Chapter 22: Lang Xian Woken Up in the Dead of Night Part 1

Lang Xian was roused from sleep in the dead of night.

When he opened the door and saw Yueqiu standing there, he learned that Yun Qi was missing.

The two of them checked Yun Qi’s room. Everything inside was untouched, but Yun Qi had vanished at some point. After their tense negotiations that evening hadn’t gone well, Lang Xian had returned to his own room without any idea where Yun Qi might have gone.

In Yueqiu’s eyes, Yun Qi was still just a kid. His experiences weren’t all that complicated—he’d only ever been part of one esports team, SK. The events of today must have truly frightened him. If something bad had happened, how on earth would they explain it? Yueqiu paced back and forth in a panic.

Everyone knew Yun Qi usually spent the most time with Xue Yan. Without a word, the two of them headed straight for Xue Yan’s room.

Lang Xian rapped dully on the door a couple of times. Xue Yan finally appeared, opening it at his leisure. Lang Xian cut straight to the chase. “Have you seen Yun Qi?”

Xue Yan picked up on the tension in their faces and sobered at once. “Yun Qi? Isn’t he in his room?”

Yueqiu blurted out anxiously, “He’s not at the SK Base. Didn’t he tell you before he left?”

Xue Yan replied, “Brother Qiu, he’s got no obligation to report to me no matter where he goes.”

“You two are usually so…” Yueqiu waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind.”

Their reactions told Xue Yan that something was seriously wrong. Yun Qi must be in trouble. He’d overheard bits of the argument between Lang Xian and Yun Qi that evening from the neighboring training room. Deep down, he knew Yun Qi’s disappearance had to be connected to Lang Xian. Right after their talk, Xue Yan had considered checking on him but decided Yun Qi probably needed some space. He hadn’t imagined things would turn out like this.

Xue Yan followed them downstairs to the living room. Yueqiu paused for a moment, then decided to contact Yun Qi’s family. He had the emergency contacts for several of the players saved in his phone.

He was just pulling out his phone to dial when the person they’d been desperately searching for walked back in.

Lang Xian spotted Yun Qi first. He rushed forward and seized his wrist. “Where the hell have you been?!”

Seeing him return, Xue Yan and Yueqiu halted what they were doing. Yueqiu hurried over and scanned Yun Qi from head to toe. The young man was soaked through, the rain still pounding outside. His face was deathly pale, as if he’d been chilled to the bone.

“Yun Qi, what were you thinking? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? If something’s wrong, just tell us—we can work it out together. Why resort to something so extreme?” Yueqiu demanded urgently. “Look at yourself.”

With that, he turned to pour Yun Qi a glass of water.

Yun Qi lifted his head, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions coming at him. He looked at Lang Xian’s furious face and nearly laughed. Wasn’t he the one who should be upset right now? What right did they have to lose their tempers?

He wrenched his hand free from Lang Xian’s grip and ignored every one of their questions. Heading for the stairs, he gently pushed aside the glass Yueqiu held out to him.

“Yun Qi?”

Xue Yan stood watching. Lang Xian watched too. Yueqiu called his name again, glass in hand. But the figure ascending the stairs might as well have been deaf to it all. It was the first time any of them had seen Yun Qi like this.

“Let him sort through his thoughts alone,” Xue Yan said. “He’s back—that’s what matters.”

Yueqiu set the glass down and shot a glance at the man who’d started all this, but he held his tongue. He was only the life assistant, after all, and he’d been reminded from day one of his place. He had no business meddling in or judging the team’s internal drama.

With tensions this high, things probably wouldn’t settle down for a couple of days. Yueqiu sank onto the arm of the sofa nearby while Lang Xian headed upstairs. The awkward episode simply fizzled out.

It was deep into the night when Xue Yan made his way to Yun Qi’s room. Leaving him alone didn’t feel safe, so after agonizing over it, he’d sent a text asking if he could come by. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected a response and was surprised when approval came back.

Xue Yan didn’t knock. He slipped inside quietly. The room’s main lights were off, leaving only the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Yun Qi sat curled in the plush armchair, swallowed up by its cushions. He was still dressed as he’d been upon his return—clothes sodden, hair half-dry and flopping over his forehead. One foot was tucked up on the chair’s edge as he stared vacantly at his phone on the desk.

He was normally the tidiest of them all, yet here he sat on the feather-upholstered seat without bothering to change. Xue Yan knew at once that he was in bad shape.

He approached silently. In the dim light, Xue Yan’s gaze fell on Yun Qi’s slender, delicate foot. The man was exquisite from head to toe, utterly unlike some roughneck. For no reason at all, the phrase “flower of wealth and honor” came to mind—like a pampered bloom raised in a greenhouse, shielded from the world’s tempests until this moment, when his entire understanding of it had been shattered.

“I heard about it—your thirty million transfer fee,” Xue Yan said. As a veteran a few years older than him, he knew comforting someone started with empathy. “I think it’s outrageous too. Isn’t this just targeting you? A thirty million transfer fee—even Liu Ying might not command that much.”

Yun Qi finally showed some reaction. He turned his head slightly and gestured to Xue Yan. “Just find a place to sit anywhere.”

Xue Yan joked back, “If I sit on your bed, where are you sleeping tonight?”

Yun Qi buried his head in his knees. On the table in front of him sat a string of keys and a phone. What had he been doing moments ago? Calling for help? Reaching out to family to vent? Xue Yan figured any of it was possible.

