This chapter is brought to you by Fatima, thanks for the ko-fi! ♡ ～(‘▽^人)
Chapter 37 – Save Me
The audience erupted in thunderous applause, a continuous roar expressing their heartfelt welcome to Tan Mo.
Online, the fans went wild. The barrage of comments filled the screen to the point where there was no more space.
Lu Qikai was eating spicy hot pot when he saw the news in the group chat. His hand shook, causing him to burn his mouth, and his appetite vanished instantly:
“No way, no way! Wasn’t it rumored that he’s close to retiring? Will he be there tomorrow too?”
Several NSN members exchanged bewildered glances, swallowing their food with difficulty, as the pressure suddenly mounted.
If the “Demon King” made it into the weekend finals, tomorrow was definitely not going to be easy.
Yu Haotian hurried to the lounge. Seeing Miao Sen there, he called the coach aside for a private conversation.
“You’re letting him play? Can he even go on stage? During the Spring Split, he almost…”
“He insisted on it! He’s dead set on playing to shift the public opinion! Could I stop him?”
“You should have called me… Ugh! Let me contact the team doctor.”
Moments later, Yu Haotian was on the phone with the team doctor, explaining the situation. The doctor’s voice came through the receiver:
“Good luck…”
Yu Haotian put down his phone, looking anxious. “During the Spring Split, the team doctor gave me a bottle of vitamin C and told me to give it to Tan Mo whenever he wasn’t feeling right. But I had to lie and tell him it was a sedative, to leverage the placebo effect.”
The coach quickly asked, “Did you bring it today?”
“How could I dare? After the officials checked everything last time, I didn’t even dare to bring a pill bottle into the venue.” Yu Haotian sighed deeply. “Besides, Tan Mo wouldn’t touch that stuff anyway.”
At that moment, another round of enthusiastic applause came from the stage direction. The coach glanced down the corridor, his expression worried. “He better hold it together. If he can’t… today will be the last game of his career.”
Meanwhile, the second match had already started.
The commentators were still discussing the significance of Tan Mo’s return.
“It’s clear that WLG has been playing a bit sluggishly this week, but with Talk’s appearance, the entire team’s morale has shifted. This man still brings a sense of calm to everyone. During the Spring Split, Talk only showed up on the last day, turning the tide and securing their spot in the Summer Split. Now that he’s back on the field, it seems WLG is determined to break into this weekend’s finals.”
“Exactly. Talk showing up now is nothing short of a divine intervention for his teammates. Look at Song over there—his heart rate has jumped to 135! Maintaining this level of excitement might actually help him perform better in the match.”
“This new heart rate monitoring system we’ve introduced to the PCL is quite interesting. It lets us check the players’ condition in real-time. But honestly, 135 is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Haha, if it’s Song, I’m not surprised. I’d even bet his heart rate is the same whenever he sees Talk!”
As everyone was still in the plane, Tan Mo kept his focus entirely on the screen in front of him, deliberately blocking out the audience and the surrounding environment while subtly regulating his breathing.
Xiao Pai and Hu Fu weren’t aware of anything unusual, but Sang Ye had a vague sense that there was a reason Tan Mo hadn’t been on stage for over two months. After his initial surge of emotion at seeing Tan Mo, Sang Ye couldn’t help but fixate on the man beside him.
Through his headset, Sang Ye could hear Tan Mo’s steady, slowing breaths. He wanted to ask if he was alright but hesitated, fearing it might raise suspicions with Xiao Pai and Hu Fu.
Sang Ye, sitting on Tan Mo’s left, bit his lip, his gaze wandering briefly. Then, without thinking, he moved his hand off his mouse, quickly grasped Tan Mo’s hand for a moment, and pulled away without a second’s delay.
Tan Mo’s fingers curled instinctively, caught off guard by the fleeting warmth on his arm. His focus wavered for a split second, but then he lowered his lashes, thought for a moment, and chuckled softly. “It’s fine.”
“What?” Xiao Pai asked, confused. “What’s fine?”
Tan Mo responded, “None of your business.”
Xiao Pai: “…”
Commentator A: “Oh my god, Song’s heart rate just spiked to 150 in an instant. What is this kid thinking?”
Commentator B: “Talk’s heart rate has also suddenly risen. Isn’t he known as the calmest player in the entire league? This is the first time I’ve seen him break 120.”
Commentator A: “The only one whose heart rate is dropping is Xiao Pai.”
Commentator B: “Maybe he’s just losing hope, haha.”
