Chapter 56 – CP Fans’ War
The internet café was called the Internet Addiction Treatment Center—a rather bizarre name.
In just three years, it had expanded dramatically, even adding a new floor. Ji Wei almost didn’t recognize it when he got off the bus.
Inside, quite a few people were playing games, mostly students from nearby schools. They clustered in groups of three or five, casting wary glances at the door from time to time.
“I usually sit there,” Ji Wei said, pointing to a seat closest to the door. “The owner here makes a lot of money, and the internet fees vary depending on the seat. Since it’s close to the school, the dean sometimes comes to catch us, so the seats further inside are a bit more expensive.”
“But my seat isn’t bad either; it’s easier to slip out. I usually play with you until school’s almost over, then run back home, hehe.”
Yin Sijue looked at the seat, and a memory surfaced—little Ji Wei sitting there, playing games with him.
“Hasn’t the dean ever caught you?” he asked.
“The teachers at our school don’t really care,” Ji Wei explained. “Usually, it’s teachers from another school who show up.”
Dusk deepened, and the neon lights of the internet café cast a hazy glow in the humid air. They stood side by side at the doorway, their fingertips brushing before they restrainedly withdrew—like two vines quietly entwining in the cracks of a wall, out of place amid the clatter of keyboards and bursts of shouting.
They had planned to take a short walk and then head back. They didn’t stay long, only standing for a moment before preparing to leave.
Not far from home, they ran into someone familiar.
“Ji Wei?” A hoarse male voice called from behind them.
They turned toward the voice. A boy with thick-lensed glasses stood there, carrying a supermarket plastic bag as if he had just come back from shopping.
“I’m Yang Xuchen. Do you remember me? We were deskmates in high school.”
Deskmate? Ji Wei looked at him in surprise.
He hadn’t expected to run into one of his few high school friends here. It was Yang Xuchen who had helped his buy the train ticket to Hai City when he fled.
Although he had eventually been caught by his parents, Ji Wei was still grateful for his help.
“Of course I remember.” Ji Wei smiled at him. “How have you been these past few years?”
As he spoke, he felt the hand he was holding tighten.
Yang Xuchen scratched his head. “I’m a freshman at the local university, A. It’s summer vacation now.”
“That’s great! You must have scored really high on the college entrance exam.”
The other boy didn’t reply for a long moment. After a heavy silence, he finally spoke. “I never got the chance to tell you. Three years ago, your parents contacted my parents. I was so scared… I told them about you.”
He lowered his head. “After you stopped coming to school, I couldn’t reach you. The club you signed up for called to ask where you were, but I… I didn’t know what to do, so I ignored them.”
“I’m sorry,” he said at last—an apology that had been stuck in his heart for three years. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”
Ji Wei felt a pang of melancholy. He hadn’t realized this had weighed on his former deskmate for so long.
“It’s not your fault.” He stepped forward and patted Yang Xuchen’s shoulder. “You were just a student back then. What could you have done?”
“I’m doing well now. I’ve joined the professional team I missed out on back then,” Ji Wei added with a smile.
“Ah! Really? That’s great.” Yang Xuchen brightened. He set his bag on the ground and pulled out his phone. “Let me add you on WeChat so we can keep in touch.”
“Sure.”
After adding him as a friend, Yang Xuchen saw Ji Wei’s WeChat name and chuckled.
“Why’s your nickname Weiwei Dounai? Looks like you’re still the same as in high school—still love drinking soy milk.”
Ji Wei bit his lip in slight embarrassment.
Since there were fresh groceries in his shopping bag, the old deskmate left after adding him, tossing out a quick, “Let’s keep in touch.”
Ji Wei added a note to the contact, still smiling as he turned around—only then realizing that Yin Sijue hadn’t spoken for a while.
“Hm?” Ji Wei tugged his hand. “What’s wrong?”
Yin Sijue’s lashes lowered. He ignored the question, glancing instead at Ji Wei’s phone.
A moment later, he lifted his gaze back to his boyfriend’s face, his eyes carrying a faint chill.
“I didn’t even know you liked soy milk. I thought it was just a random WeChat name.”
“Eh?” Ji Wei quickly clasped both of Yin Sijue’s hands, shaking his arm playfully. “I used to love it, but now… not so much.”
