Chapter 5 – I’m Doomed, I’m No Longer Pure
Qin Chuan’s short, stubby fingers dug fiercely into the small woolen blanket on the floor, yanking at it so hard that the handwoven fabric nearly went bald.
Panting heavily, Tangyuan finally managed to shove the manager back into his seat. He tucked in the hem of his sports jersey that had ridden up over his stomach, then patted his greasy hands against his thighs. “Why are you as heavy as a corpse? Can’t you at least cooperate a little?”
Qin Chuan, now forcibly seated, stared blankly ahead, his hands gripping his hair like a man on the verge of a breakdown.
Feeling uneasy, Tangyuan scooted a little closer to Zhuang Bai and muttered, “Did he forget to take his meds before leaving today?”
Zhuang Bai blinked in confusion. “He has a condition?”
Tangyuan scoffed, curling his lip. “Wow, you really have zero sense of humor.” Then, as if the mere thought of it disgusted him, he added with even more disdain, “Seriously, how does someone like you even have a girlfriend?”
Zhuang Bai couldn’t be bothered to respond. His full attention was on Qin Chuan, whose face had gone ashen. “What’s wrong with you?”
Qin Chuan let out a long, defeated sigh, his tense posture finally loosening.
…
Down on the stage, the lucky audience member who had been selected earlier had already left. Meanwhile, Mars had just arrived at the scene, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.
After all, as the top-ranked player in the league, his appearance fee was no small matter. For him to show up unannounced was an unexpected jackpot for the event sponsors.
Backstage, the director coordinated the event flow with the host through an earpiece while discreetly dispatching staff members, who were embedded within the audience, to surround Shao Zhan and block off all possible exits.
Seeing that Shao Zhan was now onstage with the host, Qin Chuan finally let out a sigh of relief, patting his chest. “Thank god they didn’t meet. If they had, three years ago—”
“What happened three years ago?” Tangyuan asked absentmindedly, tossing a potato chip into the air and catching it with his mouth.
Onstage, Shao Zhan looked across the sea of people, his gaze locked onto a particular silhouette. But before he could react, the figure was swallowed by the crowd, vanishing without a trace.
Following the director’s cue, the host proposed a two-versus-two match, pairing Shao Zhan with the lucky audience member. The atmosphere instantly ignited with excitement.
At the end of the day, this was an entertainment-focused event, and the schedule was flexible. With such a legendary player present, the organizers were more than eager to keep him on stage for as long as possible.
Shao Zhan and his chosen partner entered the gaming room, while the rival team, Jiao’ao Squad, had their original three-player-with-fan setup adjusted to a full one-on-one lineup.
Watching the opportunity to compete slip through their fingers, the Jiao’ao players were burning with rage.
Sensing their seething frustration, Jiang Te from Weiguang Squad nudged his teammate and whispered, “Mars just made himself a lot of enemies this time.”
Even when their captain shot him a sharp glare for gloating, Jiang Te remained completely unfazed.
The frustration of having their spotlight stolen earlier still hadn’t subsided—anyone who resented Mars was a friend.
However, the Jiao’ao Squad had no idea what was going on in Jiang Te’s mind. When they saw someone in a Weiguang team jersey smiling at them, they assumed he was mocking their benched teammates and responded with cold glares.
In that moment, inside the combat room, Shao Zhan desperately wanted to push everything aside and chase after that disappearing figure. But he was an esports player, and no matter the circumstances, he had to respect the game, his opponents, and his teammates—even if the one beside him was just a little fangirl in black-rimmed glasses.
The match began. Marking a location on the map, skydiving, scanning for enemies mid-air, landing, grabbing a weapon, and clearing out immediate threats—
[Starcraft—Mars used S1897 to eliminate “AreYouBlind”]
[Starcraft—Mars used S1897 to eliminate “SeeYouNextLifeNoHomo”]
…
Shao Zhan played exactly as he would in a regular match. In his world, the concept of an “exhibition game” simply didn’t exist. Even in a casual livestreamed event, he committed 200% of his focus.
To him, even in a low-tier matchmaking pool, even against clueless opponents with bizarre tactics, there was always a chance of encountering something unexpected—something that could catch even a long-reigning Asia-ranked No. 1 player off guard.
And as a professional, his job was to recognize those fleeting moments of brilliance—whether intentional or accidental—and integrate them into his own tactical arsenal. After all, in high-level competition, strategy and counter-strategy often determined victory.
That said, in casual showcase matches like this, he would usually slow his pace a little—to give his teammates time to keep up.
They had landed at the hospital. Although the area had fewer supplies, the loot was high-quality and mostly found inside buildings, providing plenty of hiding spots.
But today, Shao Zhan didn’t give his teammates time to loot methodically. Instead, he swiftly grabbed supplies and tossed them at his teammates’ feet.
As the safe zone began to shrink, it became clear that it was shifting toward Z City in the upper-left corner of the map. Their current position was decent—they could hold their ground and gatekeep enemies trying to rotate in. However, since he wasn’t sure of his teammates’ skill levels, he opted for a safer approach: reposition early and secure favorable terrain.
Over team voice chat, he instructed his teammates to hide inside a building while he moved toward the spot he had marked during the parachute drop to find a vehicle.
But as he cut across the school grounds and reached the puzzle-shaped apartment buildings, he noticed something off—the sedan in his line of sight was slightly tilted. That kind of tilt wasn’t caused by uneven terrain.
Adjusting his path slightly, he veered away from the car without stopping and instead sprinted toward the residential area at full speed.
The moment he passed the blue sedan, movement flickered from the rooftop. Within seconds, what had seemed like an abandoned area erupted with chaos—multiple squads emerged from cover, and gunfire rang out from every direction…
…
“So, what exactly happened three years ago?”
The Xinghai players in the audience weren’t paying attention to the match at all. After all, there were plenty of fans to cheer for the captain—no one would notice if they slacked off.
Instead, they focused all their energy on Qin Chