Chapter 21

【What kind of stupid question is that? Why even hesitate?】

【With E God around, this isn’t a multiple-choice question.】

【I like Captain Lang too, but these two aren’t even in the same league.】

【Ah Huai, have you lost your mind? How dare you compare anyone to my E Dad.】

【This isn’t cool. Nobody would hesitate over Eidis. No one in SK is qualified to turn him down yet.】

【Qualified? LOL. What rock have you been living under? Go look up E God’s record—any match is enough to make him their daddy.】

【Streamer, take that back. Don’t say stuff like that or you’ll get dogpiled online.】

【Qi Qi, don’t answer. Total trap question.】

Yun Qi hadn’t even responded yet, but the bullet screen was already fretting over him. It was a trap question—for anyone else, anyway. No matter what you said, you’d get roasted, because Eidis was simply not someone you could compare yourself to.

Yun Qi stared at that cat avatar, mouth refusing to open.

Over the past two days, he’d answered every question on stream without flinching, tackling even the spikiest ones head-on. He’d agreed to Lang Xian’s terms, so there was no backing out midway or crying foul when he lost. But now he couldn’t bring himself to reply. His expression went vacant, like someone had yanked out his soul.

Some viewers picked up on the weird vibe.

【Don’t hit Qi Qi with this. Too harsh. Captain Lang’s awesome, E God’s a beast—no rivalry there.】

【Is Qiluo spooked?】

【Rivalry? Name one guy in the domestic pro scene who can even compete with Eidis.】

【Poor dude getting flamed—Ah Huai’s got ulterior motives asking that.】

As the chat bickered, Yun Qi fixated on a single thought: Why had he tuned into his stream? What was he doing right now? What frame of mind was he watching in? Was he waiting for Yun Qi’s answer? Or had the algorithm shoved the stream his way, and he’d clicked in on a whim, zero expectations?

Yun Qi’s silence grated on Lang Xian beside him.

“Fine, no need to put Qi Qi on the spot,” Lang Xian said. “Idols are just idols—like how you schoolgirls crush on some celebrity. Would your boyfriend really get jealous of a poster on your wall?”

He was underscoring how absurd the question was. When Ah Huai had first tossed it out, Lang Xian figured Yun Qi would brush it off easily. Turns out, Yun Qi wouldn’t even spit out a polite fib? Damn, he really was Eidis’s ride-or-die fan.

Yun Qi skipped the question entirely, and Lang Xian smoothly moved them past it. Heeding the bullet screen warnings, the other streamers clammed up too—no more Eidis talk, lest their own chats get swarmed by antis. Everyone played it safe.

Yun Qi’s energy tanked for the back half of the stream, wrapping it up in record time. He sat there at his computer, wondering if that avatar was really him or if he’d ID’d wrong. But Yao Qi—the guy from that casual game a few days back—had the exact same handle. What were the odds of a mix-up like that?

“You were totally checked out the whole stream. What’s your deal?” The instant it ended, Lang Xian rounded on him.

Yun Qi stayed quiet in his seat. “Nothing.”

Lang Xian figured the kid had been solid these past couple days and didn’t want to push his luck over this. He let it slide. “Tomorrow afternoon, four o’clock sharp. My uncle’s expecting you at headquarters.”

Yun Qi glanced up. “Tomorrow?”

“Having second thoughts?”

“No,” Yun Qi said. “Got it.”

Lang Xian eyed him for a beat, sensing something off but deciding not to press. He cut out of the training room early.

Lang Xian had lined up the meeting, and come four p.m., Yun Qi headed out from the base.

Yueqiu lingered at the entrance, watching him go. Lang Xian strolled up after. “You actually let him leave.”

Lang Xian cradled a steaming cup. “I let him walk. Whether he makes it back’s a different story.”

Yueqiu’s face went rigid. “What the hell does that mean?”

Lang Xian smirked enigmatically. “You’ll see tonight.”

He took a sip. Dead quiet outside; forecast called for light rain.

The base buzzed with normal training. Danwan had been shadowing Jiu Shuang and the crew these past couple days—everyone knew Lang Xian had been tied up with Yun Qi drama. Danwan had started out shocked but was fully on board now.

Sure enough, rain hit around five.

Yun Qi trudged back soaked to the bone.

He’d bolted without an umbrella, clothes plastered to his skin, face ghostly pale as he burst through the door. Lang Xian lounged in the living room like he’d been waiting. Yun Qi locked eyes on him and lost it, charging straight over.

“You set me up?”

His voice cracked as he confronted Lang Xian, drenched hair plastered to his forehead, complexion deathly white.

Lang Xian feigned innocence. “Talk go south?”

Yun Qi had held it in the entire way there, now tethered only by his last thread of reason. He clenched his fists and asked, “Are you messing with me?”

He was so certain of it.

Lang Xian leisurely set his laptop aside, stood up, and met Yun Qi’s fury head-on. “I told you to go see my uncle, didn’t I? And you did. As for how things went between you two, that’s not something I can control.”

“A thirty-million transfer fee? You want to nail me to SK for life, don’t you?”

Yueqiu stood in the conference room and overheard this. He approached the door and finally grasped the deeper meaning behind Lang Xian’s words.

Thirty million. A transfer fee. For a support. Utterly absurd.

“That just means you’re valuable,” Lang Xian said with a grin. “Qi Qi, isn’t that great? Thirty million—no one in our team, or even the entire pro scene, commands a price like that. It shows the higher-ups really value you. You should be thrilled.”

“Thrilled?” Yun Qi let out a cold sneer. “Does anyone in the pro scene have a thirty-million transfer fee?”

No one would shell out thirty million for him. Sure, he had solid popularity, but no esports team would blow that kind of cash on a support.

“Of course they do. Your idol Eidis, or the ace Mage King Tank from ten years ago—their transfer fees were probably higher than that. Now you’re right up there with him. So why aren’t you happy?”

In that moment, Yun Qi finally understood his game.

Lang Xian had never intended to let him leave from the start. He wanted Yun Qi to date him, make it public knowledge, and stay on with the team. Even if he couldn’t reclaim his starting spot, he’d still be under Lang Xian’s thumb, unable to shake off his clingy grasp. And once they’d slept together, Lang Xian could just claim they’d always been a couple—what was there to complain about?

These sleazy tactics and twisted thoughts were something he’d cooked up long ago.

Yun Qi’s face drained of all color, pale as if it’d been slathered in whitewash. He stood frozen in place for a long while, his pensive expression confirming he’d pieced it together. Lang Xian knew he’d figured it out.

Right then, Yun Qi looked unbearably fragile, like a sheet of thin paper that would crumple at the slightest touch. Lang Xian reached out and gently caressed his cheek, murmuring softly, “Qi Qi, I like you. That’s why I can’t bear to let you go. Stay by my side, and I promise you’ll get your starting spot back. Okay?”

Yun Qi lifted his head. He’d never felt this urge to cry before. The last time his tears had flowed so freely was at his mother’s funeral, pouring out uncontrollably—half for her death, half for the breakup emotions he’d bottled up for so long, all bursting forth that day until he was a sobbing wreck.

He’d thought he’d grown numb to the shady underbelly of the pro scene, that nothing Lang Xian did should surprise him anymore. Yet this revelation nearly shattered him.

He stared at Lang Xian, his gaze icy cold, even chillier than his own body temperature.

It was his own fault for being careless, for being naive. No one else to blame.

In ten seconds flat, Yun Qi forced himself to calm down. He didn’t erupt into a screaming match. Instead, he accepted the reality with eerie composure, gently grasping Lang Xian’s wrist and easing his hand away from his face. Yun Qi mustered a strained smile. “You made it this way.”

Lang Xian frowned. Yun Qi’s skin was freezing, the chill seeping from his fingertips straight into Lang Xian’s nerves.

Yun Qi turned and headed upstairs. The confrontation fizzled out quietly, leaving Yueqiu utterly baffled.

That evening, Yun Qi didn’t come down for dinner. Worried, Yueqiu went up to check—and found the room empty.

Yueqiu’s heart leaped. “Yun Qi?”

No answer. The window stood wide open, curtains fluttering forlornly in the breeze.

~~~

The rain grew heavier.

On the flat asphalt road, a sleek black Continental idled steadily amid the splashing puddles.

Towering commercial skyscrapers loomed around it, their shapes faintly outlined in the dappled glow of distant lights.

The air hung heavy with moisture. Breaths came hot and ragged, rhythmic, furtive gasps swallowed by the rainy night.

A short distance from the car, two figures stood. Puddles dimly mirrored the flutter of coattails. The man held an umbrella aloft, his knee-length trench coat swaying gently in the wind-whipped downpour.

He eyed the broken man before him, a sharp glint flickering in his brows and gaze.

“What did you come to see me for?”

His voice cut through the gloomy night like a piano string plucked by accident—piercing, straight to the core, laced with terrifying intensity.

Yun Qi crouched on the wet ground, no umbrella in sight. His hands rested on his knees, the skyscrapers behind him shrouding him in shadow. Staring at the tips of the shoes before him, he asked, “Have you been online the past couple of days?”

The only reply was the whisper of wind through the rain. A gust whipped Yun Qi’s hair across his face, and bone-deep cold sank into him.

“No.” The response came steady as ever.

Yun Qi pressed his lips to the back of his hand, his smile rigid. “Then I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

No one could tell if the umbrella’s tilt was deliberate. Yun Qi huddled beneath it, everything a muddled blur. These past few days had been nothing short of a nightmare.

“Is KRO heading to the foreign server?” Yun Qi asked in a low voice. The internet was flooded with news about the victors lately.

“Yes,” the other man replied.

“Are you going with them?” Yun Qi pressed.

“No.”

Yun Qi nodded. Of course. He’d only been back a short while. No wonder—these past few years had stretched on interminably.

The man seemed to be losing patience. “It’s late,” he reminded him. “Get some rest if there’s nothing else.”

Yun Qi fell silent.

As the man turned to leave, his left hand—dangling outside his trench coat—was gently hooked by slender fingers.

His body went rigid. He stood motionless for a long moment, rooted as if magnetized. At last, a faint, breathless plea drifted from behind him: “Buy me.”

He turned. Those eyes, rippling like limpid pools, gleamed with raw vulnerability. They pierced the stillness of the night, twining around his fingertips and seeping into his pupils.

“Brother Jin, buy me,” they seemed to beg, a mix of abject surrender and hidden cunning, burning with fervent longing. “Buy me onto your esports team. Any terms are fine…”