Chapter 22 – Just Don’t Do Anything Illegal
“LAP, huh?” Mu Chen took a sip of his drink. “That kid’s got something.”
“Oh? The Weiguang team’s loaded. Not thinking of recruiting him?” Shao Zhan asked, already knowing the answer.
Mu Chen gave a bitter smile and shook his head. “From the way that kid made such a high-profile debut and wiped the floor with the Jiangling esports scene, he doesn’t look like someone planning to sign with any club. But speaking of deep pockets, Starsea’s got no competition there. What do you say—why not recruit him yourself?”
Shao Zhan didn’t answer right away. He simply stared at his reflection in the glass of water.
If that person were willing, not just Jiangling—he could choose from any team in the entire country. But if he didn’t want to be found, not even heaven and earth could track him down.
Mu Chen had no idea what he was thinking. Across the table, a few younger players were now standing on their chairs, singing and dancing while still eating. The two captains exchanged a look, silently deciding they wanted no part of that chaos, and moved to a quieter, empty table nearby.
Behind them, Wild Bull and the round-faced Sweet were clinging to each other, both holding chicken wings and chanting in sync:
“Burn my calories—goodbye donuts, bubble tea, instant noodles, hot pot, rice, chicken platters—take them, take them, don’t be polite…”
Mu Chen massaged his temples. “LAP hasn’t found Xinghai yet, right?”
“Not yet.”
Mu Chen stretched out his bandy legs and laughed. “PUBG’s about to go through a shake-up.”
Shao Zhan laughed too. He wasn’t afraid of change—he was only afraid that that person wouldn’t come back.
Now that he knew what the man’s goal was, his heart felt much more at ease.
Would LAP come looking for Starsea? He didn’t know. But in his heart, he was hoping.
…
The next day at 11 a.m., Qin Chuan was, as usual, curled up on one of the sofas playing on his phone. When Tangyuan suddenly burst through the door, he was so startled he nearly fell off.
“Whoa—what are you doing up in broad daylight?” Qin Chuan rubbed his eyes. “Did I see a ghost?”
“Yes, you saw a ghost,” Tangyuan replied seriously, mechanically stuffing hot popcorn chicken into his mouth.
Behind him followed a group of equally expressionless individuals—somewhere between humans and houseplants in their current state.
Jiang Ranran and Zhuang Bai staggered in like the walking dead, relying solely on muscle memory to find their desks. Jiang grabbed her mouse and started clicking furiously at a computer that hadn’t even been turned on.
Qin Chuan double-checked the time. “Are you guys crazy? Why are you all here so—”
He didn’t even get to finish saying “early” before the door opened again.
In strode Shao Zhan, full of energy, a silk scarf wrapped around his head, tossing brand-new towels to each of the players.
“What?” Qin Chuan was visibly annoyed at having his personal time interrupted.
“Spring cleaning,” Shao Zhan announced, already leading by example and getting to work.
All the team members wore expressions of utter despair as they pulled out their phones to report him to Coach Du.
Back in the hospital, Du Changcheng—recovering from an injury—glared at his phone screen and cursed, “What the hell is Xiao Zhan doing now?” But before he could send a proper response and stand up for his sleep-deprived team, he passed out from the pain of his wound reopening.
At the same time, back at the base, the innocent “little lamb” players were being led by their “big bad wolf” captain in what would go down as the most intense deep-cleaning operation in ten years.
Three days later, a visibly thinner Tangyuan squeaked in a strained voice, “Captain, please stop cleaning—the paint’s about to peel off the door.”
Five days later, the whole team begged in unison: “We’re begging you, please stop! The glass door on the second floor is so clean it’s practically invisible! Three trainees already walked into it last night, and the cleaning lady is about to have a nervous breakdown!”
A week later, Tangyuan tiptoed past the base’s “living statue“—their captain—while hugging a bag of marshmallows. Squinting, he whispered to a teammate across the room:
“What’s wrong with him? Has he lost his mind?”
