After Zhang Kuang and the referee walked away, Fofana came over, and the corner of Digard's eye twitched.
"Mate, that guy's hard to deal with. I'm on a yellow now, so I can't really go after him."
Well now, Digard was letting a fellow Daoist die rather than dying himself. He had suffered and kept quiet about it, wanting Fefana to get a taste too?
In the twenty-fifth minute, Fofana slammed into Zhang Kuang from behind as he received the ball, making him stagger. The referee gave nothing. Zhang Kuang chased after him to jockey for position. He reached out to block Fofana, but very quickly jabbed him with a knuckle. Fofana cried out, clutching his chest in pain.
The referee blew his whistle and ran over to ask what had happened.
"I don't know. We were just jockeying for position normally like this, and then he went down screaming in pain. I think Nice's players are really good actors. Feels like they graduated from the La Masia Film and Television Academy."
The referee almost laughed at that, but Fofana would have none of it. He lifted his shirt to show the referee where Zhang Kuang had attacked him.
"Ref, he hit me in the chest. Look..."
"Look at what? It isn't even red. There isn't a mark on you, just clean, unblemished skin, and you're telling me he attacked you? Want to get an ultrasound to prove it?"
Fofana froze for a moment, then suddenly thought of something.
"He must have used some sneaky method. He did the same thing to Digard just now. Digard, come here. Didn't this Chinese guy attack you just now?"
Digard lifted his shirt. "No, he didn't attack me."
Fofana: "..."
He looked at Digard in astonishment, unable to understand why Digard wouldn't report this damned Chinese guy.
The referee said, "I'm warning you. Try any more tricks and I'll book you."
The referee raised his whistle and blew it, signaling for play to resume. The Auxerre teammates who had just run over were back in action before they could even curse and ask what had happened.
"Still want to play? I'll play you to death." He raised a hand as though wiping away sweat, covering his lips as he asked Fofana quietly in French.
Fofana froze. He wanted to expose Zhang Kuang, but then felt a pain at his waist. When he slapped at it, there was nothing there.
Now there was fear in his eyes as he looked at Zhang Kuang. No wonder Digard hadn't dared say anything.
Pedretti noticed that Zhang Kuang was still tangled up with Fofana and shouted from midfield, "Zhang! Drop back! Don't keep battling them head-on!"
Zhang Kuang glanced back at his captain and nodded. He stopped staying at the very front of the attack and began dropping back toward midfield to receive the ball.
The twenty-seventh minute.
Pedretti had the ball in his own half. Digard stuck to him like stubborn taffy; he no longer dared mark Zhang Kuang closely.
Pedretti shielded the ball at his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Zhang Kuang dropping back from the edge of the penalty arc, shook off Digard, and flicked his right foot.
Pedretti passed the ball over.
Zhang Kuang received it with his back to goal. Fofana hesitated, then immediately pressed close.
This wasn't Zhang Kuang's first time receiving with his back to goal, but this time he didn't choose to muscle through. Instead, he knocked the ball with his left foot and turned right with the motion-sending the ball one way and going the other!
Fofana was wrong-footed and reached for Zhang Kuang's shirt, but grabbed nothing but air.
"Zhang Kuang receives with his back to goal! Beautifully done, ball one way, man the other! He's shaken off Fofana!" In the commentary booth at Allianz Riviera Stadium, the voice of French television's sports channel commentator Jean-Christophe Bart rang out again. He had also commentated on Auxerre's match in the previous round, and today he was once again a guest commentator for this game.
Zhang Kuang carried the ball forward as Nice's defensive line retreated rapidly. Nice's two center backs, Mbiwa and Oye, positioned themselves one ahead of the other, one stepping up and the other covering, working smoothly together.
Zhang Kuang looked up at the goal-roughly thirty meters away, three strides outside the penalty arc.
Shoot from here? No way, right? Mbiwa thought.
Zhang Kuang raised his right foot.
Mbiwa instinctively stuck out a foot to block-but he was still at least two meters from Zhang Kuang and couldn't possibly reach it.
Bang-
Even the spectators in the stadium's highest tier heard the sound of that shot clearly.
The ball flew over Mbiwa's head, curling slightly inward as it rocketed toward the top-left corner.
Nice goalkeeper Ulrich Ramé was an experienced keeper who had played more than a dozen seasons in Ligue 1 and saved countless worldies. But the time between this shot leaving the boot and hitting the net was so short that he couldn't complete his save.
He dived sideways and got his fingertips to the ball, but there was too much power behind it.
The ball struck the underside of the crossbar and bounced into the goal.
1-0.
"GOOOOOOOOOAL-" Bart's voice cracked in the commentary booth. "Zhang Kuang! Zhang Kuang again! A worldie! From over thirty meters, a direct long-range strike without taking a touch! The ball was too fast! Ramé made the save attempt, but it was just too fast. He couldn't stop it!"
