the "poet of the sports world" by Chinese fans, could no longer contain his excitement.

He slammed his hand on the broadcast console in front of him and shouted into the microphone.

"Look at these robust physiques, look at this indomitable fighting spirit! Who says our players can't endure hardship? Who says Chinese football is only weak!" He Wei's voice resonated, his tone impassioned, and he recited a poem on the spot in the live broadcast room.

"This truly embodies the spirit of 'With unwavering loyalty, he stood firm at Dingjun Mountain; with shattered armor, he refused to retreat, raising his banner high! Thousands of troops avoided his white robes, and on the green field, he sang the song of conquering the city!'"

"Sun Yang, with his incredible vision and strong tactical execution, executed a textbook solo save on the court!"

Sitting next to him, his partner Xu Yang nodded repeatedly in agreement: "That's right, this wasn't just a goal. It was a complete intellectual crushing. Uzbekistan's captain was sent off entirely because of Sun Yang's series of targeted runs after halftime."

Outside the sideline of Songkhla Stadium.

Chinese team head coach Fabio Cannavaro was all smiles, his face crinkling with wrinkles. He was extremely satisfied with Sun Yang's performance at the start of the second half.

This 20-year-old player brought exactly what he had drawn on the tactics board in the locker room to the pitch, and even did it better than he had expected. Forcing the opposing team's key player to receive two yellow cards and a red card—this level of tactical execution is something Cannavaro has only ever seen in top midfielders of elite European clubs.

The team's logistics director had already rummaged through a large equipment case and pulled out a spare red number 10 jersey. Cannavaro didn't let the staff do it for him; he took the new jersey, still creased, himself and strode forward to greet him.

As soon as Sun Yang stepped out of bounds, Cannavaro shoved the new jersey into his hands and then gave him a big hug.

"Well done, kid! You made that big guy run around like crazy. Playing with your brain, that's the kind of football I want." Cannavaro patted Sun Yang's sturdy back and praised him repeatedly in Italian.

"Thanks to your tactical arrangements, I just passed the ball to where it was supposed to go," Sun Yang replied with a smile, quickly putting on his new jersey.

"Go on. The game isn't over yet. Go up there and control the situation, don't let them touch the ball." Cannavaro patted Sun Yang on the shoulder and pushed him back onto the field.

At this very moment, in the coaching area of ​​Uzbekistan, just a few dozen meters away, the atmosphere was terrifyingly oppressive.

Uzbekistan's head coach, Drulovic, looked ashen-faced. He stared at the 3-0 scoreline and then at the team's ten-man squad. Instead of yelling at the players or angrily throwing water bottles, he slumped back into his plastic chair on the bench like a deflated balloon.

Trailing by three goals, the team captain was sent off, and the team's stamina was depleted.

Drullovic knew the match was over. They now only had a theoretical chance of advancing. The task ahead wasn't to figure out how to turn things around, but to stop the unnecessary drain on their energy.

They need to save all their energy for the crucial final group stage match against South Korea three days later. Continuing to fight hard here will only increase their risk of injury, leaving them with no chance to even struggle in the next game.

He called the assistant coach over and whispered a few words to him. The assistant coach immediately ran to the sidelines and, taking advantage of a dead ball situation, called several center-backs to the sideline, giving them a dejected order to completely retreat into a defensive posture and abandon pressing.