183: The dust of history

In the conference room of the Phoenix Training Center, the banner celebrating fourteen consecutive wins was still hanging on the wall.

Lin Feng stood in front of the tactics board, tapping the whiteboard lightly with a marker in his hand.

The players walked into the conference room one by one, their faces still showing the fatigue from last night's celebration, but their eyes were still bright.

Vardy was the last to enter, his right wrist wrapped in a bandage—he had accidentally bumped into a table corner during last night's celebration.

“Sit down.”

Lin Feng's voice was surprisingly calm, without any of the excitement from creating history yesterday.

The players exchanged glances; this contrast caught them by surprise.

“Gentlemen, the record has been trampled under our feet; it is now merely the dust of history.”

Lin Feng turned to face everyone, his gaze sweeping over each face.

“Our eyes must look towards a new horizon.”

He wrote a large “15” on the tactics board.

“This is our next goal.”

Then, he wrote “20” and “25”.

“And these.”

Henderson's brows furrowed slightly; he could feel a certain urgency in the boss's words.

Lin Feng put down the marker and wrote three lines on the tactics board:

“One, continue the winning streak and create a number that will make future generations despair.”

“Two, complete the final piece of the squad puzzle during the winter transfer window.”

“Three, continue to challenge top giants in cup competitions.”

Schmeichel's fingers tapped lightly on the table, a habitual action when he was thinking.

“Boss, we have already made history.”

Gylfi Sigurdsson said, with a hint of confusion in his voice.

“History?”

Lin Feng's lips curved slightly upward.

“Gylfi, history is meant to be surpassed, not to be slept on.”

He walked to the window and looked out at the training ground through the glass.

“Fourteen consecutive wins are just the beginning; what I want is a number that will make everyone despair.”

Vardy adjusted his sitting posture, the pain in his right wrist reminding him of last night's revelry.

“So, what do we do next?”

“Train, play, win.”

Lin Feng turned back to the tactics board.

“It's that simple.”

The conference room door was gently pushed open, and Richard Arnold poked his head in.

“Boss, the media wants to arrange interviews.”

“Turn them down.”

Lin Feng said without turning his head.

“Now is not the time for praise.”

Richard nodded, and as he was about to leave, Lin Feng spoke again.

“Richard, any news from Southampton?”

“Their financial director called me last night.”

Richard walked back into the conference room.

“It seems they are very interested in our offer.”

The players exchanged glances; they knew the boss was planning new signings again.

“Lallana?”

Henderson asked tentatively.

“A very talented player.”

Lin Feng drew a midfield position on the tactics board.

“He will make our midfield even more perfect.”

Maloney raised his hand.

“Boss, isn't our midfield already very strong?”

“Strong?”

Lin Feng looked at the Ireland winger.

“Shaun, do you think we can beat Manchester United now? Can we beat Chelsea?”

Maloney opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing.

“That's the gap.”

Lin Feng wrote down the names of several Premier League giants on the tactics board.

“We are not just facing League One opponents, but also these giants.”

The conference room fell silent, and the players began to understand the boss's ambition.

“What about Crystal Palace?”

Lin Feng continued to ask Richard.

“The Clyne situation is more complicated; their chairman is not very willing to let him go.”

“The price isn't high enough.”

Lin Feng's voice was very calm.

“Everyone has a price; we just haven't found that number yet.”

Snodgrass cleared his throat.

“Boss, if we keep buying players, what about us older players?”

Lin Feng turned to look at the Scotland winger, with a hint of appreciation in his eyes.

“Robert, are you worried about your position?”

“Not worried, just curious.”

Snodgrass said honestly.

“Curiosity is a good thing.”

Lin Feng walked up to him.

“But true strong individuals are never afraid of competition; they embrace it.”

He surveyed the entire conference room.

“What we are building is not just a team, but a dynasty. A dynasty needs depth, options, and the ability to remain competitive in any situation.”

Old John listened quietly in the corner, recording every key point in his notebook.

The old coach had completely adapted to Lin Feng's rhythm, knowing his role was that of an executor.

“John, what's the focus of this afternoon's training?”

Lin Feng suddenly asked.

“Passing accuracy and off-the-ball movement coordination.”

Old John replied immediately.

“Very good.”

Lin Feng nodded.

“I want to see every pass accurate to the centimeter, and every run perfectly timed.”

The conference room door was pushed open again, this time by Sophie Green.

She held a newspaper in her hand, with an excited expression on her face.

“Lin, have you seen today's The Guardian?”

She unfolded the newspaper; the front-page headline read: “Northern Storm Sweeps England.”

“They say your winning streak is an unstoppable storm.”

Lin Feng took the newspaper and quickly scanned the content.

“The media always likes to exaggerate.”

“But this time they're right.”

A certain light sparkled in Sophie's eyes.

“You truly are creating miracles.”

Vardy couldn't help but laugh.

“Sophie, are you praising us?”

“I am stating facts.”

Sophie replied very seriously.

“As a journalist, I must objectively report everything I see.”

Lin Feng placed the newspaper on the table and returned to the tactics board.

“Media praise sounds good, but it can't help us win the next game.”

He wrote “Northampton” on the tactics board.

“This is our next opponent.”

“They are weak.”

Tinkler said.

“There are no weak opponents, only teams that underestimate them.”

Lin Feng's voice became serious.

“Mark, you should know that better than anyone.”

Tinkler nodded; he had indeed seen too many examples of teams losing due to underestimation.

Lin Feng's phone vibrated at this moment.

He took out his phone and saw a new text message.

The sender was still “K. K.”

“Congratulations on making history. But the real test is still ahead, isn't it?”

Lin Feng looked at the text message, his expression unchanged.

He put his phone away and continued to face the players.

“Gentlemen, some people think our success is just luck.”

“Some people think we will soon fall from the clouds.”

“Some people are waiting to see us fail.”

His voice gradually rose.

“So, let's answer them with facts.”

The players' eyes became resolute; the boss's words always ignited their fighting spirit.

“In the next game, what I want to see is not a team with fourteen consecutive wins, but a team hungry for fifteen consecutive wins.”