Chapter 47 – Homegrown Flowers Don’t Smell as Sweet as Wild Ones
“Wild flowers, my a*s,” Du Changcheng slapped him back into place. “Did you climb over the wall at midnight for late-night snacks because the food outside smelled better, too?”
“That wasn’t the reason,” Fat Tangyuan raised his pudgy face seriously. “The second round of food service comes faster at the shop.”
“Xiao Zhan told me that next season’s team uniforms will be made in standard sizes—no more custom tailoring. If you can’t even fit into the largest size,” Du Changcheng stared at his player with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “then you can pack up and go home to fish for a living.”
Fat Tangyuan squeezed out two crocodile tears and clung to his Smurf brother, sobbing dramatically.
Tired of watching his antics, Du Changcheng started recounting some of the blunders from when he had just retired and transitioned to a coaching role more than a decade ago. He wasn’t trying to make any pointed remarks—he just figured that the quiet kid beside him might enjoy some stories from the old days.
It was his first year as an assistant coach when he encountered a truly gifted player. Back then, Xinghai hadn’t yet split from Silver Emperor. He could still remember how that kid looked among the youth trainees—so dazzling, so full of talent. And yet, on the day of the second team’s final selection, the boy vanished without a trace.
At the time, esports in the country was still in its infancy. Even an established team like Silver Emperor could barely stay afloat with help from its original sponsors. Later, when he joined the newly established Xinghai branch, he came across a few promising rookies, but none who could compare to that boy from back then.
Then came Xiao Zhan. His talent and reflexes were top-tier. But since he was the founder’s grandson, no one really took his interest in esports seriously. Who would’ve thought he’d not only stick it out, but single-handedly carry an unknown team like Xinghai into the upper echelons of domestic competition when they were going through a generational transition? He himself became one of the most influential players in the league’s history.
Yang Sa listened quietly beside him. He understood what the coach was hinting at, but he couldn’t respond. He had things he needed to do—things that must be done. Until he finished them, he couldn’t make any promises to anyone.
“Coach,” he said softly, “tell me more about your early days as an assistant.”
And just like that, their conversation lasted all the way back to the base.
Having finally coaxed LAP to the club, Du Changcheng wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. He pulled a few of them into a match against his team. He had only ever seen Yang Sa in broadcast matches, and those missed too many of the details.
Maybe because Shao Zhan wasn’t around, Yang Sa paused for just a second before agreeing with a smile. The rest of the LAP members also expressed interest in sparring.
Only Fat Tangyuan looked reluctant, clutching his Smurf brother tightly: “I wanna be on the same team as my brother.”
“Whatever.” Du Changcheng didn’t bother arguing and stepped through the team’s gate, holding his hip like an old man.
By the time they made it to the main training room, the second team had already set up the computers under manager Qin Chuan’s instruction.
Du Changcheng casually pointed at one of the promising assault players and told him to stay and join the match—much to the kid’s delight. He was so excited he nearly broke into a backflip on the spot.
Unable to persuade any teammates, Fat Tangyuan rubbed his belly and waddled up to the coach.
“Lao Du, can I start a livestream?” He’d fallen short on his streaming hours this month, and if he didn’t make it up, he’d be in trouble with the platform.
“Go ahead, go ahead,” Du Changcheng replied with a face full of disdain, arms crossed. “Just don’t film any nonsense.”
He figured he might as well record the match too—it’d be useful to review later with Xiao Zhan.
With his pudgy hands, Fat Tangyuan grabbed Little Blue’s shoulders and pushed him down into his own seat. He thoughtfully adjusted the carrot pillow and the lumbar cushion for him, then tiptoed over to Captain Shao Zhan’s chair, his heavy figure moving in exaggerated tiptoe steps like a swan.
Leaning down, he stared greedily at the sleek, customized black keyboard. “This bast*rd… I’ve been dying to try out his little wif—”
Just as his chubby hand was about to touch the keyboard, Du Changcheng smacked him away with a punch. Then he tapped the gaming chair and called out, “Xiao Sa, you sit here.”
Fat Tangyuan clutched his chest dramatically, as if heartbroken. “Coach, what gives?”
“You and your bronze-tier skills don’t deserve that top-tier setup.”
Fuming, Fat Tangyuan plopped himself down in Jiang Ranan’s seat, muttering under his breath, “Favoritism… stinky butt…”
Du Changcheng: …
Everyone got busy with their setups, treating the coach’s arrangement like no big deal. Yang Sa pulled out a chair and sat down, habitually reaching for his gear bag. But the moment his fingers touched the zipper, he stopped, quickly glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then gently rested his fingers on the keyboard.
The matte texture registered instantly through his fingertips and straight into his thoughts. Just for a second, Yang Sa gathered his focus, memorized the keyboard’s settings, then reconfigured them to his own preferences. After that, he hopped into the weapon testing range to get used to the keyboard and mouse.
A new player from the second team had been placed in Zhuang Bai’s spot—Du Changcheng’s way of testing Yang Sa’s experience in leading a team.
Two of Xinghai’s other players teamed up with LAP’s “black and white twins” to form a temporary squad. The darker-skinned one, in-game name Little White, stood up and fist-bumped Jiang Ranan and Zhuang Bai.
