Chapter 14

After seeing He Xuan off, Yun Qi went to rest.

The room had been hastily tidied up on short notice, missing this and that. After his family moved here, Yun Qi had gone pro not long afterward and rarely came home, so the room gradually turned into storage. Wang Xiu had piled some odds and ends inside, and many of the things in the cabinets weren’t even his.

Yun Qi only straightened the bed and left the rest alone. There was too much stuff crammed in there, and he didn’t want to risk displacing something someone else might need.

Just as he was about to settle down, Wang Xiu’s soft voice came from outside the door. “Qi Qi, are you asleep yet?”

Yun Qi had just kicked off his shoes. He was wearing a pair of white socks printed with cartoon patterns—cheap wholesale ones. He never put much thought into that sort of thing; he’d just grab whatever online and cycle through them.

He didn’t run into many people at the base anyway, so he kept his outfits casual.

Yun Qi slipped his shoes back on, walked over, and opened the door. Wang Xiu stood there holding a plate of sliced apples. “I cut up some fruit. Take it in and eat.”

“Thanks.” Yun Qi accepted it with a gentle word of gratitude.

Wang Xiu said, “Did things not go smoothly with Xuanxuan today? Don’t let it get to you—he’s just a kid and doesn’t know any better.”

“No, it went pretty well,” Yun Qi replied. “Xuanxuan was way more understanding than I expected. He actually listened, so I think he’ll come around.”

He Xuan was a little cocky, sure, but it made sense for a teenager who’d already hit Top National Benchmark scores. Pride came with the territory.

Wang Xiu had been worried He Xuan might have upset him, but hearing this eased half her concern. She nodded and flicked her wrist. “Go on and eat, then.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Yun Qi said.

Wang Xiu gazed at him, her eyes brimming with affection.

Yun Qi spent three days at home. Lin Su and He Ying both worked full-time jobs, as did Wang Xiu at a major factory. His father had leg problems and had been taking it easy lately, so the house was just the two of them during the day.

Father and son shared an unspoken awkwardness and didn’t talk much. Yun Qi holed up in his room, and things only livened up when Lin Su and He Ying got back.

That stifling vibe was exactly why he rarely came home. Everyone treated him great, but he could never quite relax and let loose.

The days slipped by like that, and before he knew it, three were gone. When it was time to leave, Lin Su drove him to the station and reminded him to visit more often. Yun Qi nodded, shouldered his bag, and boarded.

Back at the SK Base, he first bumped into Xue Yan in the living room. Xue Yan was rummaging in the fridge for a drink and let out a startled, “You’re back!”

Yun Qi stepped inside. “Brother Yan.”

Xue Yan sauntered over, flicking his wrist in that post-training gesture he loved. “How’d it go at home these past couple days?”

“Pretty good.”

“Bet that felt nice, huh?” Xue Yan clapped him on the back and steered him deeper inside. “Nothing major happened while you were gone, but there was some minor drama. Danwan moved in—right next door to Captain Lang.”

“That’s close to my room.”

“Yeah, but no stress. He keeps to himself, you keep to yours. Captain Lang’s showing him the ropes.” Xue Yan filled him in.

Just then, two figures stepped out of the Training Room: their Head Coach and Lang Xian. The Head Coach spoke up first. “Luo’s back—great. We’ll set up the afternoon session.”

Only then did Yun Qi realize they were queuing as a full 5-stack that afternoon. Finally, he could get back to the Training Room.

Danwan had been glued to the Training Room for days, bonding with the team, which put Yun Qi’s spot in a tricky light. The Head Coach had slotted him in for today’s session to run some stats and compare him directly with Danwan.

That afternoon, Yun Qi returned to the Training Room and took the seat next to Xue Yan.

They all logged in on Pro Accounts for the 5-stack, the bold “Pro” label exuding pressure just by existing. At their rank, they usually matched against National Server streamers, and pro queues colliding was par for the course.

Streamers were no sweat for SK. The first two games pitted them against technical streamers and Top 10 Nationals. SK sandbagged early to ramp up the challenge, then flipped the switch and steamrolled straight to the enemy’s High Ground.

[Give them a chance.]

Someone pleaded in chat.

