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Chapter 57 – A Moment of Peace Amid the Noise

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The old courtyard was quaint, with only a few plants and flowers, but a closer look revealed they had been meticulously tended.

It wasn’t far from Jiangling’s commercial district, a peaceful haven tucked within the bustle of the city.

The old man sat cross-legged at a low table, studying a half-finished game of chess.

The table was set on the lawn just beneath the eaves, and all he had for a seat was a woven rattan mat.

Shao Zhan had missed mealtime and was now sitting under the veranda, sipping tea.

Fifteen minutes passed. The old man reached for his empty cup, set it down, picked up the light teapot, and set that down too.

Then he turned away from the chessboard and said bluntly to his eldest grandson, “Why are you here?”

Shao Zhan didn’t take offense. “Missed you. Thought I’d come visit.”

Though the old man was advanced in age, his mind was sharp. “And you came empty-handed?”

When Shao Zhan nodded without shame, the old man summed it up for him: “Wishful thinking?”

To his surprise, Shao Zhan not only admitted it without a trace of guilt—he even stole the last two pieces of mung bean cake from the plate.

“Alright, you’ve visited. Now get lost.” The old man waved him off, pretending not to notice the injuries on his grandson.

Shao Zhan shrugged and told his grandfather not to bother seeing him out, strolling down the long corridor toward the exit.

Not long after, he came back, muttered a cryptic line—“Grandpa, I’m doing fine”—and left again without waiting for a reply or looking back.

Soon after he was gone, the intricately carved wooden door behind the old man opened.

It was Shao Zhan’s aunt, just woken from her nap by the noise. Her features bore a faint resemblance to her nephew’s.

She gently scolded the old man for not caring enough about the child.

The old man let out a snort, his attention entirely on the chessboard. That kid was already an adult—what did they expect him to do, cradle him in his arms and coddle him? What a joke.

His sister, however, couldn’t help feeling distressed for her nephew. “Our child’s been bullied, and you can really just turn a blind eye to it?”

The old man’s gaze never left the chessboard. After a long pause, he let out a cold snort and moved a knight in the traditional L-shape. Only then did his eyes slowly shift over.

He had raised that child himself. If even something this minor required help from the family, then he really would have been a disappointment. He tapped the empty teapot with a finger. Beneath the shade of the trees, filled with the scent of greenery, the old man closed his eyes halfway.

…

In the past, Shao Zhan didn’t go out of his way to disguise himself when coming and going. But since the matter of his injury wasn’t ready to be made public, he left the house wearing a face mask and a baseball cap. His destination: one of the top three private kitchens in Jiangling.

Privacy was a high priority at this establishment. Non-members weren’t even allowed in.

By the time Shao Zhan arrived, his guest had already been shown into a private room by a server.

“Director Feng,” Shao Zhan said, taking off his mask and cap, and smoothing back his hair. “Sorry I’m late.”

Meanwhile, on the other side, Yang Sa was moving freely between the base and Xinghai headquarters using the password Shao Zhan had given him. Whether this counted as lax management or a mark of deep trust was up for debate, but no one stopped him—not even when he entered the executive-only elevator.

Even on the eleventh floor, where the secretarial office was located, no one questioned his presence. As he passed, a polite inquiry was made: would he prefer coffee or tea?

Yang Sa declined the offer from a beautiful secretary in a pale lavender suit and made his way alone to Shao Zhan’s office on the same floor.

After inputting the six-digit password, the lock clicked open.

The spacious office held only a solid wood desk and a single chair—everything looked brand new. Clearly, the owner didn’t visit often and hadn’t intended to host meetings or hear reports from subordinates here.

Yang Sa hesitated for a moment, then sat down in the dark brown leather chair and pressed the power button.

In the near-silent hum of the computer’s fan, he entered the boot-up password. The crisp clack of the keys echoed in the quiet room.

“He’s here.”

Shao Zhan received the message from his secretary. It was brief and to the point.

Although Secretary Chen was young, he had been trained by one of Shao Zhan’s father’s longtime subordinates. He had been with Shao Zhan for years, handling miscellaneous affairs at headquarters. Loyal and dependable, he had always dealt with things in a calm and steady manner.

Shao Zhan didn’t reply. He had already given all the necessary instructions, and he trusted Secretary Chen to handle the rest. As for Yang Sa, he had left the biggest choice up to him.

Exiting the messaging app, Shao Zhan set down his phone.

Guests at this private restaurant valued discretion above all else. After confirming that the guest had arrived, the waiter quietly withdrew.

Because of his injured right hand, Shao Zhan’s movements were limited. Director Feng, whose hair was half-white with age, thoughtfully placed dishes onto the plate in front of him.

“Sorry,” Shao Zhan said politely, with a note of apology in his voice. “I invited you to dinner, but ended up needing you to take care of me instead.”

Director Feng waved his hand repeatedly. “Don’t say that. You’re about the same age as my youngest son, and you’re injured—of course I’ll look after you a bit.”

After most of the dishes had been served, Director Feng found an opportunity to ask about the injury: “Is it serious?”

Shao Zhan maintained his usual calm demeanor and shook his head.

“Does it mean… you won’t be able to play esports anymore?” Director Feng asked. He was a veteran of the team, part of Xinghai since before they broke away from Silver Emperor, and had long been in charge of finances. He had only stepped down a couple of years ago, supposedly a casualty of the internal power struggles within Silver Emperor.

Back then, when Shao Zhan’s father—Old Shao—bought the team, Feng had wanted to go with him. But a moment of hesitation had led to today’s outcome. Even though he had left the club a long time ago, hearing Shao Zhan call him “Director” stirred memories of those days when he had fought side by side with Shao Zhan’s father.

“Who hurt you?” he asked bluntly, speaking from the heart like an elder concerned for a child. When he saw that Shao Zhan didn’t answer, he rephrased the question: “Is the person who hurt you connected to the Silver Emperor Club?”

A long silence followed.

Feng Changshan lowered his hand and stared steadily across the table.

“Alright then—what is it you want from me?”

---

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Chapter 56 – Talking Nonsense

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“Wait,” Shao Zhan called out to the team member who was about to leave. “About Yang Sa…”

“What about him?” Fat Tangyuan dashed back like lightning, eyes sparkling with curiosity as if nothing made him happier than drama. “Spit it out already.”

“Don’t go bother him.”

After all that waiting, that was all he had to say. Fat Tangyuan waved a hand to fan himself. “I’m not even gonna expose you. If you didn’t have a guilty conscience, who’d be bothering him in the first place…”

Before Shao Zhan’s darkening expression could spiral completely out of control, Jiang Ranan and Zhuang Bai flanked Fat Tangyuan, each taking an arm, dragging the motor-mouthed boy away from the imminent explosion.

The ticking time bomb of a man wandered around the base aimlessly and ended up in the kitchen. As casually as one could manage, he asked the team about their meals—particularly the guests who were currently staying at the base.

When he learned that one of them hadn’t eaten anything since arriving—having stayed holed up in his room—he asked the cook to make a bowl of egg noodles and carried it over with one hand.

Outside the room meant for the coach’s son—the door still adorned with a Salted Egg Ultraman sticker—Shao Zhan lowered his voice: “It’s me.”

In the silence that followed, his voice came again, persistent: “Coach Du asked me to check in… see if you’re adjusting okay.” He leaned close to the door crack. Still no response from inside. “I even brought you some noodles,” he added, then deliberately stumbled a bit, crying out, “Hot! Hot!”

The next second, the door cracked open. A long, slender hand reached out, steadying the bowl in Shao Zhan’s hands and taking it smoothly. The entire exchange happened so quickly it made one’s head spin. The person inside then immediately tried to close the door again before the visitor could react.

Too bad Shao Zhan came prepared. He wedged his foot in the gap and, ignoring any and all signs of rejection, shamelessly squeezed his way in.

The bed was neatly made—so neat it looked like no one had even rested in it. The room was sparsely furnished. Yang Sa sat back down in front of the computer, typing away without so much as a glance, as if the only ones willing to show any hospitality were the shelves full of anime figures behind him.

Shao Zhan tilted his wrist, clicking his tongue in pain. The other person, however, clearly refused to fall for it again, pretending not to hear. A moment later, a small bottle of topical spray for bruises and sprains came flying toward the door.

Shao Zhan caught the palm-sized bottle with one hand. A bit helpless, and a little self-mocking, he said, “Thanks, but I’ve only got one hand—don’t think I can manage.” He reluctantly set the spray aside, adding in a pitiful, hesitant voice, “Sorry to waste your kindness.”

The words sounded both pitiful and cowardly. Even though Yang Sa knew he was faking it, he just couldn’t bring himself to ignore the guy. Face stony, he turned around, grabbed the spray, and applied the medicine for him.

The slightly pungent smell of the medicinal spray began to spread through the small room. Yang Sa was about to return to his desk when Shao Zhan grabbed his hand.

“You haven’t eaten the noodles yet,” Shao Zhan said.

Yang Sa twisted his wrist, trying to pull free. “I will.”

But the other hand clung on, refusing to let go. Shao Zhan simply watched him, lips pressed into a line, waiting.

After a brief standoff, Yang Sa gave in. “Fine. I’ll eat. Right now.”

Shao Zhan finally let go of his hand but didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled a chair over and sat beside the desk, watching quietly as Yang Sa ate.

The noodles had tiny dried shrimp scattered on top, paired with a sweet and tangy broth that turned out surprisingly rich and flavorful. The warm soup slid down easily, awakening the appetite of someone who hadn’t planned to eat at all.

Yang Sa stirred the noodles slowly, eyes downcast. “How long are you planning to sit there and watch me?”

The visitor calmed himself, pulled a brand-new folding knife from his pocket, and placed it on the desk. “This isn’t for you.”

“How do you know it’s not?” The heat from the soup had tinged Yang Sa’s pale face a soft pink, like a layer of honey-colored blush painted over his skin.

“Do you even know how to use a knife?”

While Yang Sa stayed tense and guarded, Shao Zhan remained relaxed, almost lazily so. He hooked a finger around the knife’s handle, flipping it effortlessly between his fingers. The blade twirled like a silver butterfly dancing at his fingertips.

Yang Sa quietly sipped his soup, refusing to pay attention to the show.

“Did you go to block those people at Silver Empire because of me?” The silver butterfly paused between Shao Zhan’s fingers, revealing its sharp, deadly edge.

Yang Sa lowered his head. His reflection flickered on the soup’s surface, a trace of panic flashing across his face—but he quickly forced that slip of emotion back into hiding.

When he didn’t answer, Shao Zhan didn’t press him. He only reminded him, “You should eat the noodles while they’re still hot.”

Yang Sa drank every last drop of the broth, only stopping when the bowl no longer reflected his face. That’s when Shao Zhan recited a string of numbers out loud and placed both the folding knife and a pre-prepared USB flash drive in the corner of the desk.

Yang Sa quietly committed the numbers to memory, though he had no idea what this out-of-nowhere topic was about.

Shao Zhan eventually explained on his own: “That was the base’s door code. I was going to add your fingerprint, but I figured you wouldn’t be up for it. Memorize that number—you can come and go freely without bothering Uncle Zhou.”

Then he gave two more strings of numbers. “This one is the entrance code to Xinghai Headquarters. And this—my personal login on the eleventh floor, paired with the decryption key.”

He nudged the flash drive forward on the table. “With this, you can access every piece of core data since Xinghai Club was founded…”

Someone’s voice echoed in his ears—so close, yet somehow distant.

Yang Sa suppressed the turmoil in his heart and sat quietly, like a lifeless puppet without a trace of emotion.

Shao Zhan hadn’t expected any response to begin with. After saying what he came to say, he stood up to leave. Just before stepping out, he turned back and told the room’s occupant, “I’m heading back to my grandfather’s. He’s old and tends to ramble, so I might be back a little late.”

There was no real need for him to report his whereabouts, but for some reason, he just didn’t want to hide anything from this person.

Yang Sa stayed in the same position, showing no reaction. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word, or couldn’t grasp the hidden meaning behind them.

But only he knew how fast his heart was racing in that moment.

It wasn’t until he was certain Shao Zhan had left that Yang Sa finally turned his gaze toward the door he’d gone through.

He didn’t know why, but he had a strong feeling—Shao Zhan knew. He knew everything.

He had pointed his blade at Silver Empire, provoking them into action. No one could have predicted they would behave exactly the same as they had thirteen years ago—just as despicably.

He had overheard Qin Chuan on the phone. The gangsters’ original target had been him—the only Asian person in the villa.

By a twist of fate, Shao Zhan had become the scapegoat.

The image of Shao Zhan being beaten flashed unbidden through his mind. The wounds were on Shao Zhan’s body, but the pain seared Yang Sa’s heart as if it were being scorched by fire.

But after lying low for ten years, after ten years of pain and hate—now that he had returned filled with vengeance—would he really pick up a knife and blatantly go block the gates of the Silver Empire team just because of that?

Shao Zhan getting hurt had never been part of the plan. Blocking their gate wasn’t either.

But Yang Sa understood: behind what seemed like a reckless move, there was clear, deliberate logic.

He needed an image—one of a man consumed by revenge, willing to act on impulse.

That image was meant to lower the enemy’s guard, to draw out their killing blow.

The identity Yang Sa used to sign up for the Silver Empire Cup was a backup one. The original person had been the son of a seriously ill man—a man who had died after Silver Empire’s team delayed his wages and treatment.

The child had been adopted and eventually sent overseas. His story bore a striking resemblance to Yang Sa’s own.

But he never tried to build that kind of image within the Xinghai team.

Partly because he genuinely didn’t want to deceive them—and partly because he knew Shao Zhan and Du Changcheng wouldn’t buy it anyway.

It was like this: he was ninety percent sure Shao Zhan could see through the actions he used as a disguise.
As for the other ten percent, he didn’t dare to hope, nor could he afford to.

Shao Zhan had clearly seen through his intentions, yet still chose to play along.
But what Yang Sa was after—without a doubt—would shatter the reputation Xinghai had spent years building.

So… how was he supposed to choose?

He set the spoon down. The porcelain clinked crisply against the bottom of the bowl.

---

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Chapter 55 – Main Team Substitute

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Qin Chuan had been absolutely swamped these past few days. With dark circles under his eyes, he’d lost the last traces of baby fat and was starting to develop that sharp, chiseled look.

The press had been suppressed for now—but for how long, he didn’t know. Shao Zhan was the face of the team. If he couldn’t play in the upcoming tournament, it wouldn’t just be the fans going wild—sponsors would start bailing too.

Shao Zhan’s take was to wait for the police to release an official statement, and then the club could put out a formal announcement to minimize the fallout.

But even in the best-case scenario, the damage to the team’s reputation and brand value would be unavoidable. Shao Zhan might’ve come here just to unwind, but people like them had their whole lives tied to the club. Many kids on the second team or in youth training relied on the team’s support to lift their families out of tough situations. They didn’t even want to imagine how the old chairman—who’d been itching to drag his grandson back to take over the family business—would deal with a club whose value was plummeting.

“What are you thinking about?” Shao Zhan wasn’t the least bit concerned with the mental gymnastics going on in Qin Chuan’s head. His mind was focused entirely on the team’s operations. “Right now, the most important thing is to reinforce the main lineup.”

Shao Zhan had never considered giving up on the team. Sponsors pulling out was normal—it was just business. What mattered to him was the game itself. As long as they kept their heads down and played their best, this rough patch would pass soon enough. He believed the fans would understand too.

Their past glory was earned through hard work and sheer effort—one shot at a time. Now, they just had to do it all over again. And none of this had happened because they’d stopped trying.

Qin Chuan scratched at his unwashed hair, which hadn’t seen shampoo in days, and suddenly realized—this rich young master in front of him probably had no concept of setbacks or bottlenecks.

Du Changcheng, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised in the slightest. He had a deeper understanding of Shao Zhan. The boy had grown up under his wing, and no one knew his character better than he did. What others saw as carefree or rebellious on the surface—Du knew was just a layer. Underneath, Shao Zhan’s nature was resilient and steady, shaped by everything he had been through. That core never changed.

Qin Chuan wasn’t privy to those inner thoughts. Still pretending to be troubled, he groaned and covered his eyes. “You make it sound so easy—he has to be technically solid, have experience in major tournaments, and most importantly, be able to wrangle those monkey brats in the main team. Especially that fat monkey. Where am I supposed to find someone like that? Seriously, where?”

Truth be told, they all knew the best candidate was already at the base. But none of them wanted to be the one to bring it up.

The three of them were putting on a show, pretending to hold a serious meeting, but in reality, it was a standoff between foxes—each waiting for someone else to take the first step.

Du Changcheng, who had been resting with his eyes closed, finally spoke: “Speaking of which…”

Qin Chuan leaned forward, fully focused, thinking Du was finally going to steer the conversation in the right direction—only to hear:

“For dinner, maybe ease off on the spice.” He braced his back with both hands and groaned. “Ugh, this illness is killing me.”

Qin Chuan squirmed in his chair, barely stopping himself from writing the word disdain across his face. Forget it, he thought, hardening his resolve. If nobody else was going to bring it up, he’d bite the bullet and start persuading Yang Sa. Otherwise, what was the point of this farce of a meeting that could drag on all night?

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the one-armed Shao Zhan beat him to it. “Let’s start the selection process.”

“Under what pretense?” Qin Chuan asked. Shao Zhan’s injury hadn’t been made public yet. “And what’s the scope?”

“Main team substitute,” Shao Zhan replied after a pause. “No limit. Just the strongest.”

“You mean that…” Qin Chuan hinted gently. “You really don’t want to reconsider?”

Du Changcheng, who had resumed his nap, opened his eyes and changed the subject. “Does your family know you’re injured?”

The shift in topic was also a quiet way of signaling his stance on the earlier discussion. Qin Chuan, a little sulky, had no choice but to shelve his thoughts and start coordinating with the PR department to begin recruiting.

While leaving voice memos and issuing tasks, he still couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, head swinging between the two “great masters” like a bobblehead. “Come on, can’t we at least discuss it?”

Qin Chuan groaned, frustrated. “You two old bastards—can’t you just make a tiny sacrifice for the team?”

“Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?” Shao Zhan sat lazily in the small conference room’s swivel chair, smiling faintly. “Like, offering myself? I don’t mind, really. The question is—does he want it?”

Qin Chuan shivered. “You damn flirt, stop making moves on me!”

He crossed his arms and fumed silently for a while, brain still churning. That steel-gun Yang Sa might just be a steel-rod straight guy, he thought. Why else would he run off so thoroughly three years ago?

And just like that, the gossip flame within him ignited recklessly.

“So tell me, Zhan—what exactly did you do to him back then…?”

“A real man doesn’t brag about past glories,” Shao Zhan said, reclining like he was in a rocking chair, with his one good arm resting behind his head in a mock-casual pose. Because of the cast, it was the only hand he could move. “Although…” his eyes gleamed with mischief, “maybe tonight you could come to my room, and I’ll demonstrate what happened three years ago…”

Qin Chuan slapped his hands over his ears and bolted with a bang, yelling as he fled, “I’m not pure anymore! I’m dirty! I’m dirty!”

Du Changcheng, utterly unfazed by the nonsense, took a sip of his herbal tea. It was too hot—he quickly spat the goji berry back into the cup when no one was looking. But when he turned his head, he realized Shao Zhan had seen the whole thing. Embarrassed, he nodded toward the direction Qin Chuan had run off. “Did you have to go that far?”

Shao Zhan’s injury had cast a shadow over the entire team. Though Du Changcheng sighed inwardly, he kept his expression light.

After all, Shao Zhan wasn’t just the captain of Xinghai—he was the team owner, and the backbone everyone looked to. Ever since he was young, his grandfather had taught him:

“A man can be defeated, but never broken.”

He knew what he was getting into when he threw everything he had into the world of esports. That quote from The Old Man and the Sea had carried him through countless dark nights.

Du Changcheng didn’t love Shao Zhan’s seemingly carefree attitude. The world could be crashing down, and the guy would act like he’d just messed up a late-night snack order. But he understood his captain—Shao Zhan was the kind of person who carried everything silently. So instead of pushing, he simply asked about the investigation.

For once, Shao Zhan dropped the playboy act. “Qin Chuan’s on it,” he said seriously—though the reassurance was quickly followed by, “Just worry about your own backdoor.”

Du Changcheng stared daggers at him, too pissed to speak, but his fragile hips made it hard to stand up and beat the guy like he wanted. The frustration was obvious even across the table.

“When are you going to see your grandfather?” he asked, swallowing his anger and trying to keep things civil.

“If you hadn’t dragged me into this stupid meeting,” Shao Zhan snorted, “I’d be home having a proper meal right now.”

“Scram, scram, scram!” Du Changcheng drained the last of his tea and waved him off without mercy. “Get lost—better yet, never come back!”

Shao Zhan, for once, didn’t argue. With the poise of a true captain, he ignored the insult, pushed his chair back, and headed for the door. Just as he pulled it open, a round, chubby face squished nervously into the doorway.

“C-C-Captain…” Fat Tangyuan clutched his chest. “Are you… okay?”

He got too close, and the sheen of oil on his face caught the light, nearly blinding Shao Zhan. Rubbing at his eyes, Shao Zhan looked past him at the others poking their heads around outside to check on him.

“I’m not dead yet,” he said coolly. “It’s just a flesh wound. Now all of you—back to training!”

With one hand, he grabbed Fat Tangyuan by the collar and kicked the round little guy out the door. “Extra practice for you, Fatty.”

Then he bent down, staring into that chubby, doughy face. “You’re worried about Daddy, aren’t you? Then train hard. Play well…”

Everyone held their breath, expecting something moving—some powerful, heartfelt words.

Instead, Shao Zhan slowly spat out nine syllables: “Make Daddy some more money for medical bills.”

Any lingering sentiment was instantly snuffed out by the capitalist calculation.

Fat Tangyuan waved to the rest of the team, grumbling as he waddled away: “Let’s go, let’s go. I told you capitalists don’t have hearts, but nooo, you just had to come, didn’t you…”

---

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Chapter 54 – A Show of Contradictions

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When Mu Chen of Team Weiguang spotted Shao Zhan, he quietly recalled the painful memories of losing to Xinghai in the last two major tournaments—and managed not to look too smug about it.

“What happened to you?” he asked with a frown.

Shao Zhan didn’t bother putting on an act. “If you want to laugh, just laugh.”

“Well now,” Mu Chen said, walking in that signature bow-legged gait of his as he circled around Shao Zhan, whose right hand was in a cast and slung across his chest. “How could I bring myself to laugh at an injured man? What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Someone who jokes about the disabled right to their face,” Shao Zhan teased, “what a class act.”

Mu Chen raised his hands in mock surrender, signaling he wasn’t here to trade barbs. He pointed to the van behind him. “I brought your guy back. How’s Xinghai planning to thank me?”

Shao Zhan shot an indifferent glance at the person inside the van, then said in mock surprise, “What’s it got to do with Xinghai?” His eyes lingered for a moment on Yang Sa’s profile before turning back to the Weiguang captain. “You got something wrong in the head? That guy’s with LAP, not Xinghai…”

“I’m out,” Mu Chen muttered, reaching for the steering wheel—only to be stopped.

“Appreciate the favor,” Shao Zhan nodded coolly. “Thank you on a personal level.” His tone was utterly unapologetic—he couldn’t have sounded more annoying if he tried.

Mu Chen’s face turned all kinds of colors. He pointed at Shao Zhan’s handsome face and scowled, “With a mouth like that, it’s a miracle you have any friends at all. Now take your guy and get lost.”

Yang Sa originally didn’t plan to pay Shao Zhan any attention. But when Du Changcheng hobbled up, holding his stomach and moaning in pain, he couldn’t ignore it.

Still silent, Yang Sa climbed out of the van and got into the passenger seat of the taxi, arms crossed, brooding.

That’s it?

Just like that?

While Shao Zhan was still mulling it over, Mu Chen suddenly leaned in close, startling him into leaping back.

“What the hell, you perv?!”

Captain Mu rolled his eyes so hard they nearly disappeared into his skull. “You think I’m your blind-ass grandma or something? Who’d be into you?” He leaned in a little. “Serious business.” He quietly pulled a folding knife from his pocket and handed it over—apparently something that had “fallen” off the kid in the taxi.

“Appreciate it, Lao Mu.” Shao Zhan turned slightly to block Du Changcheng’s view, slapped his old friend hard on the back, and said, “On behalf of Xinghai’s official team mascot, the eight o’clock bird, I fully forgive you.”

“You’ll never spit out an ivory tusk from that dog mouth of yours,” Mu Chen muttered, ducking back into the van. He rolled down the window again, a little uneasy. His face looked concerned, but what came out of his mouth was, “Ask that kid if he’s got any interest in joining Team Weiguang…”

Shao Zhan reached in through the window and hit the button to roll it back up for him.

…

The sickly Du Changcheng, though clearly unwell, insisted on staying in the same car as Yang Sa, fearing the kid might bolt halfway through and Shao Zhan wouldn’t be able to stop him.

With one arm in a cast, Shao Zhan had no choice but to grudgingly squeeze into the back seat with him. Maybe he’d pulled something from running around too quickly—just as his butt touched the seat, Du Changcheng let out a howl and shifted to lie face down instead.

On the other end of the seat, Shao Zhan pressed his throbbing temples. “Coach, you’re being way too polite. It’s not even a holiday—I didn’t prepare a red envelope for you…”

Du Changcheng bared his teeth in pain, his forehead covered in sweat—it was unclear whether it was from the pain or sheer anger.

Shao Zhan gave the driver the address of the base, then shot a look outside at Zhuang Bai, signaling him to take another car. Unexpectedly, Zhuang Bai opened the car door and politely helped the driver out.

The confused driver took a couple of seconds to process, rubbing his shiny bald head. “Sir, that’s not how this works. Not just anyone can drive a cab…”

Zhuang Bai slipped him 200 yuan and told him to grab another cab and follow them. Then he pulled out both his taxi operator license and driver’s license, holding them up for comparison.

As he watched his own taxi drive off, the bald driver slowly closed his mouth, feeling oddly unsettled as he raised a hand to flag down another car.

The new cab driver, seeing a fellow uniformed driver hop in, joked, “What happened, buddy? Got hijacked?” while expertly punching the meter.

“Close enough,” the bald guy muttered, brushing the few hairs on his head and pointing to the roundabout ahead. “Just follow that car…”

“The world’s a wild place, huh?” the second driver said, tapping the dashboard. “You sure that license was legit? Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“That was a B2 license,” the bald guy muttered in disbelief. That’s way higher than his own Class C—no joke. He clutched his seatbelt, eyes locked on the back of his own car.

Someone hijacked his cab—and paid him to sit in it.

No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t sit right. Before clocking out that evening, he even called up a few colleagues to thoroughly search his vehicle, afraid someone might’ve used it to stash contraband.

Meanwhile, up front, Zhuang Bai had no clue the car behind was carrying such a storm of thoughts. The rest of the team knew his background, but he figured it was worth explaining to the “new passengers” anyway.

“My mom passed away early. When I was a kid, my dad drove freight trucks. I basically grew up in his cab. Got a knack for all this stuff. The moment I turned eighteen, I went and got my license. Later, my dad got cancer, and I planned to drive taxis to help out—but then Xinghai picked me up instead.”

Zhuang Bai’s driving was fast and smooth, way better than the ride over. Du Changcheng groaned in comfort, “Man, having a driver in the family is the best.”

Then he reminisced about recruiting Zhuang Bai. “I remember when we first brought you in—you were so scrawny and short, you didn’t even reach the top of the steering wheel…”

Zhuang Bai didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Scrawny and short? Not even as tall as the wheel? What was he, a fire hydrant?

“Then why’d you recruit me in the first place?”

“That was just because we’d just recruited Fatty, and he ate way too much,” Du Changcheng said, rubbing his nose sheepishly. “The club wasn’t doing so well back then, so I figured we should balance it out—recruit someone thinner who’d eat less.”

The air went still for two seconds. Shao Zhan crossed one leg over the other. “Coach, aren’t we being a little too casual with our recruitment process?”

Du Changcheng shot him a glare. “Casual like who?”

At this point, anyone with sense would’ve shut up—but Shao Zhan had never been the type to just go with the flow. He was the kind of guy who’d poke at the Horse King’s third eye or stick a branch in a hornet’s nest just to see what happened. He connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and started playing Jay Chou’s Chrysanthemum Terrace, specifically setting the line “The chrysanthemum withers, and pain is everywhere” on loop.

Then he told Zhuang Bai, “When we get back to base, order extra spicy crawfish for the whole week. Anyone who can’t feel their chrysanthemum like Coach Du here—fire them on the spot.”

Zhuang Bai was barely holding in a laugh, but didn’t dare show it. In the back seat, Shao Zhan was already searching up levels of chrysanthemum damage on his phone.

Du Changcheng was furious, but couldn’t bring himself to hit Shao Zhan’s injured head—so he pounded him on the thigh twice instead. “Always joking! You’re this badly hurt and still messing around? Can’t you think of yourself—or at least think of the team? The Asia Cup is right around the corner. Where am I supposed to find a replacement now?”

His voice echoed in the cramped car. Yang Sa, who had remained silent the entire ride, could feel everyone’s gaze drifting toward him, but he kept his head down, lost in his thoughts.

Outside the Xinghai base, Zhuang Bai returned the cab. The moment his hands gripped the familiar steering wheel again, something flickered in his eyes—just a touch of vitality in a life that had rarely been his own to steer.

After checking in with his friends to let them know he was safe, Yang Sa shut himself in the room they’d prepared for him, curling up like he was incubating an egg. He didn’t even come out to eat.

---

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Chapter 53 – Rushed to the Hospital

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The injured Shao Zhan was rushed to the hospital—after all, a professional esports player’s hand is their livelihood.

Even Uncle Zhou, the old man who watched over the front gate, couldn’t help but secretly wipe his eyes. A heavy, suffocating atmosphere hung in the corridor.

Fearing that the stress might trigger one of Du Changcheng’s old illnesses, the baby-faced Qin Chuan stepped up and showed why he was the team manager. He arranged for Jiang Ranan to escort Du Changcheng and Uncle Zhou back to the base, and had the now-calmer Tangyuan accompany Hei, Bai, and Lan—as well as a foreigner no one had seen before—to the police station to file a report.

“What about me?” asked the usually steady Zhuang Bai. One group was old, the other injured—he simply couldn’t sit still.

Qin Chuan tugged on his sleeve, subtly gesturing toward Yang Sa, who stood silently outside the emergency room. That normally calm and gentle young man… if he snapped, Qin Chuan wasn’t sure anyone could stop him.

“I’ve arranged for the second squad to meet them at the base entrance,” Qin Chuan said in a lowered voice.

“But I’m still not too sure about fatty. He’s never handled something like this before—and the people involved are all foreigners.”

Zhuang Bai gave him a look. “Go. I’ll handle things here.”

As Qin Chuan jogged off to catch up with Tangyuan’s group, Zhuang Bai wandered over to where Yang Sa stood and leaned against the half-open window in the corridor, closing his eyes to rest.

So much had happened in just half a day—he hadn’t even had time to process it all.

The early autumn night breeze carried a salty dampness. Mixed into it were ragged breaths, and grief so repressed it felt suffocating:

“It’s all… because of me…”

Zhuang Bai took two steps forward and placed a hand gently on Yang Sa’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word.

…

A fractured right arm, combined with a mild concussion—this kind of injury was, without a doubt, devastating for a frontline pro athlete.

When Du Changcheng visited the next day, his eyes were brimming with tears. But Shao Zhan, carefree as ever, grinned and asked if he was crying for his own “backside” or for the team.

Du Changcheng cursed, “You little bast*rd, could you be a little more serious?” His heart ached just looking at him.

But Shao Zhan didn’t react much. His right arm was in a plaster cast, suspended in front of him, as he lounged lazily on the hospital bed.

“How are they doing?” he asked.

Du Changcheng lowered his gaze. “Better than you,” he replied tiredly. “Qin Chuan took them to file a police report last night. They were busy till after midnight. We didn’t think the villa was safe anymore, so we brought them all back to stay at the base.”

“And?” Shao Zhan pressed.

“And?” Du Changcheng thought for a moment. “That little foreigner with LAP—his injuries were treated. Just superficial wounds.”

“And?”

Du Changcheng racked his brain. “Uncle Zhou’s settled in. We were worried about his health, so he’s resting at the base too.”

“And?” Shao Zhan asked, resigned this time. “What about Yang Sa?”

Du Changcheng looked at his captain, realizing he wasn’t joking. “He’s not at the hospital?”

Just then, Zhuang Bai emerged from the doctor’s office, holding Shao Zhan’s X-rays and diagnosis. Faced with two pairs of questioning eyes, he asked, “Yang Sa?”

Zhuang Bai was at a loss for words.

From the emergency room to the transfer to a regular ward, he had been by Shao Zhan’s side the entire time. Later, when the nurse came to inform them that the anesthesia was wearing off—and the doctor wanted to discuss the treatment plan with the patient’s family—Zhuang Bai thought he’d give the two some privacy and stayed a little longer in the doctor’s office.

Who could have guessed that when Shao Zhan woke up, the first person he’d see would be Du Changcheng, who had come to visit?

Du Changcheng had assumed Yang Sa was still at the hospital. Shao Zhan thought Yang Sa had gone to the police station with the foreign friends. But when they all finally crossed paths, they realized something shocking—Yang Sa, who had been waiting anxiously outside the emergency room the entire time, was now nowhere to be found.

Upon hearing this, Shao Zhan threw off the blanket and jumped straight out of bed. Dizziness from low blood sugar made his steps unsteady.

Du Changcheng rushed to steady him. “For the love of god, take it slow! Are you trying to kill me here?”

Shao Zhan forced himself to focus and told Zhuang Bo to call the base and ask if Yang Sa was there.

Just then, a call came through from the team manager, Qin Chuan. Shao Zhan answered immediately:

“Answer me first—do you have Yang Sa with you?”

“Does anyone know where he is?”

“Are you sure?”

After the shocking incident where a pro team captain was assaulted, Qin Chuan had been running around all night, barely touching the ground. There was too much to investigate, too much to organize. He had trusted Zhuang Bo’s steadiness, which was why he left him at the hospital.

He—and the rest of the foreign visitors—had all assumed Yang Sa was at the hospital. When they couldn’t reach him, they hadn’t thought much of it.

“What about the villa?” Shao Zhan pressed.

“He’s not there either,” Qin Chuan replied. “There’s surveillance. Blue just checked it—no sign of him.”

As he spoke, he lowered his voice, skipping over the specifics of the investigation.

After a night of calling in every favor he had, Qin Chuan had finally discovered that the thugs who caused the trouble were loosely connected to an esports club in Jiangling.

“But,” he quickly added, “there’s no solid evidence yet—this is all just speculation.”

That was enough.

Shao Zhan ended the call. Considering the wave LAP had stirred up in Jiangling in such a short time, it wasn’t hard to guess what Yang Sa might be trying to do.

Thoughts racing, Shao Zhan immediately dialed the captain of the MicroLight team.

“Do me a favor—intercept someone. You’re closer than we are.”

Meanwhile, Du Changcheng, dragging around his post-surgery backside that really needed rest, found his movement very limited.

Shao Zhan originally didn’t want to bring him along, worried the situation might spiral out of control. In the end, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and let Zhuang Bai support him as they walked.

“Wait, Xiao Zhan—are you sure about this?” Du Changcheng’s face was pale from the pain. “Are you certain that kid’s there?”

“Eighty percent sure.” Shao Zhan raised his hand to flag down a taxi, got into the front passenger seat, and the cab sped off.

“What’s that supposed to mean…” Du Changcheng stared at the exhaust smoke trailing behind the taxi, still trembling from the pain.

“I think it means…” Zhuang Bai offered a reluctant explanation, “we’re supposed to follow him.”

“He just doesn’t want me around!” Du Changcheng practically jumped in frustration. “Look at me—injured this badly, still running around for that little brat, and he’s ditching me like I’m in the way?!”

“That’s not it,” Zhuang Bai gestured for another waiting cab to come closer. “Isn’t finding him the most important thing right now?”

Du Changcheng, clutching the door in pain, grumbled angrily, “So those people are more important than me? Those people—more important than his own coach?!”

---

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Chapter 52 – My Lord, Won’t You Try My Chicken Bones?

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Fat Tangyuan’s mischievous grin was completely caught by Shao Zhan. Clearly, he’d spoiled the guy too much on a daily basis. It was time to teach him a lesson or two.

Thinking this, Shao Zhan picked up a perfectly grilled pepper and took a bite—it was sweet.

After noticing that someone would squint like a cat stretching in the sun whenever he ate roasted peppers, Yang Sa quietly passed the rest of his pepper and meat skewers to Uncle Zhou.

Uncle Zhou didn’t have great teeth, so he only kept one or two as a gesture, then slid the rest—untouched—right onto Shao Zhan’s plate.

Over by the grill, Fat Tangyuan was tiptoeing to watch the situation unfold, his face full of confusion.

Yang Sa sipped his juice without a flicker of expression, completely ignoring the probing looks from afar.

“Ah! It’s on fire, it’s on fire—!” The corner of the paper chef’s hat, clipped to his head with a paperclip, accidentally got singed by a flare from the coals.

Jiang Ranan and Little Blue rushed over in a panic to help pat out the flames. But Fat Tangyuan’s heart and eyes were locked on the food on the grill: “Aiya, move over, move over, don’t mess up my chicken bones!”

Once the chicken bones were done, Fat Tangyuan suddenly remembered a crucial step. He grabbed Lanlan by the arm: “How do I look? How’s my face?”

Staring at his singed and curling eyebrows, Little Lanlan couldn’t lie. After holding back for a long time, he squeezed out two words: “Slight flaw.”

“What does that mean?” Fat Tangyuan, suddenly humbled by the vast and poetic complexity of the Chinese language, turned to another teammate and grabbed Jiang Ranan by the shoulders. “Ranan, be honest—how do I look?”

Jiang Ranan bit the tip of his tongue, forced himself to adopt a solemn expression, and said, “Handsome, graceful, generous. Female fans would go crazy. Male fans would want to marry you.”

“You naughty thing~” The chubby guy suddenly went all bashful, wiping his face with the back of his hand—only to wipe off half an eyebrow in the process. Then, with an utterly demure expression, the plump drama queen said, “My lord, won’t you try this humble one’s chicken bones?”

Jiang Ranan glanced at the chicken bones and was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea.

Maybe all the flattery had gone to his head, but Fat Tangyuan’s battle spirit had clearly dropped. After the chicken bones were served, Coach Du and Uncle Zhou sampled them out of courtesy, and the rest couldn’t stomach much more.

Fat Tangyuan stood guard over the grill with a heartbroken look. “This really is a family recipe! When I was a kid, my dad grilled these to pay for my school fees—and later for my esports training…” His soul was crying. How could something this delicious be left uneaten?

But he didn’t stay sad for long. He suddenly remembered the mooncakes he’d bought earlier and forgotten to take out. Eyes sparkling with unshed tears, he bounced over and dug them out from under the soda crates—then solemnly began introducing them to the foreign guests.

For example, there’s Chang’e on the moon, and Chang’e has a rabbit. The moment someone mentioned rabbits, he perked up: “Do you know how to eat rabbit? The best part is spicy rabbit head,” he said, shivering with pleasure. “Ah, speaking of spicy rabbit head—you’ve come to the right person…”

“No one asked you though,” Qin Chuan replied flatly, twenty years of experience in shutting people down.

“Qin Chuanchuan, you are just too cute!” Fat Tangyuan cried out, reaching out with sauce-covered hands to paw at him. His soft, chubby face ended up completely smushed.

Yang Sa turned on the porch lights as everyone laughed and watched Fatty’s soap opera of love and hate with the team manager.

Little Black threw off his jacket and started dancing wildly like a tribal native, full of raw energy. Little Blue played a drum rhythm on his phone to match the vibe.

Du Changcheng answered a video call from his son and proudly showed off the warm hospitality of their international friends. On the other end, the well-behaved little boy softly expressed how much he missed his dad.

“October,” Du Changcheng promised, “I’ll come home for National Day and spend it with you.”

Puffed out from all the antics, Fat Tangyuan waddled over, holding his chest dramatically. “Coach, take care of your rear.”

Du Changcheng smacked him.

Fatty whimpered, “Can that thing even handle a high-speed train?”

“As long as you stop pissing me off,” Du Changcheng said through gritted teeth, “I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“Is that Brother Fatfat ? Is that Brother Fatfat?” a child’s excited voice came through the phone speaker. Fat Tangyuan shamelessly squeezed into the frame.

“Hey, little Dudu! Did you miss your chubby uncle?” His round face practically took over the whole screen.

The black, white, and blue international friends each took turns greeting the boy, then tactfully gave father and son their space—everyone except Fat Tangyuan, who kept chattering away.

Friendly and outgoing, Little Black started chatting with the Xinghai team about how Bage was doing.

Meanwhile, the white and blue duo, taking advantage of everyone being distracted, made a stealth move—one snatched a skewer of meat, the other hoisted the tray of chicken bones and bolted toward the backyard.

Outside the fence, Max slumped weakly against the wall, urging them: “Quick, quick, let me have a bite!”

He took a big bite from the skewer in Little White’s hand and gave a big thumbs-up. “Chinese food—gaga di,” he said, grinning.

“Try the chicken bones too!” Little Blue proudly stepped up onto the platform, stretching his arm out like a crane as he gently lowered the prized dish.

“This one’s my brother’s family recipe—passed down through generations.”

Max wasn’t fussy—he sat cross-legged on the tiled ground and started gobbling down food like a starving man.

Previously, in the process of buying out Xinghai, Max had some dealings here. To avoid interfering with Yang Sa’s plans, they’d agreed he should lie low for a while.

Being in a foreign country with little familiarity, and drawn by the delicious aromas and cheerful atmosphere, Max had been wandering around the area. After messaging a few not-so-reliable friends, he was finally rewarded—with the leftovers of a well-fed group.

“So good, so good, SO good!” Max praised between bites. “Chinese culture is truly broad and profound. So fragrant—absolutely amazing.”

He shoved in a few more meat skewers, then licked his lips while gnawing on chicken bones. “Why didn’t you bring any drinks?”

Little Blue gave him an air slap from behind the fence. “Aren’t you asking for too much?”

“If you got this much, you should be grateful,” Little White said coolly, arms folded. “Go buy your own water from the store.”

“That’d ruin the vibe,” Max muttered, shaking his head. This was a villa district, and the nearest store was a bit of a hike. If he walked there and back, the calories he just ate would be for nothing.

While he complained, a stray cat lurking nearby snatched a chicken bone from the ground.

Max sighed, listless. “What a waste.”

He was returning to Germany after the Mid-Autumn Festival, and just thinking about leaving behind this deep and rich food culture made his eyes sting with imaginary tears.

Hearing that, Little Blue and Little White got a bit sentimental too. They each had their own careers, and the upcoming parting weighed heavy—not just because of the food, but because of the friends they’d made on this foreign soil.

Just as the three were lost in shared melancholy, an angry shout shattered their international daydream.

A few thuggish-looking guys stormed over. The one in front wore a floral shirt and had a toothpick in his mouth. Without a word, he threw a punch straight at Max’s face.