“Really.” Yin Sijue turned away, his tone frosty. “You and that deskmate were pretty close, huh? You even patted him on the shoulder.”
“…We were kind of close, I guess.”
His boyfriend’s attitude was puzzling, and Ji Wei had no choice but to quicken his steps to keep up. He stared at Yin Sijue’s tense jawline for a while, then suddenly had a flash of inspiration.
“But I was never as close to him as I am to you. Back then, I was closest to you!”
“Oh.” Yin Sijue gave him a sidelong glance and said flatly, “So we’re just… close.”
“Aiya—” Ji Wei suppressed a laugh and grabbed his hand. “Of course not. You’re my dear boyfriend.”
Yin Sijue didn’t respond. He kept walking on his own, without saying where he was going.
Watching his stiff, almost rigid stride, Ji Wei felt laughter bubbling inside him, like honey spilling over from a jar he couldn’t seal.
He reached forward, scratching at Yin Sijue’s palm, and tested softly: “Boyfriend, are you jealous?”
“……”
Yin Sijue didn’t answer. Instead, he clamped down firmly on the mischievous hand. “It’s late. Let’s go back.”
…
Back in the room, the first thing Ji Wei did was pull him down onto the sofa.
Yin Sijue’s expression was still calm. To an outsider, he wouldn’t have seemed any different—this player always wore the same look no matter the situation.
But Ji Wei could tell his boyfriend was still a little unhappy.
Screwing up his courage, Ji Wei shut his eyes and plopped himself down onto Yin Sijue’s lap, ignoring the shame that came with it. He laced his fingers behind the man’s neck.
“You’re still jealous.”
“……”
No response again. Ji Wei thought for two seconds, then leaned up and planted a noisy kiss on him.
Yin Sijue lowered his gaze, his expression unreadable, one hand pressing against Ji Wei’s thigh.
Sensing his boyfriend softening, Ji Wei kept at it—kissing him again.
And again.
And again—
“Enough.” Yin Sijue couldn’t hold back anymore. He turned his head, letting out two muffled chuckles.
“Go shower. There’s a match tomorrow. Any more kissing, and we’ll be in trouble.”
“Great!” Ji Wei skipped off, grabbed his pajamas, and went into the shower, humming an unknown tune.
On the sofa, Yin Sijue watched him disappear into the bathroom, licked his lips with a trace of nostalgia, leaned back, and took a deep breath.
How could he be so irresistible? Even his high school deskmate had been hung up on him for three years.
I really want to hide him away, raise him at home, where no one else can see him.
The dark thought didn’t last long—his pocket buzzed, interrupting it.
Yin Sijue pressed the answer button. It was Xu Shaoqiu.
“You guys at the hotel?”
“Yeah,” Yin Sijue replied, his gaze still fixed on the bathroom, where the steady rush of water could already be heard.
“What’s Ji Wei doing?”
“Showering.”
The other side immediately exploded: “Well, well! I knew it! So you are sharing a room, huh?”
Yin Sijue choked for a few seconds. “…Sharing a room doesn’t mean anything’s happening. Don’t overthink it.”
“Haha, you better hope so.”
Xu Shaoqiu pressed on: “So, how’s he doing? Is Ji Wei struggling to adapt to Taipei? And why did you cancel the airport pickup this afternoon?”
His worrying streak flared up again, and Yin Sijue answered patiently: “He’s fine. He arrived earlier, so we canceled it.”
“Oh, that’s good. Anyway, I mainly called to tell you something. You and Unique were photographed out on the street today. From now on, remember to wear masks when you go out.”
“Where were we photographed?”
“Hold on, I’ll send you the link. Looks like it was in front of a shop. It’s getting some buzz.”
Yin Sijue opened the picture. It was a shot of them standing in an internet café, Ji Wei pointing at a seat inside while talking to him.
He closed the link nonchalantly. “It’s fine. My face wasn’t even caught in the shot.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a big deal either. Just wanted to remind you to be a little more cautious when you go out.”
After hanging up, both of them assumed it was nothing more than an ordinary picture—no intimacy, nothing worth gossiping about. Even fans saw it as just another bland piece of Juewei “candy” among countless others.