After landing, Zhang Kuang turned and sprinted toward the corner flag.
He pushed off with both legs, leaped, then turned and swept both hands downward-
"Siu--!"
This time, he roared even louder than in the previous round.
"Boo!"
A tremendous chorus of boos immediately rose from the thirty-five thousand fans at Allianz Riviera Stadium.
Some of the Auxerre fans among them shouted "Siu" along with him, while everyone on Auxerre's bench ran out cheering loudly. Head coach Fernandez excitedly pumped his fists twice, then embraced his assistant coach.
The Auxerre players on the pitch quickly ran to the corner flag to hug Zhang Kuang. The stink of their sweat nearly made him vomit. Fortunately, he was an immortal cultivator and immediately held his breath, so he could no longer smell it.
"That shot..." Dugarry studied the information on the monitor in the commentary booth. "The speed? Not up yet? There it is-128 kilometers per hour!"
"128 kilometers per hour." Bart repeated the number. "His volley last round was 119. Today's shot was another nine kilometers per hour faster!"
Dugarry shook his head. "He's no ordinary newcomer. I've seen very few players in Ligue 1 with that kind of shooting power. Lisandro López is one, Bastos is another, and Niang can just about manage it too.
"But they're stars who have been established for years, while Zhang Kuang is only eighteen. This Chinese player looks slight, but he's very strong. I haven't seen him come off worse in physical battles with Nice's powerful defenders."
"Yes, he's a formidable heavy gunner, and he hasn't even shown his excellent heading yet. Nice need to be careful, and so do the other Ligue 1 teams. Chinese Zhang isn't just an outstanding finisher, he's formidable in physical contests too. He might be impossible to stop."
"Yes..."
On the touchline, Nice head coach Ollé Nicolle held his head in both hands, his expression spelling out, "This makes no fucking sense."
Before the match, he had spent a full forty minutes laying out defensive tactics: use two holding midfielders to smother Pedretti, pull the defensive line in to counter Zhang Kuang's runs, and have the wide players drop back to limit crosses from Oliech and Birsa... He had thought he had considered every possibility.
Yet this Chinese guy didn't even need crosses. He wasn't dropping into the penalty area to receive the ball anymore; he simply dropped back thirty meters out and settled things with a long-range shot.
How were they supposed to defend that? They had conceded in the seventeenth minute of the first half-were they supposed to keep playing for the remaining seventy-three minutes?
Nicolle walked to the touchline and shouted at his players, "Don't panic! Mark him! Don't give him room to shoot again!"
But even as he said it, he knew how difficult that would be.
What did denying him room to shoot mean?
It meant Nice's holding midfielders had to stick close to Zhang Kuang the entire time, never giving him a chance to receive facing goal.
But Zhang Kuang's movement was now extremely elusive-one moment dropping into midfield, the next drifting wide, then suddenly bursting forward.
Nice's midfielders simply couldn't stay close to him at all times, because he was too fast, too strong, and could run too much.
Even when they got close, Zhang Kuang could hold them off with his body, then use his strength to force enough space for a shot.
That was what having physicality above 90 and long shots above 90 meant-you didn't need to be inside the box to score. Give you a body's width of space, and you could hammer the ball into the net.
The thirty-first minute.
Zhang Kuang dropped back near the penalty arc to receive again. This time, Nice's two holding midfielders reacted extremely quickly, Digard and Fofana converging on him together and leaving him no room to turn.
Zhang Kuang didn't force it.
He tapped the ball sideways with his left foot to Birsa, who was advancing down the flank, then broke free of his markers and charged into the box.
Birsa delivered a first-time cross toward the far post without stopping the ball.
Zhang Kuang jumped from the edge of the six-yard box.
Mbiwa jumped with him, but his leap was a full head lower than Zhang Kuang's.
"Another header! But this time the keeper saves it-a corner!"
Ramé flung himself through the air and tipped the ball over the bar, averting the danger.
After landing, Zhang Kuang showed no disappointment. He turned and walked toward the corner flag, waiting for Birsa to come over and take the corner.
Birsa picked up the ball and ran over, glancing at Zhang Kuang. "Your spot again."
"Yeah."
Birsa nodded, stepped back a few paces, took a deep breath, ran up, and curled an inswinger with the inside of his right foot. The ball flew toward the penalty spot.
Zhang Kuang muscled through the double pressure from Mbiwa and Oye and glanced a header toward goal. Unfortunately, it was too high, skimming over the crossbar. Nice's fans and players broke out in a cold sweat. Zhang Kuang posed far too great a threat.
"Fofana, Digard, what are you two doing? Stay tight to him, stay tight! Remember our tactics!" Nice's head coach shouted.
Fofana and Digard wore strange expressions, uglier than tears, but they had no choice and moved over to mark Zhang Kuang closely.
After that, however, Auxerre had no real chances. The first half soon ended with the score at 1-0.