After Tan Mo joined, Sang Ye clearly started playing more boldly.
With XXY not in the breakout match, no one contested P City against WLG. Within three minutes, WLG cleared the entire area and crossed the bridge.
At the bridgehead, an enemy team had set up an ambush.
Sang Ye noticed two jeeps parked at both ends of the bridge and immediately figured there was an ambush waiting. He pulled the pin on a grenade early, aiming at the right spot.
As their vehicle reached the middle of the bridge, Sang Ye suddenly leaned out of the window and threw the grenade towards the jeep on the right.
Commentator A: “Beautiful! Knocked one down, the other had to dodge the grenade and exposed themselves! They’re forced into a gunfight, and there’s no way they can outgun Song. This ambush didn’t work—wait! Song jumped out of the car! Looks like he wants to push for more! But he’s in a bad spot! There’s no cover, and the enemy team has backup on the other side of the bridge. Doesn’t Song know that? He can’t be this reckless! He might only get a one-for-one trade here…”
Commentator B: “Talk throws a grenade in support! One! Two! Knocked down two! Song turns and finishes them off—team wipe! Song knew there were enemies behind him, but he trusted Talk to cover his back completely!”
Commentator A: “Wow! Once again, WLG’s duo shows seamless teamwork. They’re practically unbeatable! I can’t help but shout: WLG for the win!”
Meanwhile, Miao Sen sat in the lounge, hands covering his face as he watched the live stream on his phone.
He saw that the earlier criticisms of Sang Ye had completely flipped, with people now saying that the fearless Song they knew and loved on the battlefield had returned.
Miao Sen gave a bitter smile.
He knew deep down that the team’s poor performance this week was largely due to his own struggles.
The young man had always been a sharp weapon, dulled only by misuse. In Talk’s hands, however, he could unleash his full, fierce potential.
In the third phase, WLG managed to get into the safe zone just before the circle closed.
“There’s a team in the forest,” Xiao Pai reminded them from the car.
The enemy team was moving toward the circle at a parallel position, separated only by a short distance.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted from the side, and a notification popped up.
Sang Ye glanced at it and immediately recognized the familiar team logo on the screen.
[…▄︻┻┳═ FP- …]
“It’s FP!” Xiao Pai growled through gritted teeth. “D*mn it, they’re always talking smack in the livestreams, and that Dust guy even sent a super battleship gift to Lu Qikai’s stream last night, sucking up to him. So annoying… Brother, how about we help out that team on the hill?”
He was trying to disguise his desire for revenge as a strategic move.
“This is a competition,” Tan Mo replied calmly.
“Oh…” Xiao Pai instantly deflated.
Sang Ye, hearing about Dust sucking up to Lu Qikai with gifts—such bootlicking behavior—let out a light snort.
He needed to stay focused on the match and had no time to deal with Dust. Besides, there was no need; FP was already pinned down by the team on the hill and likely wouldn’t make it into the zone.
Tan Mo seemed to catch Sang Ye’s reaction.
“Got any ideas?” he suddenly asked.
Sang Ye was caught off guard. “Huh?”
Tan Mo drove forward for a bit longer before suddenly pulling a sharp 90-degree drift, positioning the car between the team on the hill and FP. He jumped out of the vehicle. “Alright, let’s take this team out.”
“Brother! What the hell!” Xiao Pai shouted in frustration, feeling betrayed once again. “When I suggested it, you didn’t agree, but Bai Mao just snorted and you changed your mind?!”
Bullets rained down from the hill, clattering against the car door.
As Sang Ye jumped out of the car, he scoped in. The view through his 6x scope swayed for a moment before a helmet peeked out from behind the slope, directly into his crosshairs.
Sang Ye pulled the bolt and couldn’t help but smile broadly. “Alright.”
A shot rang out.
[WLG-Song used a 98K to headshot and kill FP-Dust]
Commentator A: “FP is having a tough time! WLG snatches the kill without hesitation, showing no regard for anyone’s feelings!”
Commentator B: “I’ve noticed a pattern: how badly FP fares in a match seems to be linked to whether Dust streams beforehand. Maybe Dust should cut down on streaming before competitions—could save his life, haha! Just kidding.”
Due to Song eliminating Dust so many times during the summer tournament—around 20 times according to incomplete stats—fans compiled all the kill moments into a highlight reel with an electronic music soundtrack. Every shot was perfectly synced to the beat, and the video, titled <Don’t Mess with the Wife Fan, This is What Happens>, was packed with energy. The video even stayed on the “must-watch” list for weeks, turning FP Dust into a cautionary tale.
