Du An froze for a moment and instinctively repeated, "John Peacock?"
The current head coach of the England U17 national team.
Dalglish nodded. "Heighway and I have talked it over. Right now, hardly anyone in our youth team can even reach the doorstep of a national youth side. We didn't place high enough at the UEFA European Under-19 Championship to earn a spot at the World Championship, and England's U20 didn't even make it into the FIFA U-20 World Championship finals. That's why next year's FIFA U-17 World Championship is getting so much attention—it's the first time England has ever reached the finals of the U17 World Championship."
He looked at Du An, his tone very serious. "We've discussed it. In the whole squad, you're the only one who still has a real shot. Once the New Year comes and you move up to the U18s, playing in the Academy League and the FA Youth Cup, the club will give you plenty of playing time and shape the tactics around you, to make sure Peacock sees you."
Du An's breath caught sharply.
He'd still been thinking about how to arrange next week's training, what to watch out for in the next match.
But Dalglish and Heighway had already paved the road all the way to the door of the England youth national team.
For a long moment, he couldn't get a word out.
He didn't know what to say. The news had hit him too hard to take in.
But Dalglish gave him no time to let it sink in.
"On top of that, there's something else you need to be prepared for."
Dalglish's voice dropped, and he sighed. "The situation at Kirkby right now is just as unsettled as the first team's. Heighway may only be able to help you for this last stretch of time. You need to make the most of it."
Du An's head jerked up. "Why?"
"Liverpool's about to change hands, and the management structure will have to change sooner or later." Dalglish didn't elaborate, leaving it at that. "Once there's a new owner, Benitez won't keep letting Liverpool-bred men hold the reins at Kirkby. Whoever runs the youth academy next may not be one of our own."
"But don't overthink it. Just train hard and play well. If anything ever does end up affecting you, I'll step in and handle it for you."
Du An pressed his lips together and gave a firm nod. "Okay."
The truth was, he'd been worrying all along about whether the change of ownership at Liverpool would affect him.
But with Dalglish's help, it probably wouldn't be much of a problem.
There was nothing he could do about it no matter how much he thought about it.
"Don't be so tense." Dalglish patted his shoulder with a smile. "Bring Ethan to my place for Christmas. We'll spend the holiday together, and I'll celebrate your birthday while we're at it."
Du An didn't decline and agreed.
After Mason fell into her coma, in a very real sense, he no longer had a home.
Wherever he and Ethan were, that was home.
The two headed back along the path, and the conversation drifted back to his grandmother, Mason.
"I've already had a word with the hospital these past weeks, so don't worry about the money. The NHS covers most of it, and the club charity foundation will make up the rest—it won't cost much. Her condition is stable now; she just needs the right moment to wake up. Don't let it distract you—just focus on your football."
Dalglish added, a note of regret in his voice, "Honestly, if you'd started systematic training at six or seven, with your talent, you might already be in the reserve team by now, waiting for the first team to call you up."
Du An merely shrugged.
He didn't take it seriously—making the reserve team at fourteen was too unbelievable.
As they were chatting, a fine drizzle suddenly began to drift down from the sky, gradually growing heavier.
The two quickened their pace and headed indoors, and a layer of mist soon clouded over the glass windows.
"The weather's been unusually warm this year," Dalglish said offhandedly, gazing at the rain outside the window. "By this time in past years, we'd probably already be getting snow, but it's still this mild this year. Maybe Liverpool won't even see snow at all this year. It's just that there's far too much rain—if it keeps up like this, they might even have to cancel the New Year's fireworks at St. George's Square."
It was as if Dalglish had jinxed it.
Over the next week, the rain never really stopped, coming and going.
Du An trained steadily as usual—team training with the U16s in the mornings, and academic classes in the afternoons.
He didn't slack off on his own either, keeping up his extra training every day as always.
In the evenings, he'd also watch some player highlight reels.
The away match originally scheduled for Saturday was ultimately canceled.
On Friday, torrential rain poured down all day with nonstop wind, and the opposing team's training pitch was flooded up past the ankles—nowhere near playable conditions.
When the notice came down, quite a few in the squad sighed and grumbled.
Du An packed up his things and pulled on his coat, grabbed an umbrella at random, and headed off to the HJC memorial shop.
When he pushed the door open, a brass bell gave a clear ding.
The shop was warm and cozy.
Dunn was standing by the counter complaining to Sarah, "This rain's so heavy that if I walk out for five minutes, I could keep goldfish in my shoes. A couple more days of this and we might as well row a boat to Anfield to watch the match."
Sarah smiled, and just then caught sight of Du An coming in.
She immediately handed him a dry towel with a smile. "Thought you weren't coming today."
"The match got canceled—the pitch is flooded, can't play on it." Du An wiped the water from his hair. "I had nothing else to do anyway, so I came over."
Dunn laughed. "Then you can help keep an eye on the shop. Sarah heard you'd only be coming one day from now on, and she's been missing you."
Du An smiled.
Dunn had told him last week that from now on he only needed to come one day on weekends—it wouldn't interfere with matches, and his pay would still be counted the same.
He knew this was Dunn deliberately looking out for him, and he kept this kindness in mind.
Sarah shot Dunn a look, then gave Du An a meaningful glance, lightly tugged his arm, and tilted her head toward the office in the back.
The two walked over to the office door, and Sarah lowered her voice. "That story Jack's been writing based on you is nearly finished. Want to go in and take a look?"
The office door was half-open, and through it they could see Jack sitting at the desk, a thick stack of manuscript paper spread out before him, pen in hand as he revised something.
His pen raced across the paper, his whole being seemingly submerged in the story.
Du An shook his head slightly and said quietly to Sarah, "Never mind, I won't disturb him. I'll get to see the finished work sooner or later—no rush."
When the two returned to the front of the shop, Dunn had already pulled on a dark gray raincoat. He waved at the two of them. "You two mind the shop—I've got to step out for a bit."
Without further pleasantries, he pushed the door open and slipped into the rain.
The brass bell on the door jingled for quite a while before it settled.
"Where's he going in this heavy rain?" Du An asked.
Sarah shrugged and wiped at the water stains by the counter with a rag. "Busy, as usual. The club takeover has everyone on edge lately—people from their supporters' group meet up to discuss it every day, run off their feet."
She didn't go into detail about exactly what he was busy with.
She just leaned against the counter, gazing out at the endless rain and mist beyond the window, and let out a soft sigh.
"Come to think of it, things are pretty good now. We won the Champions League a couple of years back, so at least the club's accounts eased up a bit. Go back ten-odd years, now that was hard."
Du An was puzzled. "Then why is Moores still selling the club?"
Chapter 61