Seeing that Yun Qi wasn’t in the mood to talk, Xue Yan held back from teasing him about his germaphobia. He sighed and leaned against the table. “I know you’re really disappointed with the team right now, but I want to tell you—this is pretty normal. I haven’t been through anything exactly like it, maybe because I’ve never been worth that much. My transfer fees were never that high. But go ask Danwan, ask the other guys who’ve transferred. This kind of thing won’t be new to them.”

Yun Qi fell silent, deep in thought.

Xue Yan saw he was listening and pressed on. “Brother Qiu said something spot-on: esports players are commodities too. If you’ve got value, they’ll squeeze you dry. Once teams mature, they’re just money-making machines for capitalists. We’re only one tiny team under headquarters. They can put us on stage one day and bench you forever the next. You know Mage King Tank? One of the OGs from way back. At his peak, his transfer fee hit fifty million—ten years ago. Terrifying number, right? But what happened to him? Injuries piled up, his skills dropped off, and he couldn’t even step away to recover because they still saw value in him. They kept him locked in the team until they drained his last drop of energy. Then he tanked so hard he sat on the exchange for three months with no takers. Tragic when you think about it.”

Xue Yan’s own heart ached at the memory, and his voice grew heavy with emotion. “That’s why the smartest move for any esports player is retiring at your peak. If the team lets you go nicely, you’ve got options for life. You become a legend frozen at the top in fans’ minds. You’ll land sponsorships left and right—even streaming won’t get you hate for being past it. This scene can handle a ton of talent; what it can’t stomach is talent crashing down. Players don’t call the shots on most things. We’re just pistols aimed wherever they point. Damn few get to steer their own fate. And you know how it is for supports—no team shells out big for one. Don’t fight them head-on. Leave yourself an exit.”

It was a fight they couldn’t win. Xue Yan had seen Lang Xian’s iron determination firsthand. No way would he let Yun Qi walk easily. Even if he did leave, the team would strip him bare first. That wasn’t an outcome Xue Yan wanted.

“Right now, Captain Lang’s into you. Yeah, he’s scheming for his own gain—pushing that public dating stunt on camera, making it everyone’s business, then chaining you to the team with a ridiculous transfer fee. He can keep you off the starting roster forever. How long can you take that isolation? How many prime years do you even have left? You’ll crack and make peace with him eventually, and boom—mission accomplished. At the end of the day, he’s chasing you. Even if you never beg for his help and rot on the second team forever, can you swear he won’t pull something else? He drags strangers in every other day. Living next door, you’ve heard the noises, haven’t you? Plus, he knows about you and Coach Zhang. He’s got endless leverage on you. Now the whole world thinks you two are an item—how do you stay clear? If he pushes hard and things go down, one throwaway line about ‘just couple stuff’ afterward, and you’re trapped for good.”

These words hit deep; Xue Yan had never laid it out like this before. He’d always shown Lang Xian respect and never trashed anyone on the team. Was this just him trying to comfort Yun Qi, or had he finally seen through to Lang Xian’s core? Yun Qi couldn’t tell.

He listened, turning it all over in his mind. Xue Yan had only voiced what Yun Qi had already pieced together himself. After a moment, Yun Qi asked, “You all know what he’s really like. Why stay with SK willingly?”

For the wins? SK wasn’t mature enough—too many internal headaches. Not a solid pick. For the cash? Signing bonuses were peanuts. Without results, it was barely enough to keep from starving.

Here, Xue Yan’s tone carried a note of resignation. “Yun Qi, you’re young—you might still have a shot. My prime’s long gone. Even shopping me around now, nobody’s biting. Pro scene’s flooded with shooters better than me. Truth is, without you guys carrying, what right do I have to Grand Finals? Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia are on fire this year. You’re the stars—I’m just hitching a ride.”

“No, there are no scrubs who can make it to the Grand Finals,” Yun Qi said. “You have your own value, Brother Yan.”

“I came to comfort you, but now you’re the one consoling me.” Xue Yan felt a bit more at ease seeing him willing to talk. “Do these words actually help, or do they just weigh heavier on your mind? I can try a different approach if you want.”

Yun Qi said, “I’m fine.”

Xue Yan studied him, his hand instinctively reaching out to ruffle Yun Qi’s hair, but he caught himself—it was too intimate a gesture. Instead, his palm settled on the backrest behind Yun Qi. “Really?”

Yun Qi’s fingers idly scraped along the edge of his phone. “Really.”

Xue Yan relaxed a little. “All right, then.”

As he lowered his gaze, he noticed the jacket draped over Yun Qi. The timing felt off, but his curiosity won out, and he frowned. “Actually, I wanted to ask back when we were downstairs. Who did you go meet?”

Yun Qi’s fingers stilled.

Xue Yan’s eyes fixed on the jacket enveloping Yun Qi. “That doesn’t look like yours.”

Yun Qi glanced down. The oversized coat swallowed him whole, and as he leaned in, a distinctive scent wafted up—one no one else could detect, a familiar aroma that filled him with profound comfort.

Then that face flashed in his mind once more.

“It’s mine,” Yun Qi murmured, his fingers lightly pinching the sleeve draped over his hand. The soft fabric pressed against his palm, and he repeated, “It’s always been mine.”

Was it? So loose-fitting? Such an unfamiliar style—had it always been Yun Qi’s?

Xue Yan’s memories blurred.

~~~

Esports Night was drawing near.

Online forums buzzed with speculation about which esports teams would compete this year and which star players would make an appearance.