7: A contract that changed fate

Outside the Hammer Pub, rain dripped from Lin Feng's hair, but he paid it no mind, his gaze sweeping across the dim, noisy interior of the bar.

This was a typical working-class haunt, boisterous, rough, and full of raw vitality.

Vardy had chosen a corner by the window, with a half-empty glass of beer in front of him.

He had changed out of his work clothes into a faded old T-shirt and jeans, his hair plastered wetly to his forehead, his eyes holding a hint of wariness and scrutiny.

Lin Feng sat opposite him, ordering a beer as well.

"Speak, Chinese boss," Vardy broke the silence first, his voice a little hoarse and provocative, "What exactly do you want from a factory kid like me, wearing an electronic tag? Don't tell me you're really here for charity." He picked up his glass, took a large gulp, and beer foam clung to his slightly scruffy stubble.

Lin Feng looked at him, this nineteen-year-old youth, whose eyes were filled with a weariness and unwillingness that belied his age. He could feel the almost extinguished flame deep within Vardy's heart, that primal yearning for professional football.

"I'm not here for charity, Jamie," Lin Feng's voice was exceptionally clear amidst the noisy environment, "I'm here to give you an opportunity, a real chance to change your destiny. I know what you crave; you crave to run on a real pitch, to score goals, to gain recognition, not to twist screws in a factory or mess around with a bunch of amateur players on a mud field in the eighth League."

Vardy's fingers, holding the glass, tightened slightly, his eyes flickering, but he quickly returned to his cynical demeanor: "Easy to say. A League Two club, sounds better than Stocksbridge Park Steels, but how much better can it be? Which serious team would want a 'problem player' like me?"

Lin Feng smiled faintly, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice: "Jamie, I know you're incredibly fast, and your explosive power is enough to tear apart any defense. I also know that you have an unyielding heart; even if the team is losing, even if you're tackled countless times, you'll get back up and keep charging. Your desire to score is so strong it's almost obsessive, and these are the essential qualities of a top striker."

The mockery on Vardy's face gradually froze, replaced by a hint of shock.

These words, even more than the secrets about the electronic tag he'd mentioned outside the factory, made him feel incredible.

This Chinese man seemed to be able to see through his soul, dissecting his football talent and inner desires, hidden beneath a rough exterior, with perfect clarity.

"I won't promise you a starting position," Lin Feng continued, his tone sincere and firm.

"Because any position needs to be earned through strength. But I can assure you, Hartlepool United will give you a fair platform to prove yourself."

"We are rebuilding, and our goal is not just to return to League One; we have greater ambitions."

"And you, Jamie Vardy, if you're willing, you will become the sharpest blade in our attack, and together with us, you will make history."

Every word from Lin Feng was like a heavy hammer, striking Vardy's heart.

The future he described, the scene of galloping on top pitches, scoring goals, and enjoying the cheers of thousands, was a picture he had repeatedly fantasized about during countless nights tossing and turning on a cold bed.

And now, this opportunity seemed to be truly laid out before him.

Vardy was silent for a long time.

"Ha..." Vardy suddenly let out a short laugh. He abruptly raised his head, grabbed the glass in front of him, downed the remaining beer, and then slammed the empty glass heavily on the table with a dull thud.

"Done!" He stared at Lin Feng, an astonishing light bursting from his eyes, a look of desperate determination, "Boss, I'll play for you! No matter if it's bloody League Two or League One, as long as I can play football, as long as I can get rid of this damned tag and the factory, I'm all in!"

A barely perceptible smile finally appeared at the corner of Lin Feng's mouth.

It was done! This future Premier League top scorer was finally in his grasp.

"Excellent, Jamie." Lin Feng took out a pre-prepared contract from his briefcase and pushed it towards Vardy.

"This is your contract. A weekly wage of three hundred and fifty pounds, which is a mid-to-high level within our team, plus generous goal bonuses and promotion bonuses. The most important clause is a two-million-pound buyout clause in the contract. I believe your future value will be far more than this amount."

Vardy picked up the contract, looking at the unfamiliar legal terms and the glaring "two million pounds" on it, his hands trembling slightly.

A weekly wage of three hundred and fifty pounds was already an astronomical sum for him, not to mention the distant buyout clause.

He didn't hesitate, picked up the pen Lin Feng handed him, and signed his name at the end of the contract: Jamie Vardy.

The next day, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained overcast. Lin Feng took Vardy to the simple office of Stocksbridge Park Steels Club.

The club's manager, a white-haired old man, signed the release papers almost without hesitation when he saw the five thousand pounds in cash Lin Feng offered as "compensation."

For an amateur team of their level, five thousand pounds was already a considerable income, and for a "troubled" player like Vardy, they were simply thankful to see him go.

The transfer process went exceptionally smoothly.

A few days later, in an inconspicuous corner of the Hartlepool Mail's sports section, a brief item was published: "Hartlepool United Sign Troubled Striker from Amateur League." The report briefly mentioned Vardy's origin from the eighth-tier League and some of his past "bad records," with an underlying tone of pessimism and doubt about the signing, viewing it as an unrealistic "treasure hunt" by the new owner, Lin Feng.

Vardy saw the newspaper in his room at a cheap hotel in Hartlepool. A cold sneer appeared on his face.

"Troubled striker? Amateur League?" he muttered, his eyes burning with fierce fighting spirit, "Just you wait, I'll make all of you eat your words!" This contempt and doubt, instead, became his greatest motivation to move forward.

Lin Feng took Vardy back to Hartlepool United Club.

When Old John Mcdonald first saw Vardy on the training ground, his brow remained furrowed.

Although the young man in front of him seemed energetic, his rebellious spirit and slightly thin physique (System showed Strength 60) made Old John deeply doubt Vardy's ability to adapt to the physical intensity of professional League football.

"Boss," Old John found Lin Feng, saying anxiously, "This Vardy... I watched him kick a few balls. He's certainly fast, but his technique is still too rough, and his physical strength... I'm worried he'll struggle to establish himself in League Two."

Lin Feng's expression remained calm. He watched Vardy, who was crashing around the training ground, trying hard to impress, and said calmly: "John, give him a week to adapt to the team's training rhythm and tactical requirements."

After a pause, Lin Feng's gaze turned to Old John, his tone brooking no argument: "For the first League match, the derby against Darlington at home, I want him to start."

"What?!" Old John exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers, "Boss, this... this is too risky! Darlington is our arch-rival, you know the importance of that match! To start a raw kid who just came from the amateur League in such a crucial game? What if..."

Lin Feng interrupted him: "There is no 'what if'. I trust my judgment, and I trust his ability. All you need to do is execute."

Old John opened his mouth, but ultimately swallowed his words, only letting out a heavy sigh, his heart filled with apprehension and unease.

This young Chinese boss always acted so unexpectedly, even somewhat autocratically. He could only pray that the boss's gamble wouldn't plunge Hartlepool United, which had just seen a glimmer of hope, back into the abyss.