Chapter 52 – @AVG_Unique Frequently Visited Your Weibo
“Actually, I didn’t really watch it,” Ji Wei said, clinging to the last shred of decency. “I just randomly clicked on it from the trending comments and took a quick look.”
“Really?” Yin Sijue asked calmly, not wanting to expose her. “Then I’ll go check it out later.”
Ji Wei: …
“Are you almost done eating?” Xu Shaoqiu glanced at the table. “Once you’re finished, stop chatting and come to the practice room. I found footage of you playing SOP from two years ago. Come watch it again.”
“Two years ago—the year we first won the championship?” Da Shu recalled. “I think we eliminated them in the regular season that year. What’s there to revisit?”
“But they eliminated you in the finals last year. Don’t you think we should revisit that?” Xu Shaoqiu shot him a look. “Besides, you didn’t play that well.”
Da Shu: ?
“This year, we need to focus on this Korean team, so let’s start with the replay of your first victory over them.” Xu Shaoqiu projected the replay, zooming in on the key exchange between the two teams.
“As for why we’re not starting with last year’s loss, it’s simply because I don’t want to undermine everyone’s confidence.”
Da Shu: “It’s really hurtful hearing you say that now.”
“Alright, enough talking. Watch the replay.”
“Since you’re so talkative, Da Shu, I’ll start with you. One obvious weakness of yours is that your gunplay isn’t strong enough in 1v1s. Look at this—Okura rolled the point without any interference from the gun line, and in the end the opponent only took down one player.”
…
The replay lasted an hour, and Xu Shaoqiu picked out numerous flaws for everyone. Only Ji Wei, who had never participated in a World Championship, was lucky enough to escape.
When the replay reached the end of the match, Xu Shaoqiu reviewed it and summed up:
“Although you won this time, the problems are still obvious. These same issues carried into the later stages and directly led to our defeat at PGC last year—you were too impatient.”
“Several times you weren’t in an advantageous position, yet you still stubbornly pushed out to clear enemies. Your attention to detail in fights was sloppy. I managed to bail you out this time, but next time I’m not sure I can.”
“So,” Xu Shaoqiu’s gaze fell on Ji Wei, “that’s why I chose Unique. It’s not because he’s a slacker, but because his playstyle is steady enough to hold you back in crucial moments.”
“Unique, you also need to understand your strengths. Don’t let your relationship with the Gunner lead you astray, okay?”
“?” Ji Wei, who had been diligently taking notes, looked up blankly, stunned. He had no idea why that sentence had appeared in the middle of an otherwise serious review.
Yin Sijue wasn’t angry at Minghan. He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll lead me astray?”
“He’d better lead you astray!” Xu Shaoqiu pointed at Yin Sijue. “Every time you pull on flat ground in a competition, it makes me want to die, you know that?”
Da Shu’s focus wasn’t on the game. He asked, puzzled, “Brother Qiu, didn’t you go back to bed yesterday? How do you know they were talking?”
Xu Shaoqiu replied mysteriously, “Sometimes the truth is revealed through your own eyes.”
“Holy crap, what did you see? Tell me.”
Ji Wei, sitting nearby, suddenly remembered running into Xu Shaoqiu when he came out of Yin Sijue’s room that morning. Shocked, he waved his hands frantically at the coach.
If he said anything, they’d definitely become the subject of gossip.
Xu Shaoqiu, considerate of the boy, simply shook his finger at Da Shu. “No.”
Suddenly, cheers erupted from the projector. The unpaused recording had reached the ending—the footage of AVG winning the championship and accepting their award.
Back then, they were still a bit naive and didn’t know how to answer the host’s questions. The translator ran back and forth between them, but the noise was so loud that no one could hear clearly. Finally, Yin Sijue reached out, took the microphone, and spoke fluent English, resolving the awkward moment.
Everyone was caught off guard by this scene, stunned.
The golden rain had lasted only a short while, yet it felt like something from a lifetime ago.
“This video is so complete,” Da Shu sighed. “I’d forgotten how stupid I was back then.”
After receiving their trophies, champions usually hug and shake hands with the other teams. That’s considered customary etiquette at PGC. However, in the footage, as the four AVG players approached runner-up SOP, they simply bypassed Da Shu, who was standing there with a silly smile, and walked offstage with stern faces.
Seeing it for the first time, Ji Wei was puzzled. “What’s wrong with them?”
Da Shu said nonchalantly, “The championship trophy didn’t stay in PKL. They just couldn’t take it. Damn, why was I so eager to show my support back then?”
Mi Li turned and asked, “So before us, the championships were always won by the Korean region?”