After the second match, WLG delivered as expected and secured the win.
Tan Mo took off his headset, turned his back to the audience, and rubbed his temples while seated in his gaming chair.
Xiao Pai, still complaining, said, “It’s not fair, the two of us are too unfair together!”
Hu Fu tossed him a bottle of water, laughing: “You just realized this? Even Swift Wind and Strong Grass have complained about it!”
Tan Mo opened his eyes and saw a bottle of water being offered to him by the delicate hand of a young man. A sliver of wrist, pale and bright in the dim lighting, peeked out from under the team jacket.
Tan Mo accepted it. “Thanks.”
Sang Ye leaned on a chair nearby, suddenly moving closer and asking in a low voice, “Are you okay?”
Because he hadn’t controlled the distance well, the clean, cool scent of Sang Ye’s breath brushed past Tan Mo’s neck, almost sending a small shiver down his spine.
Tan Mo glanced sideways and saw the concern Sang Ye couldn’t hide, his moist eyes gazing at him.
Tan Mo’s hand, halfway through twisting the bottle cap, paused briefly, and his Adam’s apple shifted subtly. He said, “If you stay away from me, I’ll be fine.”
Sang Ye paused for a moment, furrowed his brow, and then pursed his lips, starting to straighten up.
But Tan Mo reached out, tousled the white tuft of hair on Sang Ye’s head, and smiled. “Just messing with you.”
…
Five minutes later, the third match began.
Yu Haotian watched the TV with his hands clasped together, restless. “Please, don’t let anything happen, don’t let anything happen…”
From the performance in the last match, it seemed that Tan Mo was in good condition; it was just uncertain whether anything unexpected would happen as time went on.
Not just Yu Haotian, but the coach appeared much more anxious than usual during every minute Tan Mo was on the field.
From the start of the jump, WLG maintained a comfortable rhythm in this match. However, at the twelve-minute mark, they encountered a punishment circle. For WLG, this position was terrible; they were on the edge of the circle and had to cross a road ahead. Yet teams from both the south and the east were targeting them.
Commentator A: “They can cross the road, but it will cost them half their health. Two teams are beating them up, and any engagement from either side could be fatal. Can WLG make it through this challenge?”
The four members of WLG discussed their options and decided they could only drive through.
Just before they acted, however, another fully-staffed team flanked them from the east.
Commentator B: “Three teams to the left of the road have started a brawl! Talk just got hit!”
When a bullet from a 98K whizzed past Tan Mo’s ear, he shut his eyes for a moment, his mind going blank, the sound of the gunfire echoing in his head.
The next second.
Commentator A: “Talk is down! He got sniped from behind! A team is closing in; can anyone save him from this position?”
Sang Ye opened fire, suppressing the enemy with gunfire, quickly throwing down smoke, and rushing over to help.
Gunshots from different angles pounded against his eardrums, causing Tan Mo’s pupils to constrict and then rapidly expand. He felt a wave of blackness wash over him, almost blurring the game screen, and his fingers gripping the mouse went rigid and unbendable.
That sensation of near death gripped him again, constricting his throat and making it almost impossible to breathe.
Commentator B: “The battle is intense! Look! Talk’s heart rate has skyrocketed to 160! Is this heart rate really okay?!”
Tan Mo’s breathing grew increasingly rapid, and there was a moment when he couldn’t hear anything until a desperate, youthful voice pierced through the heavy darkness: “Talk… Talk? Can you still move?”
Tan Mo bit down hard on his lip, the metallic taste of blood dispersing the darkness in front of him. He shifted his stiff wrist slightly and whispered, “Song…”
Even in the heat of the battle, Sang Ye could discern the tension and tremor in Tan Mo’s voice, as if his heart were being squeezed tightly, aching with both pressure and pain.
Tan Mo simply instructed, “I’ll get you across the road.”
Sang Ye said nothing and jumped into the car.
Amidst the hail of bullets, Tan Mo started the engine, flooring the gas pedal as he drove from the hillside across to the other side of the road, blocking the line of fire with the vehicle before the enemy team could hit Sano.
Tan Mo was struck by bullets and eliminated from the game.
Outside the game, Tan Mo yanked off his headset and stood up, lifting his head to face the audience. The darkened stands surged into his view with a jarring intensity.
The spotlight hanging above turned into moonlight, and the shadows of countless spectators in the stands loomed like towering trees, rising infinitely in his eyes, suffocating and soon overwhelming him.
