"The third step is to make it into the World Cup proper. And once we're there, at least score a goal."
As everyone knew, China's men's national team had only qualified for the World Cup proper once, in 2002. But in their three matches, they hadn't scored a single goal.
They had failed to make it out of the group stage. If the National Team we were rebuilding could qualify for the World Cup proper and score even one goal, that would already be a historic breakthrough.
Fan Zhiyi said, "For now, my ultimate goal is to win one match in the World Cup proper. As for getting out of the group stage, reaching the quarterfinals or semifinals, or even making the final—I don't dare think about any of that yet. If I can lead the National Team to the World Cup proper and win one game in my lifetime, I'll die without regrets."
Wang Yi watched Fan Zhiyi, fired up with passion, and saw the light in his eyes.
These were the eyes of a sixty-year-old man, yet they shone brighter than those of the twenty- and thirty-year-old National Football Team players he'd seen before.
Wang Yi nodded. "Then I wish you luck in achieving your grand ambition. And I hope our new National Football Team can restore the glory of the past!"
Fan Zhiyi calmed down a little, took a few more bites, then said:
"I've watched recordings of your son's games. He has exceptional talent for soccer. In the past ten years, he's at least the most talented kid I've seen."
"But this year I also heard your son made some big statement about taking on Japan's street basketball courts in three years. You're really wasting his talent. I know you want your son to bring honor