Chapter 73 – Mine.
Tan Mo had already stood up with his tray. Sang Ye quickly put his phone away and followed.
The two of them walked toward the exit.
“If you don’t have anything else to grab, let’s head straight to the game room,” Tan Mo said. “We should check if the equipment is working properly. Do you have your player ID?”
Sang Ye walked with his head down.
Tan Mo tilted his head slightly to look at him. “Song?”
“W-what?”
Sang Ye immediately lifted his head and met those peach blossom eyes.
—His face flushed, his breath was unsteady, and his heart pounded.
Tan Mo raised his own ID badge and shook it slightly. “Player ID.”
“Oh, I have it.”
Sang Ye quickly lowered his head and rummaged through his crossbody bag, but his mind kept replaying that phrase—He is mine.
…
That afternoon, the teams in the community arranged a practice match.
Sang Ye saw several familiar faces—Catch22 and BTF were also participating.
Since top-tier teams often had overlapping drop spots, the best loot locations became contested right from the start.
In the first round, four teams landed at P City, with WLG and HK both taking positions at the double four-story buildings.
“It’s Wu De again,” Xiao Pai commented while looting a seaside house. “I really hope we don’t get grouped with HK in the qualifiers.”
The first phase of the group stage would divide all teams into two groups, A and B, to compete within their respective brackets.
“HK is probably hoping for the same,” Tan Mo said as he picked up a 4x scope, attached it to his gun, leaned slightly toward the window, and reported an enemy position.
As soon as Sang Ye opened the door and stepped into the room, a bullet shattered the window, grazing past his side. He pressed himself against the wall without immediately scoping in, instead judging from the sound of gunfire, “One on the second-floor balcony room.”
Tan Mo glanced at his now incomplete health bar. “Do you have meds?”
“I do,” Sang Ye responded immediately. “Hold on, I’ll go downstairs and bring you some in a bit.”
Tan Mo opened his mouth slightly but didn’t speak. Instead, he locked onto a figure appearing in the gap between two window frames. In a split second, he unleashed a barrage of ten bullets per second, the dense gunfire pinning the enemy down with no chance to escape.
A knockdown notification appeared in the top right corner.
“Keep it for yourself,” Tan Mo said. “I have a first aid kit here—take it if you need more.”
“Brother, why do you always share all your good loot with Bai Mao? Once or twice is whatever, but I’ve seen you do it so many times. Do you have a bias?” Xiao Pai started stirring trouble again. “If this keeps up, I’m seriously gonna start believing there’s something between you two.”
Sang Ye had no time to bother with Xiao Pai. He vaulted out of the second-floor window. Since he had gathered intel earlier and knew there were only two enemies in the target building—one already down and the other now distracted—he seized the opportunity to attack HK’s building.
As he crept inside and started climbing the stairs, he hadn’t even reached the last step before a bullet shattered his helmet.
Sang Ye didn’t stop to heal; instead, he tossed a grenade upstairs.
Gunfire erupted from Tan Mo’s position.
Without needing to be told, Sang Ye knew the enemy had retreated into the room and was now exposing themselves at the window. Taking advantage of the moment, he pushed up aggressively.
Maintaining his scoped-in stance, Tan Mo casually asked Xiao Pai, “What kind of relationship?”
Hufu, positioned at a high vantage point, called out, “Someone’s crossing the street.”
Xiao Pai shouldered his gun and ran over to provide support, complaining along the way, “The internet says you two are together!”
Before Sang Ye could even round the corner of the other building, HK’s player unexpectedly rushed out and pre-fired, landing a shot. But Sang Ye still had enough health to counterattack.
After an intense burst of gunfire, two notifications popped up.
One: Wu De eliminated by Sang Ye.
Two: Sang Ye knocked out.
“That’s what you get for running your mouth.”
Sang Ye’s knockdown had nothing to do with Xiao Pai, but he was still venting his frustration.
Lying on the ground, he sulked in silence.
If Tan Mo hadn’t weakened Wu De just now, the one getting eliminated early would have been him.
“Hey! You, Bai Mao,” Xiao Pai advanced along the wall. “I’m not reviving you.”
“Ignore him,” Tan Mo, after confirming the area was safe, holstered his gun and headed downstairs. “Your boyfriend is coming to save you.”
Sang Ye’s breath caught, his fingers curling into his palm.
“D*mn,” Xiao Pai muttered to himself. “Could you stop messing around? You’re making it seem kinda real…”
After eliminating the two HK players, Xiao Pai regrouped at the two-story building. For now, HK wouldn’t make any reckless moves.
