Chapter 16 – Boss, Another Fifty Chicken Wings
After speaking, Tangyuan took the serving chopsticks and tongs, his chubby hands fluttering up and down like butterflies as he served food to the team. While busy, he handed the conversational authority back to Shao Zhan. “Captain, you speak, I’ll handle the grilling, that way neither task gets delayed.”
Shao Zhan was impressed by Tangyuan’s robust appetite and couldn’t help but laugh.
He placed a hand on Tangyuan’s plump shoulder. “People say that children who love to eat are kind-hearted and don’t hold grudges. Now I’m starting to wonder if you even have a heart.”
Tangyuan’s eyes darted around, and with an oily pout, he turned to the boss and ordered two skewers of chicken hearts. Turning back to the team, he grinned. “They say you become what you eat. I’ll eat more to make up for it.”
“That’s more like my Lao Tangyuan.” Shao Zhan wiped his hand over Tangyuan’s face, the half-squinted turtle design still firmly in place on his chubby cheeks.
Shao Zhan withdrew his hand and leaned on the slightly charred table. “An athlete’s competitive career is limited. From rising to the peak, then declining, there’s a cycle to it. Similarly, a team can go from being unknown to standing on the highest podium, but eventually, it will fade. That’s the charm of competitive sports. But what I want to say today is that Xinghai’s peak will never end with yesterday. The trophy shelf is falling apart, so I’m going to have Qin Chuan find someone to make a bigger one. We’ll put it in the lobby, covering an entire wall, and the empty spots—I need you all to help fill them.”
Tangyuan’s hand, holding a piece of meat, trembled, and the meat fell through the grill’s gap into the charcoal, sending up thick smoke.
“Captain,” Tangyuan wiped the tearful smoke from his eyes with his greasy hand. “Captain, do you really think we can do it?”
“To be honest,” Shao Zhan patted his shoulder, “if there was an option for smaller appetites, I wouldn’t have kept you on the team this long.”
“Wait, we were having an emotional moment, and now you’re talking about appetites again?” Tangyuan chewed the roasted meat, the crunching sound echoing.
“Tangyuan, listen to your older brother. Meat has to be cooked properly before you eat it.” Qin Chuan, unaffected, chimed in, which made Old Tangyuan swallow two more rib-eye steaks in frustration.
“Alright, stop messing around.” Shao Zhan said. “Like I said before, I believe my career isn’t over yet, and I also believe that Xinghai’s path to dominance still has a long way to go. I need you all to be a hundred times more focused—at least so we don’t waste the meat we’re eating.”
At that moment, all eyes turned to Tangyuan, whose cheeks were stuffed like a squirrel’s.
“Captain, they’re really strong.” Tangyuan swallowed the meat in his mouth. “Although Xinghai won, I can feel that this training match was a giveaway from Burn.”
In fact, it wasn’t just Tangyuan who noticed. Jiang Ranan and Zhuang Bo had sensed it too.
Their hard-won victory had actually been handed to them by the opposing team intentionally throwing the match.
For the Xinghai team, who had been dominating the PUBG scene, this was undoubtedly a resounding slap in the face.
A victory that doesn’t live up to its name is worse than losing openly, followed by reviewing the match and endless training to study the opponent’s tactics and find a way to win.
In fact, Du Changcheng and Shao Zhan shared the same view. Compared to an unglamorous victory, what Starcraft needed right now was a resounding defeat.
Only then could they wash away the sense of superiority that the team members had accumulated over time through trophies and praise. Only after a defeat that they truly accepted could the Starcraft team break through their outdated, conceptualized, and habitual way of thinking, and begin to embrace new ideas, new tactical configurations, and strategies.
Since entering the world of e-sports, the constant driving force for Shao Zhan’s growth had been this ever-present sense of crisis.
Now, this sense of crisis had materialized into a visible reality, making every member of the Starcraft team uneasy.
Due to his intolerance to alcohol, Shao Zhan raised a skewer of meat, substituting it for a drink. “My situation is well-known,” he said. “I’m the kind of person who’s supposed to inherit a billion-dollar family fortune if I don’t do my job right.” In front of his teammates, he spoke freely and provocatively. “To be honest, I don’t care much about money. I just want to stay in the team and play games. My elders aren’t easy to fool. If I don’t show real results, I might not even be able to keep the club.”
“The old president hasn’t given up?” Tangyuan grumbled as he skewered the meat. “Why won’t he accept reality? His grandson is great at gaming, but if you can’t even manage a big group, after two and a half days of doing nothing, I won’t even keep the Tang surname.”
“Thanks for the support,” Shao Zhan said. “If you can repeat that word-for-word in front of my grandfather, I’ll call you ‘dad.’”
“I’m not going anywhere near the old president.” Tangyuan quickly shook his head. “But I can consider calling you ‘dad.’”
“Get lost.” Shao Zhan slapped him lightly. “Back to the point, the German team’s actions were undoubtedly humiliating, but since Burn staged this performance, let’s work hard to turn this victory into reality.”
The skewers were lined up as if they were taking an oath:
“For honor.”
“For Burn.”
“We’re in!”
They exchanged smiles, the discomfort caused by the German team temporarily put aside.
“Boss, another fifty chicken wings.” Tangyuan shouted, his mood improving and appetite returning to normal.
When the smiling boss returned with two assistants to deliver the chicken wings and the ten bonus chicken necks, they realized someone was missing—Tangyuan had vanished.
No one at the table could recall when he had disappeared, but no one was alarmed. Everyone happily dug into the grilled chicken wings, when suddenly the door was pushed open, and Tangyuan jumped in with a frantic look, saying, “Captain, captain, I just went to the restroom—guess who I ran into?”
