The moment Zhang Kuang pushed open the dressing room door, Grichting caught him squarely with a spray of champagne.
"Fuck!" Zhang Kuang wiped the alcohol off his face and chased after Grichting, laughing. Grichting ran and shouted, "We're celebrating! You scored four goals-what's wrong with spraying you with a bottle of champagne?"
Mignot crouched in a corner, recording with a camcorder, the lens swaying as it swept over everyone in the dressing room. Pedretti sat on a bench with an ice pack on his knee. When the camera turned toward him, he waved it away. "Don't film me. I look too ugly right now."
"Our captain's always handsome!" Mignot called, then turned the camera toward Zhang Kuang.
Zhang Kuang stood in front of his locker, taking a dry towel out of his bag to wipe the champagne off his body. Mignot's camera swept upward over his body-broad shoulders, narrow waist, sharply defined abs.
"Hey, Zhang!" Mignot walked over, holding up his phone. "Say a few words to celebrate your first four-goal haul."
Facing the camera, Zhang Kuang said with perfect solemnity, "Thanks to God, thanks to the coach, thanks to my teammates, and thanks to everyone. Scoring four today was entirely down to everyone's support."
Grichting ambushed him from behind with another bottle of champagne.
While everyone was horsing around, captain Pedretti pulled a match ball out of his bag-the very ball from Zhang Kuang's four-goal haul-and tossed it to him. "Here, everyone's signed it. A souvenir of your first four-goal haul. Don't lose it."
Zhang Kuang caught the ball and looked at the signatures covering it, the corners of his mouth lifting unconsciously. This was his second signed match ball in Ligue 1.
Zhang Kuang sat down and took his phone out of his bag. When the screen lit up, he froze.
Unread messages: 247.
He opened his message list-Jonathan had sent nineteen, Marina six, and his chats with Aisha, Lina, and Matilda were all crowded at the top. There was also a long string of messages from unfamiliar numbers.
He opened one at random. The number had no saved name, and the message contained only one line: "Mr. Zhang Kuang, I'm a model signed with XX Modeling Agency. Height: 174 cm, measurements... I'd really love to get to know you. Here's my photo."
A selfie was attached below: blonde hair, blue eyes, a smoking-hot figure.
He swiped past it expressionlessly and opened the next one.
This one was even more outrageous. It opened with a nude photo, captioned: "I hear you can handle four in one night. I'd like to give you a challenge."
Zhang Kuang kept swiping.
Another message made him pause. "Zhang Kuang, I went to the same football school you attended. Do you remember me? It's all right if you don't. I've always remembered you. I'm really happy you've made it this far. Whatever people say about you, I'll always support you."
The message came from a number he had never saved a name for. He stared at it for several seconds, unable to remember who this person was, and ultimately left it unanswered.
"Looks like your public persona has completely collapsed." Pedretti had come over at some point and sat beside him, glancing at his phone screen.
Zhang Kuang locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket. "What public persona? The media made it up for me."
"True." Pedretti nodded. "But aren't you worried this stuff will affect your image?"
Zhang Kuang thought for a moment. "Anyone who minds wouldn't come looking for me in the first place. If they come looking, that means they don't mind. I can't turn myself into someone I'm not just to make everyone like me, can I?"
Pedretti looked at him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "You certainly take it in stride."
The dressing room door opened, and a club staff member leaned halfway inside. "Zhang, there are several reporters outside who want to interview you. Print journalists, not TV. Want to see them?"
Grichting shouted on his behalf, "No, no! He doesn't even have time for us. Where would he find time for reporters?"
Mignot joined in from the side. "Exactly! He's rushing back to Paris to see his cat. His cat hasn't eaten today!"
Zhang Kuang glared at Mignot, who pretended not to notice.
The staff member smiled and closed the door.
The post-match press conference took place in the press room at Keane Gérard Stadium.
Fernandez sat on the left, while Saint-Étienne's caretaker manager, Christophe Galtier, sat on the right, with three empty seats between them.
The first question went straight to the heart of the matter.
A reporter from L'Équipe stood up. "Mr. Fernandez, first of all, congratulations to Auxerre on this emphatic victory. How would you assess Zhang Kuang's performance today? Four goals, including two worldies-do you consider this his normal level?"
Fernandez picked up his glass and took a sip of water, then said expressionlessly, "I told you, this is his normal level. You might not have believed me before. Do you believe me now?"
A ripple of quiet laughter rose from the audience.
"Do you think he can win this season's Ligue 1 Golden Boot?" another reporter asked.
"Why not?" Fernandez countered. "He already has nine league goals, only six behind the leader. There are sixteen rounds left. As long as he stays healthy, anything is possible."