Tan Mo staggered back, colliding with the equipment behind him.
A staff member exclaimed, “Tan Shen!”
Without looking back, Tan Mo exited the glass room.
Xiao Pai and Hu Fu noticed the commotion and were startled, but the fierce battle kept them from diverting their attention.
Sang Ye gritted his teeth, fingers flying over the mouse and keys, desperately suppressing the urge to stand up. Using the vehicle as cover, he launched a fierce attack on the opposing team ahead.
A minute later, WLG successfully crossed the challenge. As the circles continued to close in, they made it to the final stage.
Sang Ye’s rhythm became noticeably urgent. When the screen flashed, [Victory! Dinner’s on us tonight!] he ignored the cheers from the audience, took off his headset, and left the player room without looking back.
“Bai Mao! Where are you going…? What happened to those two?”
Even with the game won, Xiao Pai wore an unusually troubled expression.
Hu Fu said, “He probably went to find Talk.”
…
Sang Ye rushed back to the lounge, opened the door, and looked around. Only the coach and Yu Haotian were there.
Yu Haotian, unaware of what had happened in the game, looked at him in a panic and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Bang—!”
Sang Ye quickly shut the door again, leaving everyone in the room bewildered.
He then went to the makeup room and the meeting room, searching frantically. He even pushed open the door to the men’s restroom.
After glancing around the empty bathroom and finding no one, he closed the door, planning to head outside the venue to look for him.
At that moment, Sang Ye faintly heard a soft sobbing sound. It was so faint that it almost slipped by his ears unnoticed, making him think it was just an illusion.
Pausing for a moment, Sang Ye pushed the door open again and walked into the brightly lit restroom, passing by the white stalls until he stood in front of the last door.
He grasped the doorknob, hesitating, and slowly pulled it open.
Then he looked inside.
Tan Mo was leaning against the partition, sitting on the ground with his legs drawn up tightly. He was curled into a ball, his face buried in his knees, one arm wrapped around his legs and the other covering his head. Accompanied by faint sobs, his body trembled continuously.
Sang Ye opened his mouth helplessly, and with that one glance, he felt as if his heart were breaking.
…
To prevent anyone from suddenly barging in, Sang Ye entered a stall and locked the door.
In the cramped space, he looked at the man in front of him, who was terrified beyond measure. Other than wanting to hold him, he couldn’t think of any better solution.
But Sang Ye didn’t dare; he was afraid of startling the man.
Tan Mo’s body trembled continuously, suppressing his sobs.
Sang Ye felt a wave of compassion wash over him. He lowered his gaze and saw the back of Tan Mo’s hand resting on his head, the skin cold and pale, with translucent fingertips that accentuated the mole on the knuckle of his middle finger.
“Talk…” he gently stroked the tense muscles on the man’s back. Suddenly, he corrected himself, “Tan Mo, you’re going to be okay…”
In moments like this, the man was no longer “Talk.”
In Sang Ye’s eyes, he had once again become Tan Mo.
Tan Mo, weak in spirit, heard the voice, but his hands and feet felt trapped in the moist, soft earth of a forest, sinking deeper and deeper. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t free himself.
It wasn’t until he slowly discerned that the voice belonged to someone—a person who had once made him a promise.
“With me here… nothing can hurt you…”
The dark forest before Tan Mo flickered uncertainly, and a faint light appeared on the horizon.
The light grew stronger, and the scene shifted: an eight-year-old boy wrapped in a blanket, resting on an adult’s shoulder, feeling the cold dissipate, comforted and safe.
As the adult carried the child out of the forest, the cries of seagulls filled the air, revealing a vast sea before them.
The boy had never seen such a sea—clear and expansive, shimmering under the morning light.
—Like a pair of eyes from his memories.
He couldn’t help but reach out his hand.
Tan Mo’s tense wrist twitched slightly.
“Don’t be afraid; I will always be here.”
It was as if he had struck a hidden chord, or perhaps unlocked a door.
In the next second,
A pair of arms recklessly wrapped around the boy’s slender waist, pulling him against his body with such force that it felt like they might crush his bones.
Sang Ye’s breath hitched, and he was suddenly pulled to his knees, staring blankly at the white partition in front of him, struggling to swallow.
Tan Mo lifted his tear-blurred gaze from Sano’s shoulder, inhaled deeply, and his voice was hoarse, barely audible:
“Song… help me…”
Author’s Note:
Talk: Hold me, hold me.
I really feel bad for Tan Mo :(( good thing Song is there