“Little Tangyuan.” Jiang Ranan grinned and answered quickly.
“Go, go, go, little brat, you’re already trying to sound grown-up.” Tangyuan sat down next to Shao Zhan, leaned in, and rolled his chubby hand into a tube…
“Did you wash your hands?”
Shao Zhan disdainfully pulled away, but Old Tangyuan unceremoniously yanked him back. “What’s the point of being so picky at a time like this?” He leaned close to Shao Zhan’s ear and said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “I saw that guy, Mu, with his old bow-legged stance.”
The captain of the Weiguang team, who had just entered through the door, had a black line across his face. “I heard that. Can you keep it down when talking behind someone’s back?”
Shao Zhan smiled slightly. “At Xinghai, we don’t have any secrets; we say everything right to people’s faces.”
“Right.” Tangyuan, completely unaware of the situation, slapped his thigh. “Captain, when I was in the bathroom just now, I overheard their team members saying that today Weiguang got their butts handed to them and was pounded into the ground.”
“No need to be that honest.” Shao Zhan said, flashing an awkward but polite smile under the watchful gaze of the Weiguang captain and his teammates.
After watching Weiguang ’s people leave, Shao Zhan slapped Tangyuan’s big head, which was busy gnawing on a chicken wing. “Did you drink?”
“Nope.” Tangyuan sucked on a chicken bone, then said, “During training, no drinking, didn’t you set that rule? Did you forget?”
Shao Zhan covered his face, and his voice came through his fingers. “I really wish you had drunk.”
“Why?” Tangyuan, still absorbed in his food, didn’t get it.
“That would mean you at least have some brain left.”
The meal wasn’t even over, but Shao Zhan had already started worrying about his team’s future.
Meanwhile, the Weiguang captain, with a calm expression, sat down. During the pause in ordering, he casually asked, as he hid behind the menu, “Just now, who was gossiping in the restroom?”
“Don’t be so mad, man. You’re getting older; you should learn to take care of yourself.” Shao Zhan, ignoring his own pile of concerns, picked up his cup and casually sat down at Weiguang ’s table, placing a hand on the captain’s shoulder in a seemingly caring gesture. “If something’s bothering you, speak up, buddy. Let me help you out. You’re getting on in years, and if something’s wrong, don’t keep it inside. Keeping things bottled up will make you sick, and nobody will take care of you.”
Mu Chen asked him with a half-smile, “How did the match with Burn go?”
Starcraft had a practice match scheduled with a European team, and this wasn’t a secret in the circle.
“It went well,” Shao Zhan said, taking a sip of his own tea. “We won.”
“Won?” Mu Chen tilted his head and glanced in the direction of the Xinghai players. “Then what’s with the atmosphere? Who won and still looks so down?”
“We did,” Shao Zhan said, his large eyes sparkling. “This is the kingly demeanor of victory without arrogance and defeat without despair. It’s the realm of staying unshaken by praise or humiliation and not being proud of accomplishments. You wouldn’t understand.”
Mu Chen poured himself a glass of beer and drank slowly. “Well, as long as you believe it.”
“Xinghai won, that’s a fact. Why don’t you believe it?” Shao Zhan glanced at the near-empty beer glass in Mu Chen’s hand. “Victory and defeat are common in battle; losing isn’t shameful, what’s there to be embarrassed about?”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Mu Chen put down his glass. “Weiguang lost. They lost heartily and accepted it. No grudges, no inside information to share. Captain Shao, please return to your team.”
“We’re friends, why are you getting all worked up?” Shao Zhan, unable to extract any information, slowly stood up. “This isn’t good. You should change your temper; otherwise, you’ll end up with dementia when you’re older.”
“I’ll thank you for that.” Mu Chen didn’t turn around to see him off but then changed his mind halfway. “Shao Zhan.”
“Hmm?”
“Next week’s Silver Emperor Cup, Weiguang won’t be attending.” Mu Chen said abruptly, without any further context.
“Stop trying to trick Qin Chuan with your usual nonsense.” Shao Zhan responded without hesitation.
However, the Weiguang captain wasn’t planning to explain any further. He simply said, “Believe it or not,” before continuing to drink his beer in silence.
“This quiet guy… he’ll get snatched up by some enchantress sooner or later.” Shao Zhan raised his glass, silently wishing his old friend well.
Back at his own table, Shao Zhan immediately shared the information: “Weiguang lost, and that bow-legged guy is defeated.” He turned to Qin Chuan. “Do you know if Weiguang has scheduled another match with any team?”
The shock from Burn’s team hadn’t worn off yet, and now Microglow was showing this kind of behavior. Shao Zhan began to suspect that some esports fanatic from another world had descended from a space-time rift to obliterate them.
Tangyuan, as the only one who had overheard the conversation, felt a great sense of responsibility. Holding his head in his hands, he tried to recall the conversation from Weiguang’s team. However, his brain was filled with too much fat, and for a moment, it couldn’t process the information.
Tangyuan Sweet grabbed a soda from the side, chugging two large bottles, then placed both hands on the table and let out a deep, meaningful burp.
The people watching him burp: “Tsk!”
“Quiet, quiet.” Tangyuan pressed his hands to his temples, looking like he was facing a major challenge. “I remembered! I think I have a vague memory of it… hold on, hold on… yes, yes, I heard it. I heard Weiguang’s Iron Bull say the next match is against Jie Ao…”
A fair, delicate hand slapped down unceremoniously on Tangyuan’s head, which was deep in thought. “Stop overthinking it, just watch the live stream.”