Over the next few days.
Li Luo got plenty of rest and felt the warmth of his homeland's embrace.
As he was about to leave.
He stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at everything beyond it, and could not help falling into thought: his influence and commercial value had already surpassed every football king, football sage, and football emperor in history, including the Messi-Ronaldo duo at their peak.
A large part of it.
Came from the support of 1.4 billion Chinese compatriots.
"Li, oh my God, Manchester United's commercial department just sent an urgent report."
Tom jogged over with two phones in his hands, caught between laughter and tears.
He held one phone out to Li Luo. Its screen was filled with dense stock charts and several English financial reports.
"Over the past few days, Manchester United's share price on the New York Stock Exchange has suddenly fluctuated, while the shares of other sponsors have all surged."
Li Luo glanced at it. "But I haven't played any matches?"
"Because you came back to China."
Tom handed over the other phone. A financial media headline was displayed on it:
"Li Luo's Magic: The Moment He Sets Foot on Eastern Soil, the Entire European and American Capital Market Trembles"
"Those Wall Street people have gone crazy. One financial analyst wrote that Li Luo's personal IP value has surpassed the boundaries of sport alone. He is a super interface connecting the West and the East."
"This June, if Li Luo can lead the China National Team to qualify early and reach the FIFA World Cup in Russia..."
China Central Television studio.
The recording set of "World Football."
The lights were bright, and the cameras were ready.
Duan Xuan sat before the host's desk, sorting through a stack of cue cards in