Over two days, Zhang Kuang dug through every scrap of information on Auxerre.
The material Jonathan sent was detailed-the team usually played a 4-4-2, with a solid defense but a toothless attack. They had scored only 18 goals in 17 league matches, nine of them from Jelen alone, and only one of those was a header.
Their second-highest scorer was center-back Hengbart, with four of his five goals coming from set pieces. Third was Dennis Oliech, with two goals...
"So, apart from Jelen, nobody can score? And the thing is, this guy doesn't even score every match? Hot one game, cold the next?" Zhang Kuang closed the file, feeling he had a clear picture. He wouldn't even need to spend the Qi and Blood Points he had saved over the past few days.
December 19, six in the morning. It was still dark.
Zhang Kuang left the apartment, met up with Jonathan, and boarded the train to Auxerre. The journey from Paris took about two hours. Aisha had booked them first-class seats, saying he needed to "stay in good condition before the trial."
Zhang Kuang hadn't refused. He considered it compensation for those three women playing with him these past few days.
Ah, if the trial goes well, where am I going to find three such good cultivation furnaces? I can't exactly have them move to Auxerre, can I? That's practically impossible.
Forget it, forget it. I'll deal with it when the time comes. Why think so much about it now?
On the train, he rested with his eyes closed, repeatedly rehearsing different attacking situations in his mind.
Auxerre was a small city in Burgundy, with a population under forty thousand. That was about the same fucking population as a township in China. Had he gone straight from the capital to a township?
The station was in the city center. As soon as Zhang Kuang stepped outside, he spotted the club employee who had come to collect him-a young man in an Auxerre tracksuit, holding a sign that read "Zhang Kuang."
Jonathan went over to greet the young man, then introduced Zhang Kuang.
"You're Chinese?" The young man looked surprised when he saw Zhang Kuang.
"Yes."
"I'm Anthony, one of the youth-team coaches. I'll be looking after you today." Anthony held out his hand. "I didn't expect you to be so tall. You didn't look it in the footage."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Anthony drove them to the training ground.
Auxerre's training base was called the Berrou Stadium Training Center, right beside their home ground, Stade Abbé-Deschamps.
"Who's handling the trial today?" Jonathan asked.
"Head coach Fernandez is taking charge himself," Anthony said. "He rarely handles trialists personally. He specifically adjusted the training schedule today. You're in luck."
Zhang Kuang caught the unspoken message-the opportunity was his; whether he seized it was up to him.
At ten past eight, Zhang Kuang and the others arrived at the training ground.
Anthony took him into the away dressing room and pointed to a locker in the corner. "Your kit's in there. Once you're changed, head straight out to the training pitch. The coaching staff will be waiting."
Zhang Kuang opened the locker. Inside was a brand-new training kit-Auxerre's white home training shirt and blue shorts. The size was just right. Clearly, the club had done its homework.
After changing, Zhang Kuang looked at himself in the mirror.
His body, transformed by the Dragon-Tiger Pill, filled out the kit perfectly: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, muscle definition faintly visible beneath the fabric. He took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and stepped outside.
Eight thirty, on the training pitch.
The first-team players were warming up under assistant coach Stéphane Eric. As Zhang Kuang walked onto the pitch, more than a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him at once.
Head coach Jean Fernandez stood on the touchline with a clipboard in hand. He had short gray hair, deep nasolabial folds, and a sharp gaze. He looked Zhang Kuang up and down without any real change in expression.
"You're Zhang Kuang?"
"Yes."
"I've read your profile." Fernandez got straight to the point. "A striker rating of 79, eighteen years old, a China U20 international. Very impressive on paper, but I need to see it for myself."
"Understood."
Fernandez nodded and gestured toward the pitch with his chin. "Go warm up. You'll join the practice match in fifteen minutes. Wear a green bib. You're with the reserves."
Without saying anything more, Zhang Kuang stepped onto the pitch and began jogging.
He noticed several players among the starters sizing him up. Ireneusz Jelen-the team's leading scorer-stood with his hands on his hips, watching him with an appraising look.
Dennis Oliech-the other starting striker-curled his lip slightly, then turned and said something to a teammate beside him.
Zhang Kuang paid it no mind.
He was here to take a place, not make friends.
At eight forty-five, Fernandez blew his whistle.
"Today's practice match will be two full thirty-minute halves." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clearly enunciated. "Starters in orange bibs, reserves in green."
The starters fielded the team's strongest lineup: Sorin in goal, a back line led by captain Hengbart, Pedretti orchestrating the midfield, and a front three of Jelen, Oliech, and Sammaritano.
The reserves were much weaker, mostly rotation players and youngsters promoted from the youth teams. Zhang Kuang was placed up front alongside a young player named Le Roy.