“Hey, you—what… what are you doing?!” Little Blue and Little White had decent Chinese, and could usually drop a few idioms now and then, but under pressure, they were a stammering mess.

“Stop stop stop… stooop—” they kept yelling, but before they could even get the word “hands” out, poor Max was already being beaten and screaming.

Someone pulled out a shiny steel pipe, raising it high.

Language barriers aside, Little Blue and White were just about to climb the fence and fight back—when a tall figure suddenly charged over, leaped the fence, and landed squarely next to Max. With a swift uppercut, he took down the guy about to strike.

“Which gang are you from?” Shao Zhan didn’t even bother to look directly at them.

With a swift motion, he pulled the bloodied Max up from the ground.

On his way back from the restroom, Shao Zhan happened to spot Little White and Little Blue sneaking toward the backyard. Curiosity got the better of him, so he followed—and outside the wall, he saw the foreigner who had once offered a high price to buy out Xinghai. Shao Zhan hadn’t intended to make a fuss and was just about to leave when trouble broke out.

The group clearly wasn’t there to talk things through. They loudly accused Max of being a thief, claiming the two outraged foreigners with him were his accomplices.

Shao Zhan could tell this wasn’t about theft. He instructed the two foreigners—who couldn’t explain themselves properly due to the language barrier—to take Max for medical attention. The noise had reached the front yard, and he could hear his teammates shouting as they rushed over.

Shao Zhan, wary of their numbers, chose not to confront them head-on and aimed to hold out until his team arrived. But the attackers had the upper hand—more people and no hesitation. Metal pipes came swinging from different directions.

Instinctively, Shao Zhan raised his arm to block. The dull, sickening crack of bone made every Xinghai member flinch. Zhuang Bai, tall and broad, charged in from the front, but a thinner figure moved even faster—hurling himself at the man being beaten as if gone mad.

Even the usually chubby and harmless Tangyuan had murder in his eyes. He grabbed a stone from the ground and charged into the chaos. Meanwhile, Uncle Zhou desperately held back a thug who was about to strike one of the team, pleading as he did, “Don’t, don’t! They’re national players—they fight for our country’s honor!”

Du Changcheng clutched his stomach as he ran, phone on speaker with the emergency operator from 110 on the line.

The thugs looked at each other in confusion, insisting they were “catching a thief,” but amid the rising commotion, they eventually dispersed and left.

Seeing their team captain weakly clutching his injured arm, drenched in sweat, the enraged Tangyuan gripped his stone tighter and was just about to give chase—only to be stopped by Shao Zhan’s voice: “Come back.”

Though wracked with pain, Shao Zhan’s mind was still clear.

The attackers had come prepared, used dirty tricks, and their true purpose was unclear. To chase them recklessly was too risky. With the Asia Cup just around the corner, Xinghai couldn’t afford any more injuries.

Tangyuan stopped, frustrated, pacing in place. In a corner where no one was looking, a lone figure quietly picked up one of the steel pipes left behind in the fight and bolted.

“C-come back…”

Shao Zhan tried to give chase, but the searing pain in his broken arm knocked him to the ground. He rolled twice before lifting his still-usable left hand toward Yang Sa’s retreating back.

“Come back…”

That slim, still slightly boyish figure trembled. He dropped the steel pipe and turned around, collapsing to the ground and cradling the injured man. Big, round tears streamed down his face—he was already crying so hard he could hardly breathe.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the injured man whispered, a faint smile tugging at his handsome, pain-stricken face. “It doesn’t hurt…”

Just before losing consciousness, Shao Zhan’s head leaned gently against the boy’s ear. He breathed out a faint, almost inaudible sentence: “When you cry… it hurts me…”

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Chapter 51 – Half-Brothers from Different Fathers and Mothers

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At the same time, in the courtyard of the villa on the mountain, Little Black and Little White were carrying a barbecue grill, one on each side, shuffling like crabs with tiny steps.

Squatting nearby and fanning the charcoal, Little Blue looked up with his sky-blue face and asked, “Sa, who’s coming?”

“A relative,” Yang Sa said as he threaded colorful bell peppers onto skewers. After a pause, he added, “A friend of my brother’s.”

Little Blue gave a disinterested “oh.” He was preparing to return to his home country after the holiday and had no idea when he’d see his chubby half-brother again. Absentmindedly tapping the charcoal with a pebble, he didn’t even turn his head when he heard the sound of a car pulling up at the front gate. “Sa, your relative’s here.”

That is, until a high-pitched scream of excitement and disbelief rang out—Little Blue suddenly stood up and sprinted toward his sworn brother with whom he had bowed to the heavens and earth: “My God, Yuan Baby, it’s actually you!”

“Blue Baby!” Fat Tangyuan was caught in a full-on bear hug, patting his brother’s back with fan-sized hands. “It’s really you, I’ve missed you so much!”

Meanwhile, Du Changcheng directed his team—some carrying fruit baskets, others hauling drinks—and slowly made his way into the courtyard, holding his lower back. “Xiao Sa, sorry about this. You called while I was at the hospital, and when I went back to the base to change clothes, I got cornered by a few brats, so I brought them along.” He shamelessly smiled. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Of course not. The team is always busy—being able to spend the holiday together like this is a blessing,” Yang Sa replied tactfully, pretending not to notice anything unusual. Seeing Du still holding his back, he asked, “Your back still not better?”

“Gotten used to it,” Du Changcheng withdrew his hand. “It’s mostly healed. The doctor just said no seafood or spicy food…” He trailed off as his eyes landed on rows of bell peppers and crabs. “Well… it’s not like I can’t have any, right?” He tried to play it off, clearly guilty.

“We have non-spicy ones,” Yang Sa said to help him out—though he hadn’t finished preparing them yet.

The Xinghai team members didn’t stand on ceremony. After washing their hands, they joined the skewer-prep line. Only Fat Tangyuan went his own way. Along with Little Blue, he turned the kitchen upside down until he found a garlic mortar, hugged it to his chest, and started mashing while singing “Little White Boat.”

Du Changcheng, chatting with Yang Sa, couldn’t take it anymore. He gave Fat Tangyuan a kick. “Can you not?”

Fat Tangyuan pouted. “What, I sound bad?” When no one answered, he sidled up to Old Du and said shamelessly, “Or is it that you just don’t like it?”

“You little brat, are you trying to send me to the grave early?” Du Changcheng gritted his teeth in frustration, but couldn’t lash out with the foreign guest present. He could only scold him for slacking. “Everyone’s making skewers, and here you are wasting time—go do some work!”

“You just don’t get it—what makes barbecue delicious is the seasoning. Now, if it were someone else, maybe not, but when it comes to food…” He lifted his shirt to reveal his big belly, “Your Grandpa Fatty here is a professional—hey hey hey, why are you hitting me?!”

“Be glad I’m going easy on you,” Du Changcheng clenched his fist. “Who gave you the guts to call yourself someone’s grandpa in front of me?”

Fat Tangyuan covered his face and squeezed out a few crocodile tears. “Coach, I was wrong!”

At that moment, the sound of a motorcycle engine came from outside.

A delivery guy in a yellow vest was just about to press the doorbell when a chubby figure shoved a garlic mortar into someone’s arms and took off like he was being chased by ghosts, yelling as he ran: “Mine, mine, mine! That’s my delivery! I ordered chicken ribs—mine!”

“So embarrassing,” Jiang Ranan instinctively leaned into the teammate beside him. Sometimes, Little Pistachio Tangyuan was pretty cute—but most of the time, you just wanted to grab him and squeeze the filling out of him.

Shao Zhan entered, gave Yang Sa a nod as a greeting, then quietly went to the outdoor prep station to assist Little Black and Little White. He didn’t try to strike up a conversation. The visit had been so sudden, and he figured Yang Sa had invited Du Changcheng over to talk, so he simply left space for the two of them.

Honestly, he didn’t even know what to say to Yang Sa anymore. Their relationship was awkward. Going deep would be inappropriate, keeping it shallow was pointless. One wrong word, and the guy might vanish again like he had three years ago—totally possible.

Ever since sending LAP off, the frustration that had been ground down through relentless training seemed to be creeping back.

Shao Zhan put down the skewers in his hand. When he turned around to grab some fresh pineapple to slice, he caught Du Changcheng casting a deep, unreadable glance in his direction. Without reacting, Shao Zhan sat up straighter and used a finger to gently push Jiang Ranan’s head away from leaning on him.

Yang Sa withdrew his gaze and handed a cup of yogurt to Du Changcheng. “Coach, how’s Bage doing?”

“Still in the hospital. Oh, Uncle Zhou—” Du Changcheng waved over the man working in the yard, “Come here, let those little punks handle the rest. You come talk with Xiao Sa about Bage’s condition.”

Uncle Zhou, unable to sit still for long, had noticed a patch of grass in the yard thinning out and had gone to gather some seeds. Hearing the call, he wiped his hands on a fallen leaf and hunched his back as he walked over.
“Bage? He’s doing well. Doctor said he can be discharged in a few days. Just that thing around his neck—it can’t come off yet. In a little while, they’ll replace it with something longer-term.” Uncle Zhou rambled on for a bit, mentioning that Yang Sa had paid for Bage’s medical expenses, and no matter what he said, Uncle Zhou insisted on paying him back.

“We’re not talking about money today,” Du Changcheng pulled his old friend into a seat. “Xiao Sa’s great at the game—I still want to recruit him into Xinghai. There’ll be plenty of chances in the future.”

Noticing Yang Sa simply smiled without replying, Du gave Uncle Zhou a little shove. “You’re one of the old guard—tell him about the early days.” He gestured behind him. “Let those monkey brats hear how rough we had it back then…”

“You guys…” Uncle Zhou rubbed his hands together uncertainly. “You really want to hear this?”

Yang Sa nodded. “Please, go ahead.”

…

As night deepened, Fat’s barbecue stand officially opened for business.

Fat Tangyuan folded a chef’s hat out of kitchen paper and clipped it onto his head with a binder clip he’d somehow found. One hand held a skewer, flipping it up and down over the grill; the other chubby paw wielded the seasoning like a master painter, flinging it around with flair.

Anyone who knew him would see he was grilling meat. Anyone who didn’t might think he was engaged in some deep, soul-stirring form of avant-garde art.

“This is seriously ridiculous,” Qin Chuan said, holding his buzzing head. “Is it too late to say I don’t know him?”

Zhuang Bai shook his head helplessly. Jiang Ranan buried his face in his knees. “So embarrassing…”

Probably the only one fully playing along was Little Blue, who was holding up his phone, snapping away like crazy to capture every heroic angle of his beloved brother.

The black and white duo from LAP finally dragged their eyes away from their brainless brother blue, exchanged a look of existential despair, and gazed toward the heavens.

“Oh come on, no need to be so polite,” Fat Tangyuan said, striking what he believed to be a dashing pose for the camera while pretending to act humble. “Don’t take pics of me—take pics of everyone else…”

Unable to bear the sight of the guy beaming and spitting all over the grill anymore, Shao Zhan silently pulled out a face mask and slipped it onto Fatty from behind.

