Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

Rain dripped down the net in Westphalia, and the ball spun around at the bottom of the net.

The huge cheers shook the stadium roof so much that water droplets fell from it.

As Sun Yang watched the goal, a fire ignited within him.

He turned to face the south stand and sprinted towards it.

The shoe spikes kicked up patches of mud and water.

With just over ten meters to go, Sun Yang immediately knelt down. Using the water accumulated on the grass, he slid forward.

Two deep furrows were plowed into the turf, splashing mud and water to both sides. He slid for a good eight or nine meters before stopping directly below the south grandstand.

He tilted his head back, opened his arms, and let the heavy rain pelt his face.

This is his Westfall!

Haaland ran like a bull in heat, sprinting all the way from the center circle. He then fell to his knees, his massive body sliding a long way through the mud before crashing heavily into Sun Yang's shoulder.

"Fuck! Sun! You're a monster! All the goalkeepers in Europe are going to wet their pants from your kicks!" The Norwegian giant laughed as he vigorously ruffled Sun Yang's mud-covered hair with his large hands.

Reus arrived, Hummels arrived, and even goalkeeper Bürki rushed across most of the field.

Dortmund's key players lined up neatly below the south stand. They all mimicked Sun Yang, sliding their knees to their knees, leaving long muddy trails on the grass.

On the bench, Götze led a group of substitutes to rush off the field, directly pinning Sun Yang to the bottom and piling him up like a human pyramid.

On the sidelines, Favre held his head in his hands. The tactical mastermind didn't even care that his suit was wrinkled and his tie was crooked, and he turned to shout at assistant coach Terčić.

"Edin! Did you see it clearly? Where did you start? How far away are you?" Favre's voice trembled in the rain.

Terzic held the tablet computer, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

"Boss, back two meters from the center circle! A full sixty meters! Against a gale-force wind, without any ball cushioning, a perfect dipping shot from a standing position! Physics doesn't exist here today!"

The two exchanged a glance, both seeing in each other the fervor of having unearthed an extraordinary treasure.

In comparison, Union Berlin's coaching bench looked like hell on earth.

Manager Fisher slumped in his chair. His eyes were glazed over as he stared at the jubilant corner flag area, unable to utter a single word for a long time.

The assistant coach came over to offer a towel, but Fisher pushed him away.

"It's over, it's all over. This ball has completely shattered the mentality of these young people." He muttered, his messy hair plastered to his forehead, his face full of despair.

Inside the penalty area, Union Berlin goalkeeper Gikiewicz was still lying in the mud near the penalty spot. He didn't even have the strength to get up, and defender Friedrich ran over and reached out to help him up.

"Get up, Rafa, the game isn't over yet."

Gikiewicz slapped his teammate's hand away and buried his face in the grass.

"Leave me alone, let me die here. Tomorrow's sports headlines will all be about me, this game will be replayed fifty years ago! I'd rather go home and grow potatoes." He desperately pounded on the puddles, mud splattering all over his face.

The cheers from Westphalia grew louder and louder, and beer rained down from the stands.

Just then, a wondrous natural phenomenon occurred.

The torrential rain and gale that had raged for nearly half an hour stopped without warning. A large crack appeared in the middle of the dark, black clouds.

A beam of bright sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone directly onto the grass of the field.

The beam of light moved slowly along the grass and stopped right below the south grandstand.

The Dortmund players all stood up.

Sun Yang walked at the front. He brushed aside the messy hair sticking to his forehead, wiped the mud off his face, and looked up at the sky.

The ray of sunlight fell squarely on Sun Yang, completely enveloping him. His yellow and black number 29 jersey shone brightly in the halo of light.

The rising water vapor, illuminated by the sunlight, formed a faint rainbow around him.

The die-hard fans in the front row of the south stand were stunned.

The chubby fan leader standing on the podium stared intently at the Chinese-American boy bathed in sunlight.

That was a war god who fought his way out of a desperate situation!

The fat man, in his rough, hoarse voice, began to hum a melody. It was an old song etched into the very bones of Europeans.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."