Tan Mo approached Sang Ye, who was lying on the ground looking utterly defeated, and spoke in his deep, smooth voice, “How many times have I told you to keep an eye on your supply status? You had them pinned—taking a few seconds to heal wouldn’t have made a difference.”
Sang Ye, embarrassed, felt his face heat up. “I knew you were across from me, so I figured taking a few extra steps forward wouldn’t kill me… When I’m leading a team myself, I’m way more careful.”
“Oh,” Tan Mo replied coolly. “Don’t act spoiled on the battlefield. A boyfriend isn’t all-powerful.”
Sang Ye’s voice rose involuntarily, turning slightly high-pitched. “Who—who’s acting spoiled?!”
Xiao Pai nearly cringed out of existence. “You two… you’re not actually together, are you?!”
Tan Mo’s voice lifted at the end, teasing, “What do you think?”
Xiao Pai let out a breath. “Scared me for a second there.”
Sang Ye nudged his headset with his shoulder, his cheeks burning red.
He thought to himself, This Xiao Pai is really dumb. Seriously.
They played five rounds of scrims that day. HK continued to drop P City every game—perhaps it was just the European playstyle, focused on aggressive fights. If they managed to loot up and get rolling, they could be a real powerhouse. But WLG was relentless in gathering intel at the start, always taking the most strategic positions. If they didn’t shoot, they stayed hidden; if they did, every shot counted. After five contested drop fights, WLG won four.
If both teams ended up in the same group during the official matches, the outcome would likely be similar. That meant the pressure was on HK, while WLG could take it easy.
Arriving in Berlin ten days early wasn’t just about training—they also had to shoot promotional videos, take official portraits, and participate in countless interviews. It was even more exhausting than training back home.
On the busiest filming day, Sang Ye was so drained that the moment he got back to his room, he collapsed onto the bed and didn’t move.
The man placed one hand on Sang Ye’s back while the other unzipped his thick winter coat, peeling it off.
As his sweater was lifted, Sang Ye had no choice but to raise his arms. The soft cashmere fabric brushed against his fair skin, leaving a faintly prickling sensation.
With the sweater removed, the boy’s snowy white hair became a static mess, and he slumped weakly against the man’s chest.
The man steadied him again.
Same routine.
Next came the hoodie, then the shirt, then the vest, another shirt, and another vest…
“How many layers are you even wearing?” Tan Mo chuckled. “If I keep peeling, I might actually cry.”
After all the effort, Sang Onion Ye finally woke up.
As he slowly opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the man’s face—so close it was almost touching his own. Those downcast, almond-shaped eyes revealed a faint crease on the eyelid, and his gaze followed the movements of his hands as he unfastened a button. Up close, the man’s skin was strikingly smooth, a clean, cool shade of white. His expression was neutral yet patient, while the lamplight from the side cast a soft shadow across his high nose bridge.
Sang Ye, still drowsy, gazed at him and absentmindedly licked his lips, which had gone dry from the air-conditioned room.
Tan Mo pulled off Sang Ye’s final dress shirt, revealing the white T-shirt underneath. He reached out and pressed a hand against the boy’s back—it was damp with sweat.
Raising his eyes, Tan Mo finally noticed that Sang Ye was awake. But just as he was about to tell him to go shower, the words caught in his throat.
Something in the boy’s hazy, eager gaze scratched at his heart. And when his eyes drifted down to Sang Ye’s slightly parted, glistening lips, a heat flared in his chest.
The room was silent.
Outside, the faint sound of a car rolling by rustled through the air before fading away.
Their eyes met—calm on the surface, but beneath, a searing hunger burned.
Tan Mo reached out, his fingers curling around the back of Sang Ye’s slender neck as he leaned in.
Sang Ye’s hand, stiff and uncertain, landed against the man’s waist.
Then—
Knock, knock, knock.
Someone was at the door.
Tan Mo paused, shutting his eyes briefly.
For f*ck’s sake…
Sang Ye snapped out of his daze, yanking his hands back like they’d been burned. His breath hitched, and he practically turned to stone.
Tan Mo held back from cursing. He straightened up, his voice turning a little colder. “The water’s ready. Go shower.”
“Oh… oh.” Sang Ye lowered his eyes, his gaze darting everywhere but at Tan Mo. This time, he was unusually obedient, offering no resistance.
Tan Mo walked toward the door.
As he moved away, his warm fingers brushed lightly against the back of Sang Ye’s neck, sending a faint, electric shiver down his spine.
Sang Ye sat at the edge of the bed for a moment longer before suddenly springing up. Grabbing his bundled-up pajamas from the foot of the bed, he dashed into the bathroom.