The camera flash went off with a click, capturing that exact moment.

“Hey! Delete it, delete it, delete it!” Fat Tangyuan waved his greasy hands and smoothed back his imaginary hair with the back of his wrist. “Someone with my kind of looks shouldn’t be photographed next to plain, average-looking folks—it’s just unfair.”

The chorus of boos from around the yard shattered his fantasy. He fiercely double-seasoned the skewers in front of him in silent protest but didn’t dare voice any complaints.

That damned prodigy had been born lucky—heir to a major corporation. Just played games casually and became the top player in the league. On top of that, the guy was ridiculously good-looking. Alone, he’d raised the entire visual standard of Chinese PUBG to an international level.

Being crushed by him again and again, Fat Tangyuan’s heart had shattered and been pieced back together so many times it could’ve been used for abstract mosaic art. At long last, he’d found a likeminded brother—not dazzled by the guy’s looks, not bought by his wealth—so if now wasn’t the time to go all out, when was?

Still, joking aside, once the skewers were done, he made sure to first separate out the non-spicy ones for Coach and Uncle Zhou. The rest—extra seasoned—were handed out to the boys.

Seeing them all eat to their heart’s content, Fat Tangyuan felt a deep sense of fulfillment. Honestly, he was even happier feeding them than eating himself.

Taking advantage of the moment, he brought out the marinated chicken ribs and began showing them off to the foreign guests.

“This here is a secret recipe—authentic family secret. Back when I was a kid, my dad lost his job and took me out to set up a street stall. This craft right here is what kept us going.”

Fat Tangyuan beamed with pride, while stealing side glances in Shao Zhan’s direction, unable to hide the mischievous grin on his face.

It wasn’t exactly mean-spirited. Shao Zhan was strong in every possible way—flawless, really. Fat Tangyuan wouldn’t mind seeing that smug bastard finally hit a wall when it came to Yang Sa.

With his sharp detective-like eyes locked in, he observed: other than the nod when Shao Zhan first walked in, there had been zero interaction between the two. Not a word.

Although from another perspective, he did feel a little bad for that old bastard. But considering that someone’s public persona was basically a domineering CEO who could rise every morning from a 500-square-meter king-sized bed, that tiny flicker of sympathy quickly vanished into the smoke from the grill.

On the other side, Shao Zhan—eating his heavily seasoned skewers—wasn’t thinking the same way.

He sat behind Uncle Zhou, always ready to help out, and happened to be the farthest from the barbecue action. Even though Yang Sa hadn’t spoken a single word to him all evening, every skewer that ended up in his hands was extra spicy.

No one said it out loud, but with a brain worthy of the league’s number one player, Shao Zhan could probably guess it had something to do with that moment during breakfast—when he silently pulled all the spicy dishes onto his own plate.

He wasn’t someone who had to eat spicy food. Technically speaking, he didn’t care one way or the other. But most of his teammates weren’t great with spice, though they still loved ordering it—especially with someone like Fatfat around. If it was on the menu, he had to try it.

Despite his elite background, Shao Zhan never acted picky about food. He’d grown up with his grandfather, where waste wasn’t tolerated. Later, after moving into the team base, he lived, ate, and trained with the rest of the boys like anyone else—and never used his status to lord over others.

If anything, he often used his “young master of a big company” identity to smooth things over or get perks for his teammates. He’d spoiled them so much, they were practically one step away from grabbing sticks and poking holes in the sky just for fun.

---

---

Chapter 50 – Chicken Leg Takeout

---

“I found out, I found out!” Fat Tangyuan held the freshly retrieved chicken leg takeout like a prized treasure and reported eagerly, “Old brother replied—his foreign girlfriend plays too badly and was afraid of dragging us down, so she hired a pro to play for her.”

A smurf account?

Shao Zhan turned that over in his mind, but showed no reaction on the surface. He just shoved the crumb-dropping offender away with disdain. “Fatty, if you keep eating like this, there won’t be a single gaming chair left that fits you.”

Fat Tangyuan stomped in frustration. “I’ve been running around for you all day, and now I can’t even have a late-night snack? Am I not still your little sweetie?!”

Shao Zhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Madam Niu, please ask Old Pineapple how his girlfriend ordered that pro player.”

The invisible antenna on top of Tangyuan’s head suddenly stood up. Suspicion sparked in his heart:
That old bast*rd—is he falling for someone new?!

Shao Zhan saw right through him but couldn’t be bothered to explain. He simply instructed that the smurf account should be arranged before the afternoon training session.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Fat Tangyuan looked troubled, crunching down a crispy chicken bone like a wronged housewife. He crossed his arms over his chest dramatically. “I’m straight, you know. Stop trying to test my limits, you scumbag.”

“Five times a week. Two hours each time. During our free practice window.”

Having laid out the details, Shao Zhan left without another word.

Left behind, Tangyuan twirled a mock orchid finger and muttered, “Five times a week… what, you trying to work that poor guy to death, you old monster…”

…

The next day, team manager Qin Chuan heard about the hired player but didn’t say much—just figured it was another sparring partner.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before. He was responsible for operations and external affairs; training was always under Du Changcheng’s jurisdiction.

After Lao Du’s chrysanthemum incident, no one got promoted from the second team. Shao Zhan had taken over all coaching duties himself. One, because he was highly capable—basically the assistant coach anyway. Two, because he was the boss’s kid, so any cost-cutting measures came out of his own pocket.

So not just Qin Chuan—even the main team players didn’t give it much thought. Just another semi-regular sparring partner, right? A gun’s a gun.

Who would’ve expected that after just a few days of intense training, even battle-hardened veterans were begging for mercy?

“If you guys don’t start trying harder,” Shao Zhan said coolly, legs crossed and tone indifferent, putting on his coach face, “you won’t even be able to beat a sparring partner anymore…”

If they hadn’t known how petty this old bastard could be, they’d almost think he had a secret lover he was trying to show off to—using his buddies as free human sandbags.

But that didn’t seem likely either. The guy on the other end was just too good. Except for the occasional moment when a teammate dragged them down, he rarely slipped up—and usually beat the three of them into the dirt.

Even though he was using a smurf account, the younger members of the team all knew who it was. They studied the tactics and strategies religiously, gathering in little groups…

…to watch the main team get stomped.

Day after day of drills. Day after day of beatdowns.

So much so that whenever one of Xinghai’s first-string players looked up at the midnight stars, they would quietly wish to the moon: “Please let the Trisolarans come… I can’t survive one more day on this planet.”

“Fatty, what did you just say?” Shao Zhan, having just finished a post-match review, put down his pen while tapping away on his phone.

“Nothing, I was just saying,” Fat Tangyuan turned toward the room, “May we have this day every year, may we have this moment every day. Under the captain’s leadership, Xinghai will rise and thrive…”

“Oh really,” Shao Zhan lifted his eyelids lazily. “Is that so?”

“Captain,” Fat Tangyuan patted his thick belly, “you can doubt my layers of fat, but you can’t…” he tapped his chest, “doubt Tangyuan’s sincere heart for you!”

Shao Zhan gave a humorless smile and grunted, “Then I’ll satisfy you.”

Ding—a notification sounded. The assistant coach had just sent out next week’s schedule in the group chat.

The main team members stared at the schedule, their whole bodies radiating pain and confusion. It didn’t feel like they were being accompanied by a booster—it felt more like they were accompanying the booster.

Five days a week, with two rest days reserved for the other party. The schedule was extremely well-organized, rotating each person’s specialty into special training sessions for the booster guy.

“This…” Fat Tangyuan chewed on some squid snacks while logging into his account, “this doesn’t seem right.”

“What part isn’t right?” the assistant coach asked with a good temper, even offering, “Want to sit in this chair instead?”

“No no no,” Fat Tangyuan quickly waved him off while controlling his operator in-game, “I love gunfights. Absolutely love ‘em. Especially love going head-to-head with the booster guy.”

After letting the monkeys climb trees (sending the team to practice), Shao Zhan walked to the front gate to check on Uncle Zhou.

Ever since the rooster had been injured, Uncle Zhou would take two hours every noon to be with it. The rest of the time, he just sat blankly at the entrance, day and night, waiting.

After training, Shao Zhan would come sit with him for a while. Neither of them spoke. They just watched the passing cars—or when there were none, the flying bugs and the night. Occasionally, they’d share a cigarette Shao Zhan had dug up from Du Changcheng’s room. One per day, no more, no less.

Once enough time passed, Shao Zhan would get up and leave. Still, neither of them said a word. Uncle Zhou sat there like a withered tree, as if he didn’t know Shao Zhan had come, nor noticed when he left.

This routine had already gone on for a week. Shao Zhan rubbed his tired eyes, the scent of tobacco lingering on his fingertips.

Du Changcheng’s recovery was nearly complete. He’d be back around Mid-Autumn. With the two old men together again, maybe there’d be a little more comfort.

Soft snores echoed through the hallway.

Shao Zhan wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Fat Tangyuan sprawled out in all directions on the sofa in the break room.

His gaze fell on the little strawberry blanket draped over him, and the smile on his face faded with a hint of melancholy. He paused his steps toward the dormitory, then turned back to the training room.

Fat Tangyuan’s computer was still on. The game was still running.

Shao Zhan simply sat down in Fat Tangyuan’s seat and opened the game.

The agreed session time with the booster guy had already passed, yet the other party still accepted his team invitation. Shao Zhan adjusted the mic hanging from the headset and said to the in-game player with the ID KS, [How about trying the in-game leader role this time]

The team voice chat lit up briefly. Yang Sa stared blankly at the profile icon of teammate Nuomituanzi.

Half a second later, he marked the drop point and notified the team: [Jump.]

Shao Zhan clicked [Follow.] In the dark of night, his usually tired eyes and brows softened unconsciously.

…

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Du Changcheng was completely unaware of the misery his teammates were going through. He basked in the endless messages of concern on his phone, wiping away tears again and again, deeply touched.

“These little brats… they’ve really grown up.”

People always say recovery requires peace and quiet, but anyone who’s been to the proctology department knows that “quiet” is a luxury.

During dressing changes, the whole floor echoed with pig-slaughter-level howls.

Everyone here was polite though—no line cutting, no queue jumping. In every room, patient after patient dropped their pants like piglets awaiting their fate, sharing a deep empathy for their fellow “pigs.”

So the moment the doctor gave him the nod, Du Changcheng bolted back to base with all his bags in tow, practically tumbling over himself like a scared rabbit—afraid the doctor might change his mind. He finally made it back on Mid-Autumn Festival day.

As per tradition, Xinghai’s team had attended the sponsor’s Mid-Autumn event and a fan meet-up, so they only returned to base in the evening.

When they saw their long-lost coach, the members of Xinghai’s main team were practically moved to tears.