Yun Qi and Xue Yan’s coordination was seamless. He knew Danwan had been drilling synergy with Xue Yan over the past couple days, and with the coach eyeing a direct comparison today, Yun Qi couldn’t slack off—he stayed sharp from start to finish.

Danwan watched from behind him. He knew Yun Qi favored Soft Support, and the internet was full of flak about it. Seeing it live, though, he spotted no meme-worthy blunders. Maybe the opponents were just weak, but Yun Qi’s plays stood out.

“Not bad,” the coach said, eyes glued to Yun Qi’s screen. “Keeping up practice at home?”

“Nope,” Yun Qi replied.

They played three five-player queues, which took one hour and twenty minutes. The data footage was pulled out separately. The coach gripped Yun Qi’s chair and said, “Send me the video—Danwan’s too.”

Yun Qi and Danwan both nodded.

Because they needed to compare the two, Yun Qi could no longer stay relaxed. He and Danwan were competing for the same position, and only one could be kept—whether he would stay or Danwan would be sent to the Second Team remained a suspense. The higher-ups had to conduct a comprehensive evaluation, and the kind of thing that periodically happened to Youth Trainees had now fallen squarely on Yun Qi’s shoulders again.

The feeling of competing with a rival for a spot on the Starting Roster was back.

That night, Yun Qi couldn’t sleep. He stayed in the Training Room soaking it up until it was pitch black and deserted.

Most of the rooms at the SK Base had gone dark, leaving only one light on in the Training Room. By now, it was already two-thirty in the morning. He didn’t know why, but his mental state was fully alert—he couldn’t sleep at all. The empty Training Room felt somewhat eerie.

“Buzz—”

A new message came through on his phone.

[Doesn’t Eat Grass: Haven’t slept yet?]

Yun Qi picked up his phone.

[Silk Scarf: Can’t sleep.]

[Doesn’t Eat Grass: Wanna play a game?]

[Silk Scarf: Sure.]

Moments later, Yun Qi returned to the game interface and waited for “Doesn’t Eat Grass” to pull him into the lobby. After he opened voice chat, the other man’s voice rang out: “Hello.”

Yun Qi said, “It’s two or three in the morning—why aren’t you sleeping?”

Doesn’t Eat Grass replied, “Our Esports Team has internal adjustments tomorrow. Who knows who’ll get shipped off to the boonies.”

Yun Qi said, “Definitely not you.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass’s voice brimmed with confidence. “Of course not. Don’t you know who I am?”

Yun Qi said, “SK’s doing internal adjustments too. If there’s no surprise, the one getting shipped off is me.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass said, “Then come to our team. We’re not short on anything—we just need a popular player.”

Yun Qi smiled. “Sure. When I’m put up for transfer, tell your boss to buy me out.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass said, “It could work, but it’d be kinda immoral to break up a CP. Mo Luo?”

Yun Qi said, “Go to hell.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass chuckled, and the two of them chatted about this and that. Then Doesn’t Eat Grass reminded Yun Qi, “Switch accounts. You’re looking stressed on the Pro Account.”

“Give me a sec.”

After Yun Qi switched accounts, the two of them queued up a match—a pure casual game for fun and relaxation. He hadn’t expected to match anyone in particular, but at three in the morning, they still ran into an internet heavyweight.

Wang Chun, a 2004 National Server racing champion Esports Team player—he was one of the earliest esports figures and had ushered in an era. Later, he’d clashed with his team and announced his permanent retirement from the Pro Scene, pivoting to being a teaching Streamer online.

Years had passed since then. He wasn’t the biggest name in terms of traffic anymore, but no one in esports would be unfamiliar with that name.

A duo queue could match another duo or a trio. Whether it was Second Floor or Third Floor, Wang Chun’s duo partner was unknown for now, since there was no relationship indicator between them, and they also didn’t know how many he was queuing with.

Doesn’t Eat Grass quickly recognized Wang Chun too. He turned on all mics and greeted the senior: “Brother Chun?”

Wang Chun said, “Who’s this?”

Doesn’t Eat Grass said, “Nobody important. It’s an honor to match with you.”

Yun Qi’s voice chat picked up Wang Chun’s steady laugh. “Play well, you two.”

“How many are you queuing with, Brother Chun?” Doesn’t Eat Grass asked.