When the door opened, Yu Haotian was standing outside.
Noting Tan Mo’s less-than-pleased expression, he glanced into the room. “What’s wrong? You two fighting?”
“No.” Tan Mo leaned against the doorframe, keeping it short. “What do you want?”
Yu Haotian handed over a document. “The group stage draw is out.”
Tan Mo took it and flipped through the pages.
They had been placed in Group B.
Although WLG had won the Summer Championship and placed second in the Intercontinental Tournament, their overall ranking barely made the cut. That meant they were bound to be grouped with high-scoring teams—NSN among them.
Meanwhile, Group A had HK, Catch22, and BTF—undoubtedly the “Group of Death.”
“Pretty lucky,” Yu Haotian commented. “At least you dodged those teams for now.”
“Got it.” Tan Mo stood up, ready to close the door. “If you have a digital copy, just drop it in the group chat.”
Yu Haotian waved his phone. “Already did.”
Tan Mo looked at him.
“Everyone’s discussing it in the chat except for you and Song,” Yu Haotian said. “I had to bring it over myself.”
“…”
Tan Mo had the expression of someone who just got utterly screwed over. “I’m clocking out. If anything comes up, text me.”
With that, he moved to close the door.
Yu Haotian lowered his voice. “You two living together isn’t going to cause any… issues, right?”
Tan Mo was confused. “What issues?”
Yu Haotian glanced into the room again and asked, “Where’s Song?”
Tan Mo: “In the shower.”
Yu Haotian smirked. “Unbelievable.”
“?”
…
October 30th—the day before the tournament kicked off—was also Halloween Eve.
Before dinner, the event organizers hosted a costume party for the players. Dressing up was mandatory, but alcohol was strictly prohibited to prevent it from affecting their performance the next day.
Sang Ye was given a pair of little devil horns. As soon as he put them on, the makeup artist gasped, covering her mouth. “Adooooorable!”
Sang Ye didn’t understand her, tilting his head as he sat obediently for his makeup.
But the moment the makeup artist picked up an eyeliner pencil and moved in to apply it, he immediately leaned back and waved his hands. “No, no, no, no, no.”
He would never, ever let that stuff near his face.
When Sang Ye left the prep room, he spotted Tan Mo.
Tan Mo was leaning against a windowsill, sipping hot water from a disposable cup. He was dressed in a black suit with a cape draped over his shoulders—no special effects makeup, no elaborate costume. Pure laziness.
Sang Ye walked over, grabbed a handful of Tan Mo’s cape, and kneaded it between his fingers. “Why aren’t you wearing any makeup?”
Tan Mo countered, “Guess what I’m dressed as.”
Did he even need to ask? Sang Ye saw through it in an instant. “A vampire!”
“There you go.” Tan Mo shrugged. “If I already look the part, what’s the point of makeup?”
Sang Ye couldn’t argue with that. He wrinkled his nose, feeling slightly cheated.
Tan Mo’s skin was pale, his features sharp—he could wear a bedsheet and still look like a sophisticated, aristocratic vampire.
Just then, Tan Mo set his cup down on the windowsill and pulled out his phone. “Let me take a couple of pictures.”
Sang Ye had no problem facing high-definition cameras worth millions, but the second Tan Mo pointed his phone at him, he threw up his hands. “No! No pictures!”
Tan Mo grabbed his wrist and, using his height advantage, raised the phone up. “Smile.”
“No photos! No photos!” Sang Ye was too busy grabbing at Tan Mo’s clothes, hopping up and down, completely forgetting he could just cover his face.
Passing teammates gave them indescribable looks.
Tan Mo snapped at least fifty pictures before handing the phone over. “Pick the ones you like.”
Sang Ye immediately quieted down and snatched the phone, terrified of leaving any embarrassing photos in Tan Mo’s gallery.
Tan Mo then said, “Mind if I post a nine-photo collage on Weibo later?”
Sang Ye’s face burned. His grip on the phone tightened.
He really wanted to say no.
Talk was being way too obvious about it.
Sang Ye looked up, his eyes sparkling, but his lips were pursed. “Why does it have to be a nine-photo collage? What if I can’t pick nine pictures?”
Tan Mo looked at him.
A moment later—
With a smile, he said, “Alright. If it’s a nine-photo collage, I’ll just post only you, okay?”
“……”
Sang Ye’s face turned bright red. He lowered his head and scrolled through the photos at lightning speed.
“I—I was just saying, you’d better not post only me… that’d scare me to death…”
Tan Mo licked his lips, holding back a laugh. He moved a little closer to watch with him.
