Chapter 2: Chelsea Cashes in on Other People’s Misfortune

Chelsea's notorious Israeli agent, Pini Zahavi—the man who makes a habit of turning other people's financial flops into his own playground—had long been a wanderer among European clubs. That is, until he met the Russian billionaire Abramovich, a man so eager to join the British aristocracy that he'd use the Premier League as his personal catwalk. Pini whipped up a grandiose plan for him—a plan to build a club as dazzling as Real Madrid's Galacticos.

But here's the kicker: neither the Stamford Bridge stadium near Hyde Park nor the "rusty warehouse" training ground by Heathrow could possibly serve as the proper stage for Abramovich's blockbuster ambitions. Not to worry, though—money wasn't an issue for Abramovich. He planned to snap up some prime land in the southern suburbs to build a five-star training complex, and of course, a brand-new stadium was next on the checklist. When an "unfinished" project north of Hyde Park—just a measly 4 kilometers from Stamford Bridge—landed on Chelsea's radar, it was like a siren call to all opportunists.

With Abramovich finalizing his Chelsea takeover and gearing up for a recruitment binge, Pini Zahavi saw his moment to shine brighter than a fresh set of trophies. Arriving at the Bayswater Chinese club, he didn't wait for Lin Zhongqiu to even mention the asking price. Instead, he dropped a bombshell offer: a psychological price of £5 million. "Break the bank, baby!" he practically declared.

At first, Lin Zhongqiu thought this might be a generous repayment for old debts. But as Pini continued with a smug smile, it became clear he wasn't about to budge—he had the Bayswater Chinese in his clutches. "I've done my homework," Pini sneered, "and it turns out you're short by at least a million pounds. Lucky for you, we're the only lifeline you've got in this crisis." He punctuated his pitch with a wink at his sidekick, Cash Harris—the City of London football trader whose resume spanned club deals, player transactions, and enough financial acrobatics to make an Olympic gymnast jealous. Apparently, Abramovich's wallet was as thick as his biceps, and that left Lin looking decidedly unimpressive.

Lin's face fell like a damp sponge—when one wall collapses, everyone's ready to push it further down. Yang Jianguo, foreseeing this calamity, had planned for the worst: selling the land for a paltry £5 million wouldn't cover the debts, let alone salvage years of investment. In other words, the club was flirting with extinction while Chelsea was about to score a bargain from their misery.

Just as Lin was about to resign himself to this fate, a strong hand shot out from beneath the table. It was Yang Cheng—ever the maverick—and he promptly grabbed Lin to hush him. Fixing a wry smile at Pini and Cash, he declared, "£5 million? That's a joke. It's nowhere near our psychological price. We need to rethink this!" Pini and Cash exchanged startled glances. They hadn't expected the young gun to have a spine.

"Of course, Mr. Yang," Cash replied with a saccharine grin, "we're all about saving lives—and money, too. Time is money, after all." Yang Cheng simply nodded, confident and unruffled. The negotiations hit an unexpected pause. As Pini and Cash departed, they tossed a parting shot: "Young people don't know their place. Soon enough, you'll be begging for mercy." Cash added, "They've maxed out their borrowing. They're stuck. Just wait two days."

Left in the office, an anxious Lin Zhongqiu sighed, "Acheng, we need £10 million ideally, but even £5 million is acceptable in our desperate state. This is exactly what your father wanted me to secure." The sad truth was that the club was sinking into bankruptcy, and selling the land was the only emergency exit—sacrificing the rook to save the king, as they say.

"Uncle Lin, I know we desperately need the cash, but trust me—there's got to be another way!" Yang Cheng countered.

"What else can we do?" Lin fretted.

Yang simply replied, "I'm still figuring it out. But hear me out: they're trying to milk our misfortune, so let's stall them for two days. That'll give us time to conjure up a better plan and shield the domestic market from our mess."

"Alright, two days," Lin muttered, still visibly worried.

After the meeting, Lin immediately rang up Yang Jianguo back in China to report the latest drama. When Yang Jianguo heard that his son had taken such a gamble, he burst into laughter. "Did Acheng really say that?" he chuckled, relieved yet bemused. "Old Lin, you're always so cautious. Let him learn a thing or two from this bankruptcy boot camp—every loss is just practice for bigger wins."

Back in the office, Yang Cheng dove into the club's financials. The harsh truth was that they needed at least £1 million urgently, but with everything already mortgaged, no bank in the third-tier league was offering a lifeline. Yet Yang Cheng, who'd seen similar crises in his previous life, wasn't about to give up. He began sifting through a mountain of business cards—each one belonging to a banking honcho or financial manager. His focus was so intense he barely noticed Lin Zhongqiu hovering by the door.

After meticulously dialing through every number, the day had slipped into dusk. Lin Zhongqiu couldn't help but be amazed at the transformation in Yang Cheng—once the timid, polite graduate, now a determined dealmaker with the confidence of a seasoned entrepreneur. Later, Lin Zhongqiu knocked on the door.

"Uncle Lin, just in time," Yang Cheng greeted him as he rose from his desk. "I need you to print out a few copies of our financial status, operational data, and details about our land."

"You're… what?" Lin stammered in confusion.

Yang Cheng's smile broadened. "I've spoken with a few managers from the City's financial circles—they're very interested in our land. I've scheduled meetings for tomorrow morning."

Lin frowned. "But Acheng, this land is already mortgaged!"

"I know," Yang Cheng replied confidently, "but I always find a way. In 2003, the tricks in European football finance were still in their infancy. Where there's value, capital will come sniffing around—even if our club is on the brink of collapse."

"Don't worry, Uncle Lin, just get everything ready!" Yang Cheng urged. With that, Lin left the room, still puzzled, while Yang Cheng rifled through the pile of business cards one last time. At the top of the stack was one from ELVINO ASSET MANAGEMENT LIMITED, represented by Chris Hunter—the bankruptcy business manager with a knack for spotting hidden potential in a failing club. After a brief conversation, Yang Cheng felt a spark of hope.

"If you want me to go bankrupt, I'll step on you to cross that bridge," he mused to himself with a wry grin. And so, amid the chaos and the comedy of errors, the wheels were set in motion—because in the unpredictable world of football finance, even a club on the edge of oblivion can pull off one last, brilliantly absurd comeback.