After eight years of sweeping floors, Shi Hengyi's greatest talent was kicking water bottles into a trash can ten meters away.
Then one day, a 120-year-old man in sunglasses appeared at the Shaolin Temple gates, gazing at him with tears streaming down his face.
“I've waited a hundred years. At last, I've found you.”
The old man handed him a list: Zhang Ironhead, who tore down walls; Feng Qingyang, whose hand was crippled; Ma Xiaodong, who stole data; and Old Han, who hauled bricks.
Five people abandoned by the world formed Shaolin FC.
In their first match, the ball was flat and the goal was a paint bucket.
They first made the trending list because they ran less than a corgi.
When capital launched its first assault, Old Han charged into a fire and risked his life to protect a red card.
Everyone asked, “What makes you think you can win?”
Zhang Ironhead got to his feet, blood running down his head. “Because this head of mine has smashed through ten thousand walls.”
Feng Qingyang saved a penalty with his right hand, useless for twenty years. “Because this hand of mine still has some fight left in it.”
Ma Xiaodong hacked into a genetics lab. “Because this brain of mine can still figure out things they can't.”
As he lay dying, Old Han put his whistle in Shi Hengyi's hand. “Because this is still clean.”
The night of the 2080 World Cup final.
In the ninety-third minute, a corner kick.
As Shi Hengyi leaped, he heard Old Han's whistle.
[Favorited by over a million readers] This isn't a soccer story. It's the story of five “good-for-nothings” helping each other get back on their feet.