“Trio,” Wang Chun said. “Two bigshots carrying me.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass laughed. “Who’d dare call themselves a bigshot in front of Brother Chun?”

Wang Chun said in a low voice, “Eh, these are the real deal. I’m nothing next to them.”

For Wang Chun to downplay himself like that piqued Doesn’t Eat Grass’s curiosity. He started speculating that Wang Chun must have pulled in two pros—who in the Pro Scene hadn’t been roasted by Wang Chun before? Who could he actually respect like that?

Yun Qi didn’t try to get chummy or say hi. He was in Fourth Floor and locked in Little Cherry Blossom to support their Shooter.

Once the game started, Wang Chun said, “Little Cherry Blossom, stick with the Jungler. Shooter, you can farm bot lane solo, no problem.”

The Shooter was Wang Chun’s pick, so Yun Qi followed the plan. After shoving the wave with the Shooter at the start, he planned to head to the Jungle to help out. But then the “First Blood” announcement rang out.

Doesn’t Eat Grass said, “Whoa, this Jungler’s savage—invading the enemy Jungle and casually snagging a kill too?”

Wang Chun said, “Told you, bigshots.”

The Jungler was Shang, the hero Yun Qi had just soloed against He Xuan with two days ago. That hero needed gear to form up before his burst got nasty. To counterjungle and kill at level one without a Support in tow, there were only two possibilities: either the player was insanely skilled, or the enemy was straight-up trash.

But his smurf was Hundred Stars rank, and Wang Chun’s main was even higher—they couldn’t possibly have matched into someone with a massive skill gap. As Yun Qi glanced at the stats panel and headed top side, he saw that Shang’s economy was already the highest in the game, thanks to the First Blood bonus plus a three-buff start.

This playstyle was a bit brutal. A familiar scene flashed through Yun Qi’s mind in an instant, but he figured it probably wasn’t possible.

“You want Star Apex or Shadowchase, Jungler?” Yun Qi asked. Star Apex emphasized cooldown reduction, while Shadowchase boosted attack speed. Everyone had their own interpretation of the hero Shang—the two items represented completely opposite paths. Debates raged online about whether this hero needed cooldowns or attack speed, but no one had reached a definitive conclusion.

“Whatever,” Yao Qi replied.

That low, resolute voice, laced with the faint static of the headset, sent a jolt straight to Yun Qi’s heart.

His fingers froze for a moment, and his hero stood idly in the river channel for a full two seconds.

No one else noticed anything amiss. Those in the know weren’t surprised, and the oblivious could never have guessed.

From top lane, Doesn’t Eat Grass offered a friendly reminder: “Hey, what are you daydreaming about? Mid lane’s getting ganked.”

Yun Qi snapped back to attention and rushed his hero toward mid lane. By then, Shang had emerged from the jungle and collided head-on with him.

Little Cherry Blossom was a female champion. Designed as a dark lolita, she lacked the porcelain skin, stunning beauty, and long legs of other female heroes. She was tiny, more like a dangling leg ornament when paired with most champions.

Shang’s sleek black-and-red aesthetic complemented her perfectly. Yun Qi pulled up beside the jungler, sticking close to his heels. On the equipment panel, he’d already purchased Star Apex.

The jungler hadn’t rushed into items. Despite holding the highest economy in the game, he stuck to just the basic jungle knife—until he spotted Little Cherry Blossom’s Star Apex. Only then did he commit to Demon Blade as his second piece.

Experienced players always coordinated their builds. If he planned to stack attack speed, Yun Qi couldn’t take Star Apex.

“I’ll sell it later and grab Shadowchase,” Yun Qi said, his voice a touch unsteady. “Once your cooldowns are fully stacked.”

Wang Chun chimed in: “No problem. Supports can build whatever. He’s a pro—you could win without even buying gear.”

Of course. Even shorthanded by two on the pro stage, they’d still triumph. He possessed true one-versus-five prowess. Hadn’t that been how he’d skyrocketed to fame in esports all those years ago?

Whatever. Whatever.

It was just like that packed internet cafe back in the day, where they’d sealed themselves away from the clamor. In that private room, he’d pulled him onto his lap, his warm breath brushing his ear as he murmured, offhand yet laden with meaning: “Build whatever. You won’t lose with me.”