Xu Shaoqiu nodded. “Yes. Didn’t you notice that when you won PGC the following year, SOP didn’t come shake your hands?”
“Huh? Then why do I remember them interacting once?” Da Shu suddenly realized. “Oh, it was the third year, when we lost in the semifinals?”
Xu Shaoqiu gave him a sympathetic look. “You were so cheerful, hugging people, I didn’t even bother to scold you.”
Mi Li said coldly, “Being a bit clueless is also a talent. Their captain came over wanting to provoke us, but seeing how sunny you looked, his expression wasn’t so good afterward.”
Da Shu: “…Isn’t that too petty!”
“Alright, if you have nothing else to do, just go practice on your own,” Xu Shaoqiu instructed. “You can only play PUBG—nothing else.”
Not exactly a good kid, Da Shu disobeyed as soon as the coach left. He picked up his phone and checked Weibo.
“My God, Unique! That video of you and the captain already has millions of views.”
Ji Wei leaned over. The casual team-building video had already been shared forty thousand times, with even more likes—a staggering one hundred and thirty thousand.
He honestly couldn’t understand. “I didn’t film anything—why are there so many reposts?”
Mi Li also opened Weibo to check. “These kinds of couple videos are just popular. There was a couple in Europe and America that was really big before you, and they seemed to be a real couple.”
Seeing Ji Wei a little anxious, Da Shu tried to comfort him. “Maybe there just haven’t been any new couples to support lately. It’s okay, the hype will fade soon.”
He set his phone aside, opened the training camp, and said casually, “We in the PCL aren’t exactly obscure, but we’re definitely not popular either. There aren’t that many people watching us, so don’t worry.”
Ji Wei curled her lips. “I’m just worried that if this video goes viral, people will criticize Solve… and me.”
“You’re really just worried about your husband being criticized, right?” Da Shu turned away in annoyance. “He’s been criticized long before this video was even released, okay?”
Yin Sijue reached out and tapped Ji Wei on the head. “Don’t overthink it. Duo queue?”
“I’m calling you.” Ji Wei entered the game, pushing aside all distracting thoughts.
It wasn’t a big deal—probably just overthinking.
Since they didn’t expect anything to come of it, no one paid much attention to the video’s trajectory. Xu Shaoqiu was also focused on preparing for and reviewing matches. However, the popularity of the team-building video unexpectedly triggered a minor incident.
The video was posted on Friday, right when Weibo traffic peaked over the weekend. By early Sunday morning, a trending search had crept to the bottom of the topic charts.
Everyone, fully booked with practice matches, didn’t notice right away.
By Sunday afternoon, Xu Shaoqiu came rushing downstairs, phone in hand, frowning as he shouted:
“Who’s running SOP’s official Weibo account? Are they crazy?”
Yin Sijue, who had just finished a game, turned around. “What’s going on?”
Xu Shaoqiu handed him his phone, showing a screenshot of the Weibo homepage.
[@SOP Official Weibo: [/vomit][/weak]
//@AVG Club: [AVG Team Building Daily: PUBG pros playing real-life Counter-Strike? Hands-on!]]
“This Weibo post was deleted in seconds. Probably a slip of the hand,” Xu Shaoqiu said grimly, sending the link to the PR department while scrolling through his phone. “But the screenshots are already circulating.”
Mi Li scoffed. “Their official account hasn’t posted in half a year, and when they finally do, it’s to repost our content? Real classy.”
Ji Wei was a little confused. “Let it spread. They slipped up first. It has nothing to do with us, right?”
Da Shu opened his phone and searched for keywords. “The esports world is messy. People are already criticizing it.”
The real-time comments under the hashtag #SOP手滑 refreshed every few seconds:
[PGC is about to start, and the players are so carefree, while the official account is out here promoting homosexuality. Is AVG planning to be runner-up at Worlds again?]
[Finally, someone’s speaking up. I’ve been so mad at the comments these past two days I can’t even talk about it.]
[Last year’s world champion even retweeted it with insinuations, bringing shame to the scene.]
[Haters, please stop taking advantage of this. They’ll only be out for three days at most. Just look at AVG’s starting lineup practice schedule these days—each individual practice lasts at least six hours.]
[The six-hour one is Solve. He’s clearly slacking off because of his relationship. What’s there to be afraid of? His individual practice used to be 12 hours. Just so you know.]
[But he was injured in the playoffs, did you forget?!]
Yin Sijue also saw the comments, his face expressionless. He turned to Ji Wei beside him.
“Will you come with me to get my stitches removed tomorrow?”
Ji Wei, standing nearby, had just created a new Weibo account. His hair stood on end in anger as he frowned, ready to fight to the death with anyone criticizing Solve.
