"The match is over."
"Li Luo single-handedly forced European champions Portugal to a draw."
"From his lightning strike in the fifteenth second to his final blow in stoppage time, he dragged Chinese football back from hell, again and again."
"He needed no intricate teamwork, because there was none."
"There was no fluid passing-and-possession system, because Chinese football does not have that system yet."
"Li Luo never gave up."
"Again and again."
"Like Sisyphus pushing his boulder uphill."
"At 2–4, everyone was thinking: enough. Li Luo has done everything he can. He can leave with his head held high."
"But he refused to concede defeat."
"We often say we must believe in miracles. But miracles do not appear out of thin air."
"A miracle is one man carrying the fate of an entire team on his shoulders, from the first second to the last."
"There is no darkness in the White Nights of Saint Petersburg."
"We have witnessed individual heroism at its most romantic, most tragic, and most breathtaking."
He Wei choked up, his voice trembling.
Li Luo's performance beneath the White Nights had moved him deeply.
The China National Football Team players lay scattered across the turf.
They could not even lift their hands.
Playing a team of European champions Portugal's caliber had drained far too much of their stamina.
Especially when they had been the side defending.
Someone said, "A match like this is dozens of times more exhausting than playing in the Chinese Super League!"
Nobody could manage a smile.
The physical demands of the Chinese Super League and the AFC Champions League were nothing compared to this match.
Lippi, his coaching staff, and the team doctors did not linger in their emotions. Instead, they hurriedly gathered around Li Luo, worried that something might have happened to