“Coach, I missed you sooo much…” chubby Fat Tangyuan clung to him tightly, burying his big head into the coach’s chest. “Did you abandon your Fatfat? Did you really abandon your Fatfat…”

Du Changcheng, who’d been anticipating a touching reunion, coldly shoved him off—only to be stunned by Fat Tangyuan’s loud, dramatic sobbing: “Coach! I thought—I thought I’d never, never see you again…”

Du Changcheng’s face turned to ice. Not even the pain from the dressing changes had made him look this sour. He turned to his team and snapped, “Someone feed this dead fatty some rat poison.”

Fat Tangyuan casually wiped his snot bubble on Du Changcheng’s sleeve. “Coach, how could you be so heartless? I missed you so much I couldn’t even eat properly.”

Du Changcheng pinched his waist: “Sure, you didn’t eat carbs. But crayfish, grilled cold noodles, chicken hotpot, sweet-and-sour fish—you didn’t skip a single meal.”

“Coach, you’re so mean,” Fat Tangyuan pouted and gave him a playful punch with his chubby little fist.
“Why do you always have to tell the harsh truth?”

“Enough nonsense. Tell Ranan to book a few cars.” Du Changcheng thought for a moment. “And a couple fruit baskets and some juice.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just follow along,” Du Changcheng snapped, his tone sharp and irritable. “It’s not like I’m going to sell you or something.”

Seeing Fat Tangyuan still looking indignant, he added, “And even if I tried, no one would buy you.”

After roasting FaT Tangyuan, he waved toward Shao Zhan in the security booth. “Xiao Zhan, let’s go. Bring Uncle Zhou with you.”

Shao Zhan didn’t ask much about the destination—he simply mentioned that he’d turned down an offer from the higher-ups at Silver Empire.

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Du Changcheng mumbled from where he was slouched like a centuries-old turtle in the backseat of the taxi. “It’s your team. You make the calls.”

“Coach, where exactly are we going?” Fat Tangyuan still wouldn’t give up.

“Shut up,” Du Changcheng clenched his fist. “Don’t make me hit you!”

Fat Tangyuan stared out the window with tears in his eyes and began softly singing the currently popular song “Little White Boat”—

“In the galaxy of the blue-blue sky, there sails a little white boat…”

In between lines, he sneaked in a question: “Hey Coach, are we going mountain climbing?”

---

---

Chapter 49 – Who’s Your Daddy

---

“I don’t know he’s got something on his mind? I don’t know?” Du Changcheng exploded in anger, but his injuries kept him from making any big moves, so he leaned against the wall like a frail willow branch.

“If he’s got something on his mind, then you should help him figure it out! After causing such a huge commotion, there ought to be some kind of resolution.” He gave his player a soft punch. “Tell me, what do you think it’d be like if Xiao Sa came to Xinghai as the team captain?”

“Coach, are you trying to say I’m too old and you don’t want me anymore?”

Du Changcheng rolled his eyes. This young master—did he really think it was up to him whether he stayed or not?

“Go on, don’t talk nonsense with me.” Du Changcheng hobbled along the edge of the hallway, one hand on the wall and one on his hip. “If you’ve got the guts, go bring him to me—I don’t care if you have to lie, cheat, or kidnap him…”

“Coach, we’re a legitimate club,” Shao Zhan muttered, still standing in place. But the corners of his mouth curled up against his will.

Qin Chuan, who had been spying in the shadows, suddenly popped out and pointed at them. “You—you—you—you—there’s something wrong with you.”

“You’re the most ridiculous person in this whole base,” Shao Zhan said as he walked past Qin Chuan, who puffed up like a fighting rooster. “And now you’re eavesdropping too.”

“Eavesdropping? I was doing it for you, for you guys! You bunch of heartless—”

Shao Zhan closed the door, cutting off Qin Chuan’s rant, then turned to the people inside the training room with a faint smile. “What stage are you at in training?”

The Xinghai team members immediately felt a chilling shift in the air and collectively edged away from their captain.

Games were fun, but esports was hard—grueling and monotonous.

From the moment they chose to make esports their career, these boys had a clear understanding of the path ahead.

But there were levels to suffering. After tonight’s training session, it felt like the entire first team of Xinghai had climbed Mount Tai.

“This is insane, completely insane. I haven’t suffered this much since I escaped that illegal weight-loss boot camp back in eighth grade,” Fat Tangyuan whined, clutching his cheeks in both hands and checking the blackened screen of his computer to see how much weight he might’ve lost.

He vented in the team’s private group chat: [That old beast went crazy today!]

Training ended.

Jiang Ranan went to check on Zhuang Bai, Zhuang Bai made a video call to send well wishes to the ailing Du Changcheng, and the sneaky Qin Chuan had already disappeared.

Left alone in the training room, Fat Tangyuan squeezed his face, pinched the fat on his waist, and gazed at his reflection with sorrow. “I’m wasting away…”

“Who’s wasting away? Come here and let your daddy take a good look.”

Shao Zhan’s voice rang out from the doorway. The fat on Tangyuan’s belly trembled twice in fright. “Y-you… why are you back?”

Shao Zhan leaned against the doorframe with a teasing smile, waving his phone. “Weren’t you the one who called me back, you little rascal?”

“Nonsense, I… when did I ever…” Fat Tangyuan suddenly had a flash of divine realization. Trembling, he raised his phone, then dramatically rolled his eyes and collapsed onto his chair like he’d fainted. Before “dying,” he even carefully adjusted the headrest.

He was mortified. How could someone as wise, mighty, and dashing as him send the message to the wrong person? He couldn’t forgive himself—never.

“Unbelievable. Just—absolutely ridiculous…” Shao Zhan, seemingly unfazed, began to read aloud in an emotionless tone, “The old beast today…” He paused. “Hmm? Who’s this ‘old beast’?”

“No one. Really—no one at all,” Fat Tangyuan sprang upright with a jolt, pinching his philtrum like he was pulling himself back to life. “Captain, whatever you need from me, just say the word! I’d walk through fire and water for you. Even if you turned me into a fried meatball, I wouldn’t blink an eye!”

Shao Zhan casually picked up the latest trendy drink from Fatty’s desk and stretched his long legs. “Ask Lao Pineapple what he’s up to.”

…

“Gui mi ri…”

“Gui mi ri…”

“Gui mi ri…”

On the villa sofa in the Mountain District, the black, white, and blue trio had become completely obsessed with Chinese culture after experiencing its vast and profound culinary world. Despite having been grinding on a Chinese idiom app for two weeks, the three of them crowded together, still baffled at how there were so many strange and bizarre phrases they hadn’t yet come across.

“‘Gui mi ri yan’ (鬼迷日眼),” Yang Sa, unable to watch anymore, closed the news page and explained to the three pairs of eager eyes, “means someone is acting really weird.”

“I get it, I get it!” Little Black excitedly raised his hand like a school kid answering a question. “It’s like how Sa plays super weird every time he runs into a Starcraft player…”

A white and a blue fist instantly knocked him straight to the carpet.

With a sharp scream, long-limbed Max came sliding down the stairs like an under-evolved baboon clinging to the railing. “Sa-sa-sa-sa-sa—he, he, he just invited me to play a game!”

Yang Sa didn’t respond, but from the floor, Little Black muttered mockingly, “What kind of ‘possessed weirdo’ would want to play a game with you…”

Aside from Yang Sa and Max, the rest of them had met during an exchange program and teamed up on a few projects. Max was good-looking, outgoing, and generally well-liked—he just couldn’t play video games to save his life.

As soon as he got into the game, it was like hitting a brick wall. His hands-on skills were basically nonexistent—he even struggled with Tetris and Space Invaders.

That Christmas, when they all gathered at Little White’s old family house, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that even Little White’s eighty-year-old grandma could beat this guy to the ground playing King of Fighters.

Because of that, whenever the group teamed up to play games, they’d never invite this poor sucker.

But this poor sucker just wouldn’t give up. He’d go fishing on forums for strangers to carry him in-game—not to improve, just to make his level look halfway decent.

“Max, listen to your brother’s advice. There are plenty of—plenty of…”

Little Black stumbled halfway through, and the ever-helpful Little Blue chimed in with a perfect Northeastern Chinese accent: “Plenty of roads lead to Rome, why cling to just one flower?”

Little White, who’d been quiet until now, nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t be as stubborn as Sa. One tree can’t hang you—try hanging on a few more!” He gestured animatedly to get his point across.

Max knew talking to those three idiots was pointless. He leaned in close to Yang Sa with a sweet smile. “Sa, you know… to be your friend, I left my mom at a young age…”

Yang Sa cut him off, hand over his mouth. “What game? Who invited you to play?”

Max pulled up the chat history to show him, then shyly scooted over to sit next to him.

As Yang Sa logged in, he asked, “Where did you even learn to say that stuff?”

“I read it online. What, is it wrong?” Max looked at him with innocent, olive-green eyes that screamed “I-did-nothing-wrong.”

“No, no problem at all,” Yang Sa said. Max was the housekeeper’s kid and had grown up with him. Sure, leaving his mom had nothing to do with Sa, but there was no harm in saying it like that.

As soon as they entered the game, their old friend—Round Round Fat Fat Glutinous Round —snagged the first kill.

[Round Round Fat Fat Glutinous Round used S12K to knock down Ying Ying Ying’s Ying Ying Ying]

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Yang Sa calmly helped his teammate up. He wasn’t wearing a headset, so the audio blared from the speakers—his teammate was screaming in all-chat. “What the hell, why’d you shoot me?!”

“Slipped finger, slipped finger,” came the reply, from a teasing voice with a hint of a Northeastern accent. The guy sounded like he was eating, smacking his lips between words.

Yang Sa silently muted him, picked up his gun, and charged out solo.

[KS used the M26A4 to kill Jungle Beibei King.]

[KS used the QBU to kill Honest.]

[KS used the MP5K to kill Tom & Jerry.]

[KS used the M26A4 to kill Round Round Fat Fat Glutinous Round .]

…

A scene from the pet hospital flashed through Yang Sa’s mind. It seemed that whenever he encountered that person, his actions always became a little involuntary.

Possessed by a ghost?

Under the cold glow of the screen, the light in his eyes grew increasingly frosty…

A string of kill reports scrolled across the screen—so brutal that no one dared look directly at them.

Fat Tangyuan clutched a bag of chips as the screen in front of him turned grayscale. “Is this still the same cutie who didn’t even know how to parachute before?”

He flipped open his phone and sent a voice message to Old Pineapple: “Brother, tell me you didn’t just hit on some gay dude who’s even more hardcore than you. What’s going on? He’s even shooting his own teammates?”

He had joined the duo queue to be the escort, only to get instantly wiped out.

Leaning back in his chair, Fat Tangyuan glanced worriedly in Shao Zhan’s direction. “Okay, that… I didn’t see coming.”

“Normal.” Shao Zhan replied coldly, gun in hand, like a grim-faced King of Hell.

Staring at the screen full of [I’m Your Daddy] kill reports, Fat Tangyuan clutched his head. “You’ve lost it too.”

Just ten or so minutes into the match, Shao Daddy and KS had each taken down more than thirty players. Fat Tangyuan and his duo partner Old Pineapple had been completely reduced to bystanders.

