So what if I'm just strolling around the field? My shots are guaranteed to go in.

At the moment the final whistle blew, Atletico Madrid's team anthem did not play as usual at Calderón.

Fifty-four thousand people are leaving in a silent and humiliating manner.

They lowered their heads, stuffed their red and white scarves into their pockets, and stomped on the plastic refueling sticks under their feet, surging out of the stands like a tide.

The giant tifo that had been so arrogant before the match in the south stand—a cartoon depicting a gladiator stepping on an Asian face—had a long tear in it and was now swaying helplessly in the November night wind.

Only four thousand Real Madrid fans remained in their seats.

Their hoarse voices could no longer produce complete songs, but their mouths were still moving, their fists were still waving in the air, and tears were still streaming down their cheeks.

Someone was holding up a makeshift signboard with the Spanish words scrawled on it in ballpoint pen: "Lin, eres nuestro rey." (Lin, you are our king.)

When Lin Fan was pulled out from the bottom of the crowd by his teammates, his number 10 jersey was torn crooked, his hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to his forehead, there was a bloodstain on the outside of his right leg from the grass, and the dark red mark on his right sock was a size larger than in the first half.

But his expression remained calm—exactly the same as when he walked into the stadium three hours earlier.

Cristiano Ronaldo put a hand on his shoulder and gave a thumbs-up to the away fans.

Ramos put his arm around Lin Fan's waist from the other side, pointed at Lin Fan, and shouted a sentence in Spanish to the Real Madrid fans in the stands. His voice was hoarse but full of energy: "Este es el puto amo del Calderón!" (That's the bastard owner of Calderón!)

The four thousand men used their last strength to let out a roar.

That evening, thousands of Real Madrid fans gathered in Plaza Mayor in downtown Madrid to celebrate.

They sang songs, waved scarves, and someone climbed up the Philip III statue in the center of the square and tied a Real Madrid flag to the statue's wrist.

Riot police on horseback maintained order outside the square, but did not disperse the crowd—a scene they had seen many times before, which occurred every year after the derby.

This time, however, the name that fans repeatedly chanted was not Cristiano Ronaldo, nor Ramos, but a Chinese name with only two syllables.

Lin Fen. Lin Fen. Lin Fen.

This unfamiliar combination of syllables was repeatedly chewed over by thousands of hoarse voices under the November night sky in Madrid, as if practicing a new language.

The next day, Marca abandoned the text headline on its front page.

The entire page featured a huge photo of Lin Fan turning to face the south stand and making a "shh" gesture after scoring his third goal.

The lighting in the photo is just right—Lin Fan's white jersey shimmers softly under the lights of Calderon, while the torn tifo in the South Stand in the background flutters miserably in the night wind.

Below the photo was only one line of bold Spanish words: "Y EL CALDERóN SE ARRODILLó." (So Calderón knelt down.)

The entire interior devoted six pages to reporting on the match. The first commentary was titled "History Ends at Calderon":

"The last season at the Calderón Stadium, the last Madrid derby. On October 2, 1966, in the stadium's first official match, Atlético Madrid defeated Valencia 1-0. Fifty-one years later, in its final Madrid derby, a nineteen-year-old Chinese boy wrote the most cruel farewell to this soon-to-disappear stadium with three goals and an assist. Simeone did not attend the post-match press conference—he was banned by UEFA from entering any area outside the locker room because he made an inappropriate gesture to the fourth official in the second half. But even if he had attended, what could he have said? His team scored three goals at home, took the lead three times, were pegged back three times, and finally lost 3-5. What can a coach say about such a match? 'We did very well, it's just that the other team had a player from another planet'?"

The second commentary's title is even more direct: "The Golden Globes, Do They Even Need to Be Discussed?"

"The voting deadline for the 2015 Ballon d'Or is December 15th. Today, there's less than a month left until the deadline. At this point, Lin Fan has delivered his stats for his thirteenth league match of the season: thirteen matches, seventeen goals, and twenty assists. Adding his five goals and seven assists in the Champions League, and his three goals and two assists in the Copa del Rey, he has nineteen appearances across all competitions this season, scoring twenty-five goals and providing twenty-nine assists. He's directly involved in fifty goals. And this number—fifty—was achieved with more than half the season remaining. If this isn't enough to win him the Ballon d'Or, then there's a fundamental problem with the Ballon d'Or voting criteria."

The cover of AS featured a more heartwarming photo: Cristiano Ronaldo lifted Lin Fan up after his third goal, the Portuguese star's face buried in Lin Fan's shoulder, his mouth open as if he were shouting something.

The cover title reads: "EL NIñO QUE SE HIZO REY." (The child who became king.)

The commentary inside the book reads: "The moment Ronaldo picked up Lin Fan, everyone was interpreting what the Portuguese player was saying. Some said he was shouting 'Ball of the Year,' some said he was shouting 'My brother,' and some said he was just roaring. We consulted lip-reading experts, and the conclusion was—Ronaldo shouted: 'Este es mi hijo!' (This is my son!) Thirty-year-old Ronaldo, at the Calderon, called a nineteen-year-old Chinese boy 'my son.' This title is not arrogance—in Real Madrid's dressing room culture, 'hijo' is the highest level of recognition a veteran can give to a newcomer. It means 'You are mine, I will protect you, I will pass on all my experience to you.' When Ronaldo was at Manchester United, Ferguson called him 'my son.' Now, Ronaldo has given the same title to Lin Fan. It's a kind of inheritance."

Mundo Deportivo—Barcelona's mouthpiece—completely abandoned its usual biting sarcasm this time. Their front-page headline consisted of a single word, printed in bold red and blue on a white background: "IMPARABLE." The article's opening paragraph read: "We once used harsh words to describe his debut, questioned his consistency, and predicted he would hit a rookie wall in some match. We were wrong. He didn't hit a wall—he smashed everything in his way. The Calderón, one of Europe's most formidable fortresses, became a sandcastle before him."

Henry Winteau, chief football correspondent for The Times of London, wrote a 3,000-word column titled "The Grass Was Soft: How Lin Fen Turned Football's Greatest Rivalries into His Personal Playground," quoting Lin Fen's post-match interview comment.

The article states: "While everyone was going crazy over his hat-trick, the first thing he said in the mixed zone after the match was about the turf. That's Lin Fan. A young man who maintains an almost superhuman calm and focus at all times. I've only seen this quality in two other people—Zidane at his peak, and Federer at his peak."

The French newspaper L'Équipe published a lengthy analysis the afternoon after the match, titled: "Balloon Award: The End of the Two-Man Show?" The article's introduction consisted of only one sentence: "Lin Fan has proven with match after match that he not only deserves to be in the top three for the Ballon d'Or—he deserves to win it."

In Germany, the cover of Kicker magazine featured the famous "shh" gesture by Lin Fan after scoring a goal at Calderon, but the background was changed to a silhouette of the Ballon d'Or trophy.

The title is: "Der Goldene Junge." (The Golden Boy.)

The article states: "The Golden Boy award is no longer enough to define him. He is now competing for the Ballon d'Or. A 19-year-old Chinese is challenging Messi and Ronaldo's nine-year monopoly on this honor. This is not just a football story—it's a story of the spirit of sports in a globalized era. It tells everyone that talent can be born anywhere, and as long as it shines bright enough, the eyes of the world will turn to it."

In Italy, the Italian newspaper Gazzetta dello Sport devoted a full page to Lin Fan's data charts for this season, alongside comparisons of Messi's and Ronaldo's data.

The chart is titled: "La Verità dei Numeri." (The Truth in Numbers.)

Numbers don't lie: Messi has 21 goals and 14 assists in 20 games, Ronaldo has 18 goals and 9 assists in 19 games, and Lin Fan has 25 goals and 29 assists in 19 games. Total goals directly involved: Lin Fan 50, Ronaldo 27, Messi 35.

The article concludes, "When you open your Ballon d'Or ballots, remember these numbers. Because the numbers don't care about nationality, tradition, or the implicit bias that 'football powerhouses should monopolize the Ballon d'Or.' The numbers only care about one thing—who did the most on the pitch."

Lin Fan became a phenomenal celebrity in Madrid.

Not just recognized on the pitch – but surrounded by fans anywhere in Madrid.

Fans started staking out his apartment building, and every morning when he went out to train, more than a dozen people would gather around him with their phones in hand.

When he goes to the supermarket to buy water, the cashier gets so nervous that her hands tremble.

He passed by a Chinese restaurant, and the owner chased after him and gave him a free bowl of noodles, saying in heavily accented Qingtian Mandarin, "You are the pride of all Chinese people."

One day, he saw an old man outside the fence at the entrance of the Valdebebas training base.

The old man was wearing a faded Real Madrid jersey with the number 10 on the back.

It wasn't Lin Fan's number ten—it was Puskás's number ten.

It's a style from the 1960s, made of cotton, and the collar is already showing frayed threads.

The old man held up a piece of cardboard with two words written on it in crooked Chinese: "Thank you."

Lin Fan stopped the car and rolled down the window.

The old man spoke a sentence in Spanish, his voice trembling but every word was spoken with great force.

"Yo vi a Puskás. Yo vi a Zidane. Ahora te vi a ti. Ya me puedo morir tranquilo." (I've seen Puskás. I've seen Zidane. Now I've seen you. I can leave in peace.)

Lin Fan was silent for a few seconds, then pushed open the car door and got out.

He took off his training jacket and draped it over the old man, saying in broken Spanish, "No se muera todavía. Este año vamos a ganar la Champions." (Don't go yet. We're going to win the Champions League again this year.)

The old man cried.

The photograph made the front page of Marca the following day. The headline read: "La Clase de un Genio." (The quality of genius.)