When his boyfriend called him, Ji Wei took two seconds to react. “Ah… okay.”
Yin Sijue’s sharp eyes caught it—Ji Wei was about to reply to the haters. The chat box was already open, with a few lines typed in, the harshest being just “idiot.”
He said with a hint of amusement, “Don’t argue with them. You won’t win.”
Ji Wei pouted, feeling aggrieved. “But they scolded you.”
“They scolded me too.” Da Shu, meanwhile, was busily reporting an ugly screenshot of his teeth with vegetable leaves stuck in them. “Unique, help me fight back when you have time. Thanks.”
Yin Sijue glanced at him. “Does that count as scolding? Isn’t that just a screenshot from the original video?”
“…That makes sense. I’ll report the original video too.”
Xu Shaoqiu snatched his phone away. “Reporting my ass! Get back to training! They’re already insinuating things. If you still lose to SOP at Worlds, I swear I’ll kill you!”
“This post isn’t that popular, so we won’t respond directly. I’ll arrange for someone to remove the trending search. Don’t ignore it completely, but don’t feed the fire either.”
…
Training was necessary, but removing Yin Sijue’s stitches was just as important.
The next morning, Ji Wei set an alarm for ten o’clock and got up to accompany him to the hospital.
He was nervous the entire way, using his phone to search Baidu with questions like: “Will removing stitches make the wound worse?” and “Are there long-term aftereffects from a knife wound?”
By the time he finished reading the Baidu answers, Ji Wei had broken into a cold sweat. According to those so-called folk experts, Yin Sijue’s next step would most likely be amputation.
The injured patient tried to comfort him along the way, but it didn’t ease Ji Wei’s nerves until they finally stood before a real doctor.
Learning that the patient was a professional player, the veteran doctor meticulously gave Yin Sijue a thorough examination.
“It’s healing well. The wound wasn’t deep. Don’t touch water or eat spicy food the day after the stitches are removed. Everything else is fine.”
Ji Wei tugged excitedly at the corner of Yin Sijue’s clothes, his face glowing with joy. “Thank you, doctor!”
The expert Xu Xingchen had contacted was an experienced veteran. He glanced at Ji Wei over his glasses and asked, “Why are you happier than your brother?”
Ji Wei lowered his head sheepishly. “I’m just happy.”
Yin Sijue smiled faintly beside him. “Thank you, doctor, but he’s not my brother.”
Startled, Ji Wei pinched Yin Sijue’s thigh.
The old doctor lowered his head and looked them over carefully. “Oh, you’re a couple? I see.”
“My wife’s downstairs in the proctology department. She tells me about you guys every day. Young people—be careful!”
…
Even after they got on the bus back to base, Ji Wei still didn’t understand what the doctor had been talking about.
But his intuition told him it wasn’t something he should touch.
Yin Sijue leaned against the window, scrolling through his phone. “Are these the ones you saw on Weibo last night? I think they’re pretty good.”
“Which ones?” Ji Wei’s attention was instantly diverted, every hair on his body standing on end.
Yin Sijue showed him the screen. It was fan art of the two of them: standing on a podium, holding a trophy together, golden ribbons fluttering in the air. They smiled at each other in front of a packed crowd.
His eyes curved slightly as he long-pressed the image to save it. “It makes up for not being able to go to the finals with you.”
Ji Wei leaned forward, a little distressed, rubbing his cheek against Yin Sijue’s arm. “It’s okay. We still have many championships to win.”
Then he poked the man beside him. “Send me that picture. I want it as my wallpaper.”
Yin Sijue casually tapped [Forward.] “I thought you saw it last night.”
Ji Wei’s nerves, which had just relaxed, tensed again. He gasped. “Of course I saw it. I just didn’t save it!”
Yin Sijue narrowed his eyes at his stammering, looking at him with interest. “Really?”
“Hmmmm.”
Yin Sijue chuckled and let it go.
Ji Wei wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, thinking he had dodged a bullet—that his sneaky habit of reading spicy fanfiction had been covered up.
Unfortunately, some people were just born with a “social-death constitution.”
Even more unfortunately, he himself turned out to be one of those people.
That evening, the fan creator known as [JueWei, Number One in the World] suddenly updated a fans-only Weibo post.
[@JueWei, Number One in the World: Aaaaahhh I really wanted to keep this to myself, but I just can’t!! Why did Heaven have to let me see this!! Once I saw it, I couldn’t hold back!! [Image]]
Attached to the post was a screenshot.
[SVIP Visitor Record]
[@AVG_Unique visited your Weibo frequently yesterday]