As the toxic circle shrank to its final phase, Shao Zhan, hiding behind cover, scanned the map for lurking enemies—unleashing a barrage of bullets the exact moment the other side made a move.

As the Winner Winner Chicken Dinner screen appeared, Shao Zhan slowly pushed his keyboard away. “Ask Old Pineapple if his little girlfriend is interested in joining Xinghai.”

Still munching noisily, Fat Tangyuan responded with a loud, “Got it!” and opened a private channel to whisper sneakily with Old Pineapple.

Shao Zhan stared at the post-match stats screen, gently rubbing his knuckles, recalling the final moment. He exhaled two words slowly: “That was close.”

At the same time, shifting lights and shadows cast a shadow across Yang Sa’s face. His eyes landed on the top-ranked ID. He curled his lips.

“Who’s your daddy?”

---

---

Chapter 48 – Arriving Late with a Hand on His Back

---

“More your d*mn head! Get lost!”

Shao Zhan’s upbringing had shaped his character. He never minded playing along with social niceties when needed. To many, he was just a spoiled rich boy, coddled by his powerful family and prone to arrogance.

But he had earned his place as number one in the league, shot by shot, through sheer effort. He had pride. He had things he cared about—he just didn’t say them aloud.

He had assumed that the “guest” would be long gone. Once breakfast was over, even Du Changcheng wouldn’t have a reason to keep someone around.

And yet, by some miracle… his boy was still at Xinghai.

When Shao Zhan returned to the base, he had just gotten out of the taxi when he noticed a Mercedes-Benz parked at the villa gate. Faint red-brown stains dotted the car tires.

Weiguang’s captain, Mu Chen, was tugging the car door open with a grim look on his face, his knock-kneed legs planted wide. Next to him, the always-proud pro player Tie Niu looked like a scolded child, head down and neck drawn in like he’d committed a serious crime.

Shao Zhan swept his gaze over the complex expressions on his own teammates’ faces—Fat Tangyuan was nowhere to be seen. The LAP trio, Black, White, and Blue, were present. But Yang Sa was missing.

A thought flashed through Shao Zhan’s mind. “Who got hurt?”

Du Changcheng slowly walked up, one hand on his back: “Xiao Zhan…”

“It was my fault.” Tie Niu of the team closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
“I wasn’t paying attention to the lookout…”

“No, it’s on me,” said captain Mu Chen, taking full responsibility.

“Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up, and one of the kids on the team has family who runs a crab farm. We ordered some hairy crabs to send over as a treat for you guys…”

Shao Zhan’s gaze fell on the side of the car tire—where a few chicken feathers were stuck.

“How’s Bage?” he asked.

Security guard Uncle Zhou’s eyes were rimmed with tears. Jiang Ranan helped him sit down on the steps, while a few young men in security uniforms stood silently behind them.

“Yang Sa and Tangyuan took Bage to the pet hospital,” Zhuang Bai said anxiously as he looked at the scene in front of him.

Shao Zhan knew that hospital—it was located just three blocks from the base, inside a commercial building. As they passed the luxury Benz that had caused the accident, he gave Mu Chen a light pat on the shoulder. “Head back first.”

Tie Niu from Weiguang stood awkwardly with a basket full of crabs in his hands—unable to decide whether to carry it or set it down.

Shao Zhan had no time to deal with all that. He chased after them for two blocks before spotting a bear-like figure clutching a tree, shaking from head to toe like he was drunk.

“Fatty,” Shao Zhan called out, trying to get some information.

Tangyuan was panting heavily, his two pudgy hands waving in the air, trying to gesture something, but he was too out of breath to speak.

Shao Zhan didn’t bother wasting time. He followed the direction Fatty pointed in and made a beeline to the pet hospital.

Inside, the vet had already performed a simple stabilizing procedure on Bage, whose neck was tilted unnaturally to one side. A nurse came out with a freshly developed X-ray in hand.

“How is it?”

“How is it?”

Two voices asked at once.

Yang Sa glanced at the newcomer, then turned his attention back to the doctor, completely unaware of the scratch on his own arm.

The doctor gave Shao Zhan a brief nod, then took a deep breath as he looked at the image.

Bage’s wings were sprained—but that wasn’t the biggest concern. Its cervical spine was nearly crushed. Right now, the bird was only hanging on by a thread. The chances of saving it were slim.

“What do we do?” he asked the two of them.

“Surgery,” Shao Zhan responded calmly. He pointed at Bage, lying on the treatment table.

“As long as the little guy isn’t giving up.” He added, “Put the charges on my tab for now.”
He had rushed out without his card.

Yang Sa didn’t look back. He took out his own credit card and went to pay.

The doctor exchanged a glance with Shao Zhan and motioned for the nurse to process the payment.

“It won’t be cheap,” he warned. “After the surgery, we’ll need to custom-make a neck brace. Depending on the recovery, that brace might have to stay on for the rest of its life.”

Yang Sa only motioned for him to swipe the card and said nothing else. Shao Zhan asked the nurse for some cotton swabs and iodine, then pulled Yang Sa’s arm over to treat the scratches.

After all, Bage was a small animal. Injured and unfamiliar with Yang Sa, it had panicked severely and left quite a few scratch marks along the way.

“It’s fine.” Yang Sa tried to pull his arm back, but Shao Zhan held it in place.

“Consider it—” Shao Zhan said as he gently brought the iodine-soaked swab close to the wound, “—a thank-you for taking Bage to the doctor and paying for its treatment.”

Off to the side, the injured Bage let out a weak, pained croak.

Yang Sa lowered his eyes, his expression unreadable. After a long silence, he muttered quietly, “What’s going to happen to it?”

This boy had once barged into his life with a wild, unyielding force, and when he left, it had been just as ruthless. Now he had returned in full force, stirring up waves.

Shao Zhan thought he’d already grown used to the boy’s sharp, blade-like presence—but this was the first time Yang Sa, fully conscious, had shown him a moment of vulnerability.

The shadow of the aloof teenager cast itself across the pristine white table. For some reason, to Shao Zhan, it looked like a lazy ragdoll cat lying on its back, exposing its belly in quiet trust.

Pushing aside the strangely tender image in his mind, Shao Zhan leaned down and gently ruffled the hair at Yang Sa’s crown, just like he would with any other kid in the club. His voice softened as he said, “Xinghai never gives up on any of its members.”

At those words, Yang Sa suddenly looked up—and without warning, his gaze collided with a pool of amber light. The reflection off the glass had caught in Shao Zhan’s eyes, scattering into a dazzling, intoxicating gentleness.

For a moment, the injured teen was caught off guard.

The spell was broken by the sudden ring of a phone. Shao Zhan glanced at the screen and sighed at the name displayed—Qin Chuan. “I’ll take this call.”

He stepped out to the banana trees by the hospital entrance, pacing slowly as he explained Bage’s situation. Just as he was about to arrange for someone to bring Uncle Zhou over, four taxis pulled up outside the hospital.

“Easy now, easy,” Jiang Ranan called out as he stretched an arm toward the staggering old man ahead of him. “Captain said everything’s fine, so it is fine.”

Shao Zhan steadied the dazed Uncle Zhou and looked over the group getting out of the cars. “Why did all of you come?”

The managers and players of Xinghai’s first and second teams had nearly all arrived.

Qin Chuan cleared his throat softly. “Zhuang Bai stayed at the base with Coach Du,” he said, knowing exactly who Shao Zhan was asking about. “The LAP players have already left.”

Shao Zhan gave a slight nod and helped Uncle Zhou into the building. The spacious hospital lobby was nearly empty—aside from the doctors and a few nurses whispering quietly, there was no one else in sight.

Helping Uncle Zhou sit down, Shao Zhan stared at the bare tabletop in front of them. A hollow emptiness echoed inside his chest.

But who would have guessed that the one to break this emptiness… would be someone with a body the size of Bear One or Bear Two.

Drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, Fat Tangyuan stumbled into the hospital, nearly collapsing with every step. He squeezed his way through the group with great effort.

“Ba-ba-ba… Bage… how-how-how’s he doing…?”

Shao Zhan took a cup of water from the front desk and handed it over. “Still alive.” As he spoke, he dragged a chair over and shoved it behind Fat Tangyuan.

Fat Tangyuan plopped down so hard that the folding chair nearly collapsed under him. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he complained to Jiang Ranan and Qin Chuan, who had come to check on him:

“You guys… you guys just left me behind…”

He had watched helplessly as taxi after taxi drove away without him, while he had no choice but to trudge along using only his own two feet. Now, clutching Bage’s X-ray film in his hand, Fat Tangyuan cried uncontrollably.

Shao Zhan pushed the oversized head away and rubbed at his chest, feeling suffocated.

…

The team’s beloved Bage made it through surgery without major complications. By the time the group returned, it was already past dinner.

After hastily grabbing a bite, the “bloodied and battle-worn” Du Changcheng dragged himself to the projector, clutching his aching hip, and pulled up recent match footage to break down technical tactics for the team.

Normally, this would have been saved for late night, but since he had to go back to the hospital later for dressing changes, he’d moved it up.

After assigning everyone their individual training, Du Changcheng called Shao Zhan out into the hallway.

“You watched the LAP scrim at the base today, didn’t you?”

Shao Zhan nodded. “Watched the replay on the way back.”

Du Changcheng waited for more, but the pain in his lower back was testing his patience. “Well? What do you think?”

Shao Zhan understood that he was asking about Yang Sa.

“Technically solid,” he said. “Very few weaknesses. Some areas still need fine-tuning based on competitive demands. Game sense and leadership are a little lacking—not really a flaw, just something that needs more experience in high-pressure matches.”

He had a lot on his mind, but didn’t know where to start, so he ended up staring at an oil stain on Du Changcheng’s sleeve.

“You don’t know what to say, or you just can’t say it?” Du Changcheng tapped his player lightly. “You really are a tight-lipped one. Haven’t had a proper talk with him?”

“And you?” Shao Zhan nudged the edge of the ash-grey carpet with the tip of his shoe. “How did your talk with him go?”

“Me?” Du Changcheng nearly choked. “Your poor coach is already half-dead from exhaustion, can’t even keep his ass intact, and I still have to lower myself to handle this kind of thing?” He slapped his own cheeks with loud pah-pah sounds.

“Coach,” Shao Zhan gestured for him to calm down, “You’ve gotta keep at least one—your face or your ass.”

Peeking into the hallway from the training room, Qin Chuan spat on the floor. “Cold-blooded Shao, your persuasion skills are seriously half-assed.”

Du Changcheng’s face darkened further. “Recruiting one player, and you expect me to throw away my pride?”

Shao Zhan stared at the lifted edge of the carpet under his foot, thinking—if all it took was one person to swallow their pride to make this work, he’d have ripped Du Changcheng’s head off by now and scrubbed the floor with it.

“Quiet again,” Du Changcheng grumbled, rubbing his lower back. “I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“That kid’s got something on his mind,” Shao Zhan muttered out of nowhere.

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