Fernandez stood on the touchline and started his stopwatch.
"Begin!"
The starters kicked off and, after a few passes, had the ball firmly under their control. The reserves were pinned back in their own half.
For the first five minutes, Zhang Kuang barely touched the ball.
He roamed up front, constantly changing position, trying to find space to receive a pass. But the starters were pressing high as a unit, their defensive line pushed almost up to the center circle, and the reserves' midfield simply couldn't hold on to the ball.
In the sixth minute, an opportunity came.
Reserve midfielder Oliech won the ball in his own half and glanced up. Zhang Kuang had already dropped back to offer an outlet. Without hesitation, Oliech passed straight to him.
The ball was still in the air when Zhang Kuang felt someone press up against him from behind.
It was Grichting, the starters' center-back: 188 centimeters tall, weighing 84 kilograms, and widely recognized as one of the team's strongest defenders.
Grichting was highly experienced. Rather than rashly lunging in, he pressed his body firmly against Zhang Kuang, trying to prevent him from receiving the ball comfortably.
"Come on, Chinaman. Let's see what you're made of," Grichting said quietly.
Zhang Kuang ignored him.
The instant he received the ball, he braced his left shoulder against Grichting's chest while cushioning the ball with the outside of his right foot. It settled securely in front of him as though glued to his boot.
The whole sequence took only a fraction of a second, but Grichting felt tremendous force surge through Zhang Kuang's shoulder-so much force that he involuntarily staggered back a step.
That single step was enough for Zhang Kuang to slip past him.
"What?!" By the time Grichting regained his balance and turned to chase, Zhang Kuang had already driven three or four meters forward with the ball.
He chased desperately, but Zhang Kuang was far faster. He stuck out a foot to try to tackle, only for Zhang Kuang to slip the ball out to a teammate advancing down the flank first, then keep sprinting forward.
One full physical contest, and Grichting had lost completely.
On the touchline, Fernandez's pen paused over his clipboard before drawing a line.
Assistant coach Stéphane leaned closer and said quietly, "He muscled Grichting aside. Very strong in physical challenges. That's an ability a top-class center-forward possesses."
Fernandez didn't reply, but his gaze was already locked on Zhang Kuang.
In the tenth minute, the reserves launched a counterattack.
A long ball from the back went straight toward Zhang Kuang, hanging high in the air. With Zhang Kuang's back to goal, Grichting pressed up against him again.
This time, Grichting had learned his lesson. He gave Zhang Kuang no room to turn, driving forward with the full force of his body to try to push him away from where the ball would land.
But Zhang Kuang didn't budge an inch.
He cushioned the airborne ball with his chest while holding Grichting off with his left arm, forcibly shielding it in front of him. The instant it landed, instead of trapping it, Zhang Kuang backheeled it straight into the space behind him-a beautiful no-look pass!
Le Roy galloped onto it, but his hurried shot hit the side netting.
Although they hadn't scored, the attack put the starters' defense fully on alert-this Chinese player wasn't here to go through the motions. He meant business.
Grichting stood behind Zhang Kuang, breathing heavily, something more in his eyes. It wasn't that he knew nothing about Chinese players, but his impression was that they were the "decent technique, average physique" type. Yet the one in front of him...
He looked down at his chest, reddened by the collision.
This was fucking "average"?
On the touchline, technical director Christian Hengbart came out of his office and leaned against the railing, watching from a distance.
What surprised Zhang Kuang was that the starters still hadn't scored after ten minutes against the reserves. They really were short of strikers who could score.
In the fifteenth minute, the reserves won a free kick in the attacking half.
Oliech stood over the ball while Zhang Kuang squeezed into the crowd in the penalty area. The starters' center-back Mignot was assigned to mark him. At 186 centimeters, Mignot was strong in aerial duels and the team's first choice for defending set pieces.
This kid's probably nothing special with his head, right? Mignot told himself for encouragement.
The free kick was taken, the ball tracing an arc into the penalty area.
Zhang Kuang jumped from the edge of the six-yard box.
Mignot jumped with him. He had secured his position and even discreetly braced his elbow against Zhang Kuang's waist-a little defensive trick center-backs often used, difficult for referees to spot.
But his elbow found empty air.
Zhang Kuang rose far higher than he had expected. The spring-loaded explosiveness of those legs carried his waist straight above Mignot's elbow, leaving him half a head higher than Mignot in the air.
Zhang Kuang sharply contracted his core, meeting the ball squarely with his forehead. The ball slammed into the ground and bounced straight toward the bottom-right corner-
The starters' goalkeeper Sorin reacted extremely quickly, diving sideways to push it behind for a corner? No, the ball struck the post and bounced in.
1-0