52. Freely Wandering Through Dreams

There are those who say that football's status as the world's most popular sport comes down to two key factors: the incredible variety of play on the field, and the remarkable simplicity in determining victory or defeat.

Simplicity, because the rules are so straightforward—a team wins by propelling the ball into the opponent’s goal using any part of the body except the hands. Even the offside rule, one of the few restrictions, hardly needs to be explained. The scoreboard is direct and easy to read—unlike tennis, with its bewildering fifteen, thirty, and tiebreak calculations. But football’s complexity emerges in its tactical formations, possibly rivaling the intricacies of Go. With over twenty players in constant motion, if you tried to calculate every detail of local numerical superiority, you’d need a computer.

Anyone unfamiliar with the game can get swept up watching with a friend in just a minute, even if it takes years to truly grasp the formations. The thrill of victory and defeat is easy enough to follow. For instance, when the Blue Wind team is constantly under siege, the excitement is palpable—even girls with no knowledge of the game will scream as the action hovers around their goal. The direction of play, the ebb and flow, is clear to see.

This was precisely what stunned the raucous crowd from the Medical University and its affiliated hospital. They had expected their formidable First Affiliated Hospital staff team to dominate, yet from the start, they found themselves pressed relentlessly by a supposedly unremarkable opponent, rarely advancing past the halfway line.

All eleven of their players seemed hunkered down in their own half, dutifully sticking to their positions in a rather dull display. A few students who understood the basics of football, seated high in the stands, could make out the formation: “Oh, a textbook 4-4-2! But isn’t this a bit too textbook?”

Formations are always counted from defense to attack, not including the goalkeeper. So a 4-4-2 means four defenders, four midfielders, and two forwards. Once alerted to this, any spectator could see it: three neat lines of players, not perfectly straight but impressively orderly—moving forward or falling back in unison, like a military parade. The captain, known as Enzyme, stood on the defensive line barking out formation cues, and everyone kept glancing side to side, maintaining their alignment as if marching.

It was a formation reminiscent of a battle array, a far cry from the usual mad scramble of amateur football. No matter how the opposition attacked, the line that the ball reached would take over, each player minding their own zone, quickly intercepting and passing the ball away from danger with just a few touches. It was somewhat rigid, but when the opposition wasn’t particularly strong, this overemphasis on formation felt almost like mockery. The opposing midfielders and forwards found themselves caught in a net—every area was guarded, and with everyone packed into their own half, it was hard to find space. At this amateur level, stringing together three or five passes was good enough; as soon as the ball was lost, it was the First Affiliated’s again. Yet their young medics didn’t rush the attack either—calmly advancing as a unit until the halfway line, then leaving it to the two forwards to improvise, often to be intercepted and forced back.

So the match took on this strange rhythm. The college students sensed what was happening: First Affiliated were clearly drilling their formation, controlling the game without pressing for goals. The visiting supporters, less attuned to such nuances, thought their team was dominating and cheered enthusiastically—some girls’ shrieks were particularly noticeable.

Bai Haonan, hands folded behind his back, overheard them and glanced over, only to note that the visiting nurses were a far cry from those at his own hospital. Having recently compared them with the flight attendants from the Aviation Academy—tall and slender, all cut from the same mold—he concluded that while each had its charms, the nurses at First Affiliated were more interesting. Besides, nurses, like flight attendants, benefited from the allure of a uniform—some even ranked nurses higher. Just as this thought crossed his mind, he spotted Guo Xiaoxiao in her police uniform at the edge of the stands.

Now that, he mused, was the ultimate in uniform appeal—if only he could look, not touch. Bai Haonan quickly redirected his gaze.

As he’d observed in recent days, most amateur teams had perhaps two or three players at sports school level; the majority were just enthusiasts, with little formal training and no real concept of conserving energy logically. By the fifteen-minute mark, the players who’d been sprinting earlier were now panting, some already bending over with hands on knees, tongues lolling.

Enzyme, the captain, seemed to notice this, occasionally glancing at the coach. Bai Haonan stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, unmoved. The captain kept shouting for the formation to hold, and the team continued their nearly pure defense.

This was, in fact, a test of the team’s discipline—a question of whether they trusted the coach’s instructions as soldiers trust a general, focusing unwaveringly on their narrow field of responsibility.

This is the beauty of football: it’s a collective sport, the one most akin to real warfare.

But Bai Haonan’s charade didn’t last long. After two or three more minutes, using his unique method of observation, he determined that most of the opposition was right on the brink of physical exhaustion. Suddenly, he gave a wave of his hand toward the pitch.

Many of the university boys later said they’d never forget that wave. Some even caught it on video—though you couldn’t make out faces from a distance, the image of Bai Haonan in a baseball cap and a scruffy beard, waving his hand, was unmistakable. Immediately, Enzyme, the team’s academic leader in biotechnology, shouted out Wang Quanfeng’s nickname: “Old Nose! Switch to diamond!”

The central four in the 4-4-2 shifted from a flat line to a diamond: Wang Quanfeng surging forward, Old Song dropping back, the two others flanking as guardians. The four pressed up like an awl, driving the entire formation forward, the two forwards striding boldly toward the opponent’s box, forcing the defenders into a panicked retreat. Suddenly, six players were on the attack, with Enzyme leading the last line up to the halfway mark.

It was as if a command flag had been unfurled and the formation flowed like water—perhaps that’s what the phrase truly means. The First Affiliated team, in their dark Inter Milan kits, pivoted from defense to attack in an instant.

It was a surge, a tidal wave, all triggered by Bai Haonan’s gesture.

The defensive midfielder Old Song, handpicked by Bai Haonan, cleanly intercepted the ball from the opposing striker and, without hesitation, played it left to Old Hong. The left midfielder charged forward. The defenders, already exhausted, couldn’t hope to keep up with the sudden onslaught—they were utterly outpaced.

Who would have thought that an amateur team would so cunningly conserve energy for twenty minutes, lulling their opponents, then strike just as the professional’s inevitable thirty-minute fatigue hit?

The two previously lackadaisical forwards now moved with total freedom, even seeking out contact, striding forward with confidence after receiving the ball. The opposition scrambled to intercept, but the typical amateur collision—players unable to stop in time—played out as expected: a defender crumpled, while the forward, still in control, powered through and shot on goal.

For those who don’t understand football, the dullest thing is a half or full match with no goals. They miss the true intrigue of the back-and-forth struggle. But here, none of that patience was required.

From the moment Bai Haonan waved his hand, the forwards finished a neat three-pass sequence and put the ball in the net—first gasps from the stands, then a thunderous, jubilant uproar.

Not long after, with just a slight shift in rhythm but the same precise sequence—interception, passing, dribbling, the final ball, beating a man, shooting, scoring, celebration—the pattern repeated.

It was like running a medical experiment: once the theory was proven, the rest was cold, efficient, ruthless repetition—direct, effective, and merciless.

At halftime, the opposing players slumped in defeat. “I’m done… I just wanted to play a good game!” one moaned.

It was the helplessness of children faced with the overwhelming might of adults.