After all, it was nowhere near the explosive screen recording from Dashu’s livestream that had sent everyone into a frenzy.
But no one could have predicted that this photo would become the spark that ignited a full-blown war among JueWei couple fans.
…
[Don’t those sneaky fans on Weibo love posting photos of themselves playing games at internet cafés? Here are some real internet café photos ↓ [pictures]]
Most early PUBG players didn’t use Weibo much. They preferred posting on Tieba and other forums.
This post appeared late at night on Tieba and quickly gained a lot of attention.
The picture shows Yin Sijue playing games in his early days. His youthful, handsome face is framed by headphones, and he’s smiling softly and tenderly. His lips seem to be moving, as if speaking to someone.
[1L: This photo, which the OP finally dug up from an old phone, was taken three years ago. Solve was gaming at an internet café when a passerby snapped it. The photo’s high-resolution—zoom in and see who he was duo-queuing with.]
The passerby even took a close-up of the screen. If you zoom in, it’s easy to see the ID in the friends list: [WEI]
[2L: I remember this photo!! SJUE got popular because of this pic!]
[4L: Holy shit, this is so sweet! Why doesn’t he ever make that face anymore?]
[10L: All you people on Weibo raving about that live-action CS video—come here and see what real love looks like. Solve and WEI are the genuine article.]
Posts with certain keywords were being constantly monitored, and CP fans from Weibo immediately jumped in to join the fight.
[11L: After reading the comments above, I swear the wrinkles in my brain just got ironed out.]
[13L: Brother, laughing while gaming is completely normal. And you guys can even turn that into CP fodder? Are you starving?]
[15L: This is killing me! Should I slap you with Da Shu’s livestream recording? Yin Sijue and Ji Wei aren’t tearing each other apart or denying anything!]
[17L: Isn’t your WEI already in jail? (/laughing and crying) It’s literally in the court notice.]
[20L: The club already clarified it wasn’t just one person, so stop bringing up that unlucky business.]
[22L: Didn’t WEI quit the game ages ago? Everyone knows this old couple is already BE, right?]
That last line was the spark that ignited the forum’s fury.
You insult my couple? Fine, I can tolerate it without making a fuss.
But you dare say they’re BE?!
At this point, both fanbases had been completely wiped out, and the haters took advantage of the chaos—one single post racking up over 5,000 replies.
Three years ago, the internet wasn’t quite so closed-off. Plenty of people had queued against those two prodigies on the Asian server, and there were countless anecdotes and fun stories to share.
Amid the uproar, the prolific poster [JueWei, Number One in the World] quietly dropped a Weibo post:
@JueWei, Number One in the World: [By the way, has anyone ever considered that WEI and Unique might be the same person? After all, their names are so similar…]
The comments immediately heated up:
[How could that be? If they were the same person, why would Unique want to be a streamer? He even submitted his résumé to AVG.]
[Yeah, didn’t the official Weibo say they received his résumé? And now he didn’t show up?]
[Doesn’t not showing up just prove the guy’s a fake? How could a real couple break their promise like that?]
[Ma’am, please stop. We’ve been fighting all night and I’m sick of looking at the WEI ID already. Yeah, WEI’s fans keep trashing Unique. I’ve blocked them all—I can’t stand it anymore.]
Seeing the comments about to explode again, the blogger awkwardly hid the post, pretending nothing had happened. It barely made a ripple, and everyone went back to arguing.
Not only were esports fans fighting over whether the CP was real, they were also competing over game skills. Both sides insisted they were the better PUBG players, posting screenshots of their ranks and secretly mocking each other.
Until—someone on the forum dropped crucial evidence:
Everyone, take a look at this ↓ [/image]
This was WEI’s early Steam avatar (not the one shown in Wolf’s livestream). Look familiar?
[You’re right, it does look familiar. This profile picture is the exact same one Solve uses for his alt account. Both are Psyduck. And look—the alt account’s name is ysjduckduck. Think about it carefully.]
[I admit that the name Juewei Duck Neck was kind of a throwaway, but it still counts as proof that the original owner acknowledged it, right?]
[And what’s your excuse now? Even if everything you’re saying is true, with names that similar, Unique is probably just a stand-in.]