Chapter 22 – Did he do it on purpose or by accident?
Walking all the way from the base back to the dormitory, Ji Wei felt nothing—except the heat of his phone burning in his palm.
Yin Sijue’s WeChat username was a single letter, “S”—just like him, it carried an unspoken sense of restraint.
Ji Wei clicked on his profile, deliberately not adding a note. He wanted to peek at his Moments, but the posts were only visible for the past three days.
Hmph, whatever. I’ll just post mine later anyway.
Back in the training room, Team Two had just finished their midnight snack and were packing up.
Jerry: “What’s wrong, Unique? Are you that excited for your first day livestream?”
Ji Wei: “Huh? How can you tell I’m excited?”
Ban gave him a funny look. “You’re grinning from ear to ear. Someone who didn’t know better would think you were in an online relationship.”
Ji Wei: “…”
Dragon took the unopened paper bag from the table. “I saw you didn’t eat much dinner earlier, so I left you some skewers. Want them?”
“Eat!”
Ji Wei happily took the food from Dragon’s hand. He’d been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn’t eaten much that night. The aroma of barbecue immediately made his stomach growl.
Brother Qiu, who was in charge of Team One, never allowed junk food until the competition was near. Team Two wasn’t so strict, so they often ordered takeout.
Junk food really is the best! Ji Wei took a bite of roasted butter corn and decided he could live like this.
Jerry: “We’ll head over first. Unique, come practice after dinner. The assistant coach might be here to check on us soon.”
Ji Wei, his mouth full: “Mhm.”
…
It was impossible not to think about adding Yin Sijue as a friend. Ji Wei had been distracted during practice all night.
Finally, around midnight, he turned off his computer and dragged his exhausted body back to his room. After a quick shower, he collapsed onto the bed and opened “S”‘s profile again.
Yin Sijue’s profile picture was of the stray dog Xiao Hei, taken at the entrance of the residential complex. Ji Wei didn’t know when it was taken. His signature was blank, and his Moments background was still the default.
What a mysterious man.
Timid in public but incredibly bold behind the screen, Ji Wei noticed that the chat box between him and Yin Sijue contained only the default [Add Friend] message. Without hesitation, he scrolled through his photo album and sent over every nice picture he’d taken of Xiao Hei.
Xiao Hei was a small, local dog—not the kind for elaborate photos. But through Ji Wei’s lens, he carried a simple, honest beauty.
He was too embarrassed to tell Yin Sijue that Xingzi had already raised the dog to fifteen pounds, turning him into a veritable chubby hunk.
After the last image finished loading, Ji Wei sprawled out on the bed, phone held above him, staring at the chat box as he waited for a reply.
Five minutes. Ten minutes.
His arms were sore from holding the phone up. Yin Sijue still hadn’t replied!
Just as he was about to type something, a message suddenly popped up.
S: [Received]
Ji Wei: “…”
“Impolite!” He angrily shoved the phone under his pillow, gave it a punch, and buried himself in frustration all over again.
But after a moment, he dragged it back out, pouting as he reopened WeChat. “It’s better not to reply at all than just to say ‘received.’ Damn it, I—”
Before he could finish muttering, “S”‘s WeChat profile picture suddenly updated. It was replaced with a dazed-looking headshot of Xiao Hei.
It was one of the photos Ji Wei had just sent.
Zooming in, he could even spot the faint edge of a white fingertip peeking from the corner of the frame, resting squarely on the puppy’s head.
Ji Wei blinked in surprise. Going back through the photos, he realized this was the only one where his own finger had accidentally slipped into the shot.
What did that mean? Ji Wei’s face warmed. Had this guy done it on purpose—or was it just coincidence?
Never mind. He set his phone carefully on the bedside table and closed his eyes, perfectly content. His earlier anger was already long forgotten.
It only took Ji Wei a second to forgive the entire world.
…
The next afternoon, Dragon caught up with his new teammate just as Ji Wei was about to head to the restaurant for a bite.
“Unique, this summer season is being held in Hai City. Last night, the assistant coach asked if we wanted to go to the first game next week. We signed you up too. You coming?”
Ji Wei nodded vigorously.
If I can watch Yin Sijue play in person, of course I’ll go.
Dragon: “Okay, then we’ll go together. They’ve arranged a low-key seating area, so we don’t have to worry about being spotted.”
Ban scoffed. “As if it’s that easy to be spotted. You’re not a celebrity.”
Dragon gave Ban a meaningful look. “I hope you’ll keep thinking that.”
…
It was Monday—the first game of the Summer Split—and the stadium was packed.
Team Two had been stuck in traffic and barely managed to find their seats before the big screen cut to them.
The director, perhaps already tipped off about Unique’s arrival, zoomed in on Ji Wei, also catching half of Ban’s face next to him.
Ji Wei: 0.0?
The audience erupted in screams, and people nearby whipped out their phones to take pictures.
Ban quickly pulled out his own phone.
Jerry: “What, you want a unique photo too?”
Ban: “Nonsense! This is my first time on the big screen—I have to take a selfie!”
Dragon, watching the livestream, was amused. “Haha, everyone in the comments says you’ve got a silly expression!”
Ji Wei frowned. “Where’s the livestream room? I want to see it too.”
Because the official broadcast was on a slight delay, the arena director had already cut away, while the livestream was still holding on a close-up of Ji Wei.
[“Oh my god, how does this guy look even better on camera than in person??”]
[“So pale he reflects light, omg…”]
[“Who is this? Why the close-up? Is he an influencer?”]
[“Search 46888 on Aurora TV and follow me, don’t make me beg!”]
[“I always thought Unique didn’t watch games. This is the first time he’s been photographed offline.”]