“Let’s do this, brothers.”
After sitting down, he secretly pointed at Yang Sa. “I’ve been crushed by that guy too many times. Today, I have to—”
“—Redeem my honor,” added his pale-skinned partner, who went by Little Black and had recently become quite good with idioms.
“I feel you,” Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan exchanged a glance.
At that moment, they both thought of a certain man’s silhouette and silently encouraged themselves—they had to prove something today.
What they didn’t know was that Fat Tangyuan had already started his livestream, capturing all their little schemes in full clarity. Finally, the camera panned to Du Changcheng, who stood nearby with a mug of goji berry tea, too nervous to sit down and instead doing a half-squat like a martial artist.
In the first two rounds, Yang Sa didn’t rush for glory. Instead, he chose his drop points cautiously based on the flight path, focusing on getting a feel for the team’s dynamics—especially how the newbie played.
Unfortunately, Little Black and Little White from his own team were playing like maniacs, chasing him around the map. On the other side, Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan seemed to have unlocked some hidden potential and were furiously pounding on Fat Tangyuan and his Smurf brother.
“No way,” Fat Tangyuan stared helplessly as his screen turned grey. He turned his head and cursed,
“Are you guys rabid dogs or what? You’ve been chasing your Grandpa Fat this whole time. Is this fun for you? Huh? Is it?!”
“Yes,” Jiang Ranan responded with a grin, landing a headshot on the rookie’s health bar. “Super fun.”
Grumbling, Fat Tangyuan turned back to his stream and addressed the viewers: “Team spirit? Team love? All fake. See that? There’s no such thing in Xinghai. Between teammates, it’s nothing but coldness, cruelty, and heartless betrayal…”
Du Changcheng shot his chatterbox player a glare, full of disdain.
He tried to endure it, but finally couldn’t take it anymore and muttered under his breath: “Fatty, OBSERVE your teammates.”
“Coach,” Fat Tangyuan argued, “wasn’t I doing that this whole time? Sure, my mouth’s running, but I haven’t slacked on my duties one bit— Oh! Nine o’clock!”
Before Fat Tangyuan could finish, Yang Sa made a clean flick shot and took out the flanking enemy.
[LAP-Killer used VSS to knock down SOUTH]
[LAP-Killer used VSS to eliminate SOUTH]
The kill feed popped up on screen. Yang Sa swiftly dove into the river and used the shadows under the suspension bridge for cover.
Only Little Blue was left alive on the team and was driving toward Yang Sa’s location. Yang Sa had already secured a strategic spot near the shrinking zone, ready to take down the black-and-white duo from his former team—and maybe save his last teammate too.
[LAP-Blue was knocked down by PineappleGuaGua using AUG]
“Don’t bother, it’s useless.”
Little Blue took off his headset and scratched his cheekbone. A small patch of his face had chipped paint, revealing dark brown skin underneath.
Yang Sa remained expressionless. With just himself and his rifle, he took down both black-and-white teammates and even cracked Jiang Ranan’s level-three helmet.
“So fierce, so fierce!” Jiang Ranan exclaimed while healing behind cover with Zhuang Bai’s help. “He’s way too fierce—but this playstyle feels… familiar?”
As the observer, Fat Tangyuan’s sausage-shaped lips twitched. He glanced at the person who had just logged out and clutched his chest dramatically.
“Why does it feel like the captain never left…” he muttered in his heart.
“That damned old bastard—haunting me like a ghost. It’s like he’s still everywhere in the air.”
The receptionist wasn’t aware of the situation, but one thing was clear—everyone in Silver Emperor harbored unprecedented hostility toward Yang Sa and the others.
“LAP went to Xinghai!”
Silver Emperor’s team manager burst into the room holding his phone.
“Xiao Zhan, come quick—look at this…”
He’d run so fast he banged into the corner of a table, but the older manager didn’t even notice the pain—he was too focused on holding up his phone high.
LAP had been stirring things up in the esports scene these past few months, so he instinctively assumed they had gone to Xinghai to cause trouble. He was eager to pull Xinghai onto their side and opened the stream without hesitation.
Shao Zhan scanned the seating arrangement in the video and immediately grasped what was going on.
Not only had LAP not initiated this, but Du Changcheng had likely taken this opportunity to feel out LAP’s strength—or more precisely, to gauge Yang Sa’s skill level.
Shao Zhan pushed his chair back and stood. Before leaving, he politely addressed the people in the office: “I’m the captain of Xinghai’s first team, top of the league leaderboard, heir of Xinghai’s parent company, and the successor of BaiZhan Group.”
He straightened his collar, eyes sharp and commanding.
“I’m afraid that not only this room, but no one in the entire Silver Emperor team is qualified to call me Xiao Zhan.”
With that, he offered a courteous bow and turned to leave.
The owner of Silver Emperor and the team manager stared at each other, speechless.
No one dared mention the rest of the day’s agenda, not until a call came in from the hotel kitchen about menu adjustments. Only then did the boss snap out of his daze and turn to glare at the blundering manager.
The seasoned manager, now trembling slightly, tried to salvage things with a bit of scheming: “Boss, do you think Xinghai and LAP might be… well, more than just friendly?”