In a hotel suite, Chen Yu listened as an employee from the China branch briefed him on Han Zhilu.
Just as with Song Jun, Chen Yu preferred to first conduct some preliminary research before deciding whether to make contact.
This in itself was a screening process.
Take Han Zhilu’s case: he had given up soccer in ’99, a full five years ago. A lot can change in that time, and nobody knew what his physical condition or life was like now.
Huang Changqing had said he was exceptionally smart and a great student. If he’d given up soccer to focus on his studies and become a scientist, Chen Yu couldn’t exactly force the issue.
Besides, his family was wealthy. With a large company waiting for him to inherit, he didn’t necessarily have to pursue a career in professional soccer.
So, if the preliminary investigation didn’t look promising, it was best not to disturb him at all, saving everyone the trouble.
Information about Han Zhilu’s father, Han Siwei, appeared on the projector screen.
He came from a scholarly family. His great-great-grandfather had served as an official in Zhejiang Province after passing the provincial imperial examinations, and the family line had produced many intellectuals.
His name, Han Siwei, was likely taken from the classic text *Guanzi*, which asks: "What are the four cardinal principles (Siwei)? First, propriety; second, righteousness; third, integrity; and fourth, a sense of shame."
As for Han Zhilu, his name was probably taken from *Record of Daily Knowledge*, written by the renowned late-Ming scholar Gu Yanwu.
You could tell they were a family of intellectuals; even their names were chosen with historical and literary significance.
But Chen Yu felt the name ’Zhilu’ was a bit unusual. The original phrase, *rizhi* (daily knowledge), was from *The Analects*. ’Logically, his name should have been Han Rizhi, not Han Zhilu.’
’Perhaps they just thought Zhilu rolled off the tongue better.’
Han Siwei had gone into business in his early years and possessed a sharp business acumen. He now manufactured electric motors, and his company was well-known in Wenzhou.
His mother, Ren Wenjia, was also an academic. She had previously been an instructor at Wenzhou Normal College and was now on the faculty at Oujiang College.
Looking at their backgrounds, the only connection to sports was that Han Siwei had been the vice-president of the volleyball club in college.
But when it came to soccer, the barrier to entry in terms of physical attributes was relatively low.
Of course, playing professionally was another story entirely. That definitely required talent far beyond the ordinary.
For example, coordination.
For Han Zhilu to have been able to pull off those moves on the field, his coordination must have been exceptional.
The only problem was, he had been away from the sport for five whole years.
From what Chen Yu understood, soccer was a sport that required a foundation built from a very young age.
In Europe, kids typically started playing and receiving professional-level training at six or seven. Across the Five Major Leagues, it was rare to find a player who had only started playing after the age of ten.
It wasn’t like basketball, where some players started at fourteen or fifteen, or even later.
After five years away, that natural flair might have completely faded.
Chen Yu’s employees had gathered information on Han Zhilu from multiple sources.
He was genuinely brilliant—not just at soccer, but at his studies as well. His teachers and classmates all considered him a top student.
He was currently a second-year student in the honors class at Wenzhou Middle School, the best high school in the city. His grades ranked in the top five of his year. According to his homeroom teacher, while admission to Tsinghua or Peking University wasn’t guaranteed, getting into any other top-tier university would be a breeze.
It was a boarding school, and from what they’d gathered, his life now revolved entirely around his studies. He might not even have a single gym class in a week.
There was also a recent photo.
His height was decent; at sixteen, he was already 1.78 meters tall and weighed a little over sixty kilograms. He was thin, wore glasses, had a buzz cut, and his features were refined, giving him a somewhat frail, scholarly air.
Looking at the photo, you would never associate him with soccer.
The employee concluded, "Based on the information we’ve gathered, he no longer has any connection to soccer. Of course, our sources are limited, and this is all based on secondhand accounts, so it may not be entirely accurate."
Chen Yu nodded.
’He really has left soccer behind.’
’When he got injured back then, his parents took him to the Capital to have surgery with the best doctors. Besides, it was just a collateral ligament tear, and he was still growing. I feel like the long-term risk to his knee isn’t that significant.’
After returning to school, he might have played a little soccer during gym class in the first year, but his gym teacher said that afterward, he almost never played again.
This was even more true in high school.
But as he stared at the headshot on the screen, Chen Yu couldn’t help but recall Huang Changqing’s words.
Whenever Han Zhilu was mentioned, Huang Changqing would sigh in frustration, calling it a great pity. He’d said that in his thirty-plus years of coaching, Han Zhilu was the best young talent he had ever seen.
"I’ll think about it some more."
Chen Yu waved a hand, dismissing the employee.
’If it’s a no-go, then I’ll just have to give up on him.’
The next day was Saturday, which happened to be the students’ one weekend a month to go home.
They had classes in the morning, and school let out in the afternoon.
Around noon, the street outside Wenzhou Middle School was already packed solid with cars.
’This place is pretty wealthy,’ Chen Yu thought.
"Didn’t his family come to pick him up?" Chen Yu asked from inside a car parked by the road, his eyes fixed on the school gate.
Students were pouring out of the gate in a massive crowd, and the slender Han Zhilu didn’t stand out at all.
’His family is rich, and his home is two or three kilometers away. His parents should be picking him up by car.’
The employee beside him shook his head. They weren’t private investigators; they couldn’t possibly look into such minute details.
However, after glancing in the direction Han Zhilu was heading, the employee remarked, "Isn’t his home in the opposite direction?"
Han Zhilu wasn’t carrying any luggage, just a backpack, and he started jogging down the road.
After a moment’s hesitation, Chen Yu said, "Follow him. Let’s see where he’s going."
Chen Yu’s plan was to have one last chat with Han Zhilu.
With his own insight into human psychology, he figured a short conversation would be enough to tell if the boy had truly given up on soccer.
If he had, Chen Yu would be on a plane out of here tomorrow.
The car followed at a slow pace. Han Zhilu kept jogging, with no clear destination in sight.
Just then, he stopped abruptly and swung his leg in a sharp kick.
Chen Yu’s eyes narrowed. He could just make out what looked like a soda can. Han Zhilu sent it flying five or six meters with a single kick, and it landed squarely inside a trash can on the side of the road.
"Chen!"
The middle-aged man sitting to Chen Yu’s right exclaimed, pointing at Han Zhilu.
"I saw it, Lune."
Lune Castelli, from the United Kingdom.
Chen Yu had asked Ferguson to recommend a trainer who specialized in youth development, and Ferguson had recommended him.
Manchester United’s youth academy was top-notch, after all.
As for why he was poaching coaches and trainers from the Premier League, it was because the league placed a greater emphasis on physical confrontation.
In Chen Yu’s vision, the ideal path for men’s soccer was to follow the American model.
The American approach was simple and direct, emphasizing power and sprinting, with the kind of on-field mentality that one side was going to run the other into the ground.
Crucially, this path was a shortcut, and it would also allow Chen Yu to better leverage the resources at his disposal.
Training players to be stronger was something Chen Yu clearly excelled at.
Lune Castelli nodded slightly and said, "Chen, Huang was right. His feel for the ball is excellent."
For a professional player, kicking a soda can into a trash can wasn’t a difficult feat.
But the opening of this particular can was small, so it still required a certain degree of accuracy and skill.
More importantly, it showed his feel for the ball—his control over the power of his kick.
For Han Zhilu to stop mid-jog and pull that off with a sudden kick, it could only mean one thing: even after five years, his touch hadn’t completely deserted him.
"Let’s go. Follow him, see where he’s headed."
Chen Yu’s interest was piqued.

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