[“+1 for the “Daddy, Duweiwei” emoji. So cute, I want to steal him.”]
[“Saw him live, everyone!! He’s so adorable—just a little short.”]
Ji Wei: ?
Dragon: “Pfft, Unique, I heard someone say you—”
Ji Wei: “Okay, stop talking.”
Short? I’m 175 cm. Round it up and it’s 180, okay?
Ban, meanwhile, had collected thirteen identical big-screen selfies and sighed. “I always thought PCL was a niche scene.”
Jerry: “Look at all those sponsor ads next to you before you say that. This is the real deal.”
As they chatted, the opening music swelled, and the commentators began introducing the teams and explaining the format.
Ji Wei’s mind drifted amidst the roar of the crowd.
The contestant lounge probably had a TV, showing the live feed.
Just now, I looked dazed and dumbfounded on camera. I wonder if Yin Sijue saw it…
“What are you spacing out for? The contestants are already in!” Ban clapped him hard on the shoulder.
Ji Wei snapped back to attention and fixed his gaze on the stage, where the players were already seated.
Today’s competition featured sixteen teams—a significant number of players—yet Ji Wei’s eyes locked instantly on one figure.
Yin Sijue stood noticeably taller than the others, his posture upright and poised, making him especially striking as he entered.
AVG’s uniform was a dark green, often mocked on Weibo for resembling a school uniform. People joked that with a whistle, the players could pass for PE teachers.
But on Yin Sijue, it looked flawless. The loose cut only emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his lines fluid and powerful, every movement radiating calm confidence.
As Yin Sijue took his seat, Ji Wei felt the weight of everyone’s gaze shift toward him.
The director did not disappoint—cutting immediately to a high-definition close-up.
His sharp features were even more captivating on camera: a clean jawline, high nose, and skin so flawless that not even HD could find fault.
The stadium erupted, screams loud enough to shake the rafters.
That day’s commentators were retired pro Mika and resident analyst Yamy.
Mika waited for the noise to settle before speaking. “I don’t think I need to say much about this one.”
Yamy chimed in, “Solve is truly handsome.”
Mika: “Speaking of Solve, we have to talk about AVG’s new roster.”
Yamy: “Yes, as you’ve all seen in the official announcement, Wolf is stepping in as a strong addition after veteran Horse’s retirement. This is also his first major tournament.”
The director followed her words and cut to a shot of Wolf.
Mika: “I checked his stats before coming here—he’s ranked pretty high. I’m excited to see his debut today.”
Yamy: “And let’s not forget, our reigning PCL champions UGC also have a new lineup!”
The crowd roared again, UGC fans waving their lightboards.
Mika: “UGC’s rookie Kelly is making his first official appearance today. Personally, I’m really looking forward to his performance.”
Yamy: “Alright, enough introductions—let’s dive into the first match of the PUBG Champions League Summer Split!”
…
The game began with the familiar roar of a plane engine as it crossed the Erangel map.
Ji Wei fixed his eyes on the flight path, silently reviewing the usual drop points for each team. He remembered the ride over, when they had been predicting the results.
Online polls showed UGC as the favorite to win the championship. They were already leading the standings thanks to their accumulated points from the Spring Split, followed by NS, who had finished third.
Although AVG had placed second in the Spring Split, their poor performance at last year’s PGC had drawn heavy criticism. This year, with an untested newcomer on their roster, public expectations were modest.
Ji Wei had always been confident in Yin Sijue. In the car, he and the others had confidently predicted that AVG would finish in the top two on the first day of the regular season.
But as a newbie with no experience watching tournaments, he had overlooked one crucial rule: the biggest taboo was celebrating too early—popping champagne at halftime.
Each day of the regular season consisted of six matches, with scores calculated by combining elimination and placement points.
Shockingly, by the end of the fifth game, AVG’s ranking was still low, hovering between fourth and fifth place.
After every round, Ji Wei endured the resentful stares of his teammates.
Ji Wei: “…I was wrong.”
In reality, AVG had been developing well in the early stages of most games. But when it came time to enter the safe zone, their positioning was often poor, and they were repeatedly outnumbered by other squads.
Commentator Mika said on stream, “It’s clear that AVG’s new player isn’t fully acclimated yet. He’s been giving away points too frequently and can’t seem to keep up with Solve’s pace.”
Yamy added: “Exactly. AVG’s weaknesses are obvious right now. There’s a disconnect between their veterans and their rookie. Wolf is undeniably a strong individual player, but PUBG is a team game. He needs to adapt quickly if AVG wants to turn this around.”
As soon as the commentators set the tone, the livestream chat exploded into debate:
[“Is this commentator a Solve fan? Why’s he praising him so much?”]
[“If Solve’s really that good, why did he only make it to the PGC semifinals last year?”]
[“I got a perfect score in the ‘Guess the fan status of the first two players’ game. Try it yourself!”]
[“What are UGC fans so smug about? Didn’t you guys win PGC too?”]
[“Yeah, well, I just know runner-up > top four.”]
[“What’s so great about UGC? They barely take fights. If it’s all about strategy, what’s the point of playing a battle royale?”]
[“If you don’t like it, don’t watch. The prize money isn’t going to your team anyway. [/sticks out tongue]”]
Jerry glanced at the standings in despair: “You really have a unique mouth!”
Ji Wei: “Stop cursing.”
Ban: “I think I saw Brother Qiu just now. His face is darker than the bottom of a pot. Let’s head out. Don’t ride back with them.”
Dragon: “That’s what I thought too.”
Ji Wei, still daydreaming about sharing a ride with Yin Sijue: “…T-T”