But Sang Ye shifted his body slightly, blocking Tan Mo’s view. “I’ll pick them first and then show you.”
After all, not every shot from a burst photo sequence turned out great.
Tan Mo glanced at his phone, hesitated for a second, then said, “Alright, you pick first.”
Just then, Yu Haotian pushed a cart into the room. “Come on, everyone gets a cupcake. Pick yours! Also, write two postcards as gifts for the fan giveaway.”
Sang Ye was too busy selecting photos and didn’t have time to bother with it.
Before leaving, Tan Mo joked, “Sang Ye, you don’t have a habit of snooping through other people’s phones, do you?”
Sang Ye frowned slightly and looked up. “I’m not interested in your phone.”
“That’s for the best.” Tan Mo left.
Sang Ye leaned against the windowsill, scrolling through his phone, but his energy seemed drained. It was like he had suddenly lost interest.
He had shared his phone and iPad passwords with Tan Mo before. Sometimes, when he was too busy, he’d just toss his phone to him and let him handle things—never once worrying that Tan Mo would go through his stuff.
But now, Tan Mo was guarding against him.
Sang Ye pressed his lips together, almost letting out a huff in frustration.
Not even a shred of trust.
He hastily selected five photos, saved them, and was about to turn off the screen with great resolve—afraid that Tan Mo might accuse him of snooping. But then he suddenly remembered: deleted photos still existed in the trash album. He had to delete them again.
Sang Ye had no choice but to navigate back to the photo album, silently chanting to himself, ‘I won’t look, I won’t look, I’m not snooping.’ He kept his eyes straight ahead as he went directly to the trash bin.
But despite his efforts, his gaze accidentally landed on a thumbnail in a different album—an image of his own face.
Sang Ye looked closer.
It was a photo he didn’t even remember being taken.
—A couple of days ago, it had snowed in Berlin. He was in his pajamas, kneeling on the bed, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the snowfall.
His eyes shifted to the album title—“Sun.”
Next to it, the number 2331 was displayed, indicating the total number of photos inside.
Sang Ye pulled out his own phone, typed those three letters, and let the robotic voice read it aloud:
“Sun—太阳（sun）.”
He suddenly realized that this word sounded strikingly similar to his ID, Song.
He clicked into the album and scrolled up.
The screen was filled with nothing but pictures of him.
Him squatting on a chair, playing games.
Him curled up on the practice room’s sofa, hugging a pillow and sleeping.
Him throwing a frisbee with Tan Chunshan on the grass.
Him fiddling with his ear absentmindedly while playing on his phone.
Him holding a yogurt cup, his fingers wrapped around it.
Him with a bit of cream smeared on the corner of his lips…
Sang Ye dragged the scroll bar all the way to the top.
The first photo was a birthday picture—one he had posted on his social media.
The date on it was the day he officially joined WLG.
As he flipped through the pictures, his heart buzzed with a numb, tingling sensation.
He had always refused to let Tan Mo take pictures of him because he felt that being captured through Tan Mo’s lens was like being intensely observed by his eyes—so focused, so intentional. It made him flustered, unsure of how to react.
But now, Sang Ye realized that in all those moments when he had been completely unaware, Tan Mo had already been looking at him.
—Just like how he had always been looking at Tan Mo.
…
After receiving their cupcakes, everyone was busy writing postcards.
Sang Ye was the last to get his.
To his surprise, there was a tiny figurine of himself stuck on top of the cupcake—a chibi version with slightly messy white hair, arms crossed, looking proud and serious.
The event organizers had gone the extra mile this year, customizing a figurine for each player.
Sang Ye held the cupcake at a distance and snapped a picture with his phone.
The camera frame focused on the chibi figure atop the cupcake.
The lighting was a bit dim, so he shifted slightly to the side, allowing more light to illuminate the subject.
As Sang Ye moved again, a partial silhouette appeared in the background.
He paused for a moment before subtly adjusting the angle of his phone in that direction.
Tan Mo, tall and long-legged, was standing by a table against the wall. He had a disposable cup held between his lips, his head lowered. One hand was pressed against the table while the other held a pen as he wrote on a postcard.
Sang Ye’s gaze lingered on the blurred, towering figure in the background. Then, he pressed the shutter button.
After that, he lowered his head, tapped his phone a few times, and posted the cupcake photo featuring his chibi figurine on Weibo.
WLG-Song V:
Mine.
Cool or not?
Author’s note:
Song: Let me see which man is only paying attention to the cupcake and not to me.