Jiang Ranran shook her head. As long as he didn’t make them wake up early to clean, he could do whatever he wanted.
When Qin Chuan returned from picking up a delivery, he made sure to walk a wide arc around Shao Zhan. Ever since he’d finally snapped out of his cleaning mania two days ago, the captain had been in a dazed, zombie-like state. He didn’t speak or smile; aside from necessary communication during training, it was like he wasn’t even there.
Tangyuan, striking a dramatic orchid pose, plucked an invisible spiderweb off Shao Zhan’s shoulder.
“Captain, those brats scratched the front door again. Want to go clean it?”
“Can you just stop already?” Zhuang Bai finally spoke up. “Please, act like a normal human being.”
Then he turned to Jiang Ranran. “What’s the latest on LAP?”
At the mention of LAP, even the nearly-mummified statue that was their captain stirred slightly—his eyeballs moved.
“Waooow,” Jiang Ranran let out a strange exclamation. Over the past few days, a man known by the nickname Godslayer had overtaken their captain to become the newest legend in the esports scene.
In just a week, he had single-handedly challenged nearly every PUBG team in Jiangling. No matter how famous or powerful the team, they all fell to LAP’s unpredictable, chaotic style.
Their current record included—but wasn’t limited to—Weiguang, Jie Ao, Jiahe, Baiming, Steel Wing, LightG, NLG, HOT…
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the top ten clubs in Jiangling’s esports circle had all been plowed through like farmland under an ox-drawn plow—turned completely upside down. The only exception was Xinghai.
The team already knew all about their captain Shao Zhan and Yang Sa’s story, but other teams weren’t in on the drama.
Seeing how this rising newcomer LAP seemed to challenge everyone except Starsea, many teams had begun sending messages to probe for information.
Even if they had a 98K pressed against their necks, none of them dared to admit that that guy had once slept in their captain’s room. Maybe that incident left a shadow so deep he didn’t dare come again. All they could do was test the waters, cautiously and repeatedly.
They were terrified of upsetting the captain and being punished by having to clean up after Bage the parrot.
On Shao Zhan’s end, he was just as frustrated. He hadn’t done anything that night! But he couldn’t exactly explain himself either—bringing it up out of the blue would only make it more suspicious, like he was covering something up. It would feel like an explanation that only confirmed what everyone was already thinking.
Both the question and the answer were stuck in his throat, and the tension alone was enough to give Jiang Ranran another pimple on his nose.
After training ended, a bored Shao Zhan tugged at Tangyuan. “Want to play a fun match? Just one?”
“No,” Tangyuan replied mercilessly. “I need my beauty sleep.”
Not wanting to be left alone, Shao Zhan kept pushing. “Ask Old Pineapple—still chasing that foreign friend?”
Tangyuan gave a gossipy grin. “I already asked. Turns out his girlfriend’s busy studying for exams and writing papers. No time to play games.”
“He’s a student?” Shao Zhan frowned, suddenly worried for his old friend. “He’s an adult, right? He better not be doing anything illegal.”
Tangyuan shot him a sideways glance, a trace of disdain in his expression. “Relax. He’s a university student. Heard he’s even learning Chinese now, so next time they play, they can actually communicate.”
Shao Zhan thought back to that night’s match. He hadn’t planned to help, but Tangyuan had dragged him into the team.
One match turned into another, and another—before they knew it, they’d played all night. And by the end, it still felt like they hadn’t had enough.
That guy Old Pineapple was definitely blinded by beauty. Believing that girl’s dad was just a newbie player? Please. Love really does make you stupid.
Honestly, Shao Zhan and Tangyuan had seen through it all from the start—they just kept their mouths shut, enjoying the show. Watching the rookie put on an act, and Old Pineapple playing along, was endlessly entertaining.
Isn’t the best kind of joy the moment your friend gets wrecked by their own dumb choices?
But this joy seemed like it would be indefinitely postponed.
Shao Zhan turned and looked up at the moon. Behind him, Tangyuan took the chance to quietly sneak away.