"Speaking of his health," a Le Parisien reporter picked up the thread, "he was on the receiving end of a malicious tackle from Yoann during today's match. What is your opinion of that challenge? Is Zhang Kuang's injury serious?"
Fernandez's expression darkened.
He set his glass aside, folded his hands on the table, and looked directly at the reporter who had asked the question. "That challenge from Yoann-let me put it bluntly. That wasn't a tackle. That was a crime.
"When you show your studs, don't pull out, and go straight for your opponent's standing leg, your aim isn't to win the ball. It's to cripple someone."
His voice was not loud, but every word landed with ringing force. "Ligue 1 is one of the top five leagues, a stage for world-class football. If every talented player who comes here gets crippled by this kind of savage foul, what promising player will dare come to Ligue 1 in the future?
"I hope the France Football Federation delivers a fair punishment. Failing to punish a challenge like this severely would damage the image of the entire league."
"As for Zhang Kuang's injury," Fernandez's tone softened slightly, "the team doctor performed a preliminary examination after the match. It's mainly bruising, with no damage to the bones or ligaments.
"He'll undergo a more detailed examination once we return to Auxerre, but as things stand, it won't affect his availability for the next match."
A low murmur spread through the reporters.
The next question came quickly, with an unmistakably provocative edge.
"Mr. Fernandez," a reporter wearing black-framed glasses stood up, "during his post-match interview today, Zhang Kuang admitted to 'taking four women away to spend the night' at a party a few days ago.
"As his manager, what do you think of a player having this kind of private life? Aren't you concerned it will affect his career?"
Fernandez stared at the reporter for several seconds, then smiled.
"I'm fifty-seven this year. I've spent most of my life in this business. What kind of player haven't I seen? Heavy drinkers, gamblers, fighters, players who stay out all night... I've seen far too many young men squander their talent on their private lives."
He paused.
"But Zhang Kuang is different. I don't care what time he goes to bed, who he's with, or what he does-I look at his performances on the training ground and his numbers on the pitch.
"Since he arrived, he hasn't been late for a single training session, failed a single fitness test, or gone a single match without scoring. His form hasn't declined. On the contrary, it keeps improving.
"Under those circumstances, what right do I have to interfere in his private life?"
Some reporters in the audience could not help laughing aloud.
Fernandez continued, "Young people have plenty of energy and are curious about sex. There's nothing shameful about that. Never mind football-look at entertainment, the arts, politics. Which of those circles doesn't have things like this?
"It's just that players are public figures, so these things tend to get magnified. Zhang Kuang is only eighteen. As long as he doesn't break the law or let it affect training and matches, I won't interfere in his private life."
Beside him, Saint-Étienne caretaker manager Christophe Galtier remained expressionless throughout.
He waited until Fernandez had finished speaking, and only began slowly when a reporter asked for his view of Yoann's tackle.
"First, I regret Yoann's tackle." Galtier's voice was low and restrained. "That was not a normal defensive challenge, and I won't defend him on that point.
"But I believe the public should understand that a defender losing control emotionally after the same player has scored four goals against him in succession is understandable. He wasn't deliberately trying to cripple his opponent. He simply wanted to stop him too badly."
"You don't think he should be severely punished?" the reporter pressed.
"I didn't say he shouldn't be severely punished." Galtier's tone grew somewhat stiff. "I'm simply saying that the circumstances of the match and the player's psychological state at the time should be considered before a punishment is decided.
"Besides, Yoann also suffered a serious injury in this incident-his ankle was severely deformed after Zhang Kuang stepped on it. According to the hospital's latest diagnosis, he has torn ankle ligaments and will be sidelined for at least four weeks."
When a reporter put the same question to Fernandez, the veteran manager's answer was even more direct. "I'm sorry Yoann was injured, but he brought it on himself. If you don't make a malicious tackle, you won't lose your balance, and you won't get stepped on. The cause and effect are perfectly clear. I don't need to say anything more."
Galtier's expression darkened.
The next question targeted Zhang Kuang's private life directly.
"Mr. Galtier, what is your opinion of Zhang Kuang's private life?"
Galtier took a deep breath. "I believe that a professional player should exercise restraint in his conduct. You're a role model for young people on the pitch, and you must shoulder the corresponding social responsibility off it as well.
"A chaotic private life and irresponsible remarks-these drag the entire football world's name through the mud."
Fernandez did not immediately challenge him. Only after Galtier finished did he add mildly, "I'll keep my players in line, and I would ask Mr. Galtier to keep his own players in line as well. At least my players don't make malicious tackles on the pitch. That much I can guarantee."
The air in the press room abruptly froze.
Galtier's face went from red to white. His lips moved several times, but in the end, he said nothing.