(You are my sunshine, my only sunshine)

At first, only the fat leader and a dozen or so people around him were singing.

Three seconds later, all 25,000 people in the die-hard supporters' stand followed suit.

Ten seconds later. At the entire Westfalenstadion, 80,000 Borussia Dortmund fans spontaneously rose to their feet. There was no organization, no large screen displaying lyrics. Everyone clapped in unison and sang at the top of their lungs.

"You make me happy when skies are gray..."

(You make me happy when the sky is gray)

"You'll never know dear, how much I love you..."

(You'll never know how much I love you)

The song soared into the sky, scattering the last few dark clouds.

Sun Yang stood rooted to the spot. His heart felt as if it had been struck by a heavy hammer.

The humiliation of having his leg broken, the frustration of being scorned and mocked, and the despair of struggling in pain were all completely washed away by the singing of these 80,000 people at this moment!

His eyes welled up with tears, and he clenched his fists tightly, pounding the team emblem on his left chest.

"Come on! This is my home turf!" Sun Yang raised his head and roared into the sunlight.

He bowed deeply toward the south stand, raised his right arm, and pointed his index finger straight to the sky.

The fans responded with even more frenzied roars, and the entire stadium was completely engulfed!

The television signal broadcast this scene all over the world.

At the center of the image is the back view of the Chinese-American boy standing in the sunlight.

On the other side of the world in China, late-night barbecue stalls and bars are completely out of control.

Countless shirtless men smashed beer bottles, sending beer foam flying everywhere.

"Awesome! That's all I can say!"

"That's impressive! Eighty thousand Germans singing for us Chinese guys! Who's ever received such treatment?"

In the CCTV studio, Duan Xuan completely lost control. He shoved aside his script, loosened his tie, and shouted into the microphone.

"A perfect replica! This is a legacy spanning twenty-three years!"

"In 1996, David Beckham, the English heartthrob who scored a half-court lob under the Wimbledon sun, cemented his status as a one-goal legend with that single shot. Today, amidst the stormy weather in Dortmund, Sun Yang has given the same answer!"

Tao Wei, standing beside him, adjusted his glasses, his voice trembling with excitement.

"Duan Xuan, we need to consider the quality of this goal. Beckham's game was played on a sunny day with dry grass and stable winds. What kind of environment is Sun Yang facing today?"

Tao Wei gestured as he pointed to the playback footage.

"The 70-meter sprint defense has just ended! My lungs are about to explode. It's pouring rain, and there's a level 6 or 7 westerly wind! In this state of extreme oxygen deprivation and exhaustion, he actually managed to hit a rainbow-colored ball with the instep of his right foot with an incredibly exaggerated parabola!"

"An insane sense of balance! A godlike anticipation of wind speed! This is our Chinese-born genius! The undisputed midfield maestro of Dortmund!"

The scene shifts to an apartment in London.

Sun Yang's mother, Diana, jumped up from the sofa and slammed the cushion she was holding against the wall.

"Oh my God! My son is a god on the field! Henry, did you see that? That's your nephew!" This usually aloof and strong woman jumped up and down with tears in her eyes.

Uncle Henry, holding his coffee cup, was so trembling that he didn't even notice the coffee spilling onto his crotch. He stared blankly at his nephew's back on the screen, repeating only one word to himself.

"They've gone mad...they've all gone mad..."

On the other side, Sun Wu, the father, covered his face, his shoulders twitching violently. It was a burst of ecstasy that had been suppressed for too long.

"Honey, Yangyang made it through. He's really made something of himself."

The scene cuts back to the stadium.

Union Berlin restarted play from the center circle. These players, who are known for their iron will, are now experiencing cramps in their calves.

The defenders, when they received the ball, didn't even dare to lift their heads, afraid of taking another glance at that number 29 devil on the other side.

A short pass with no difficulty. The Berlin midfielder's footwork was severely off, and the ball rolled directly out of bounds.

The ball was out of bounds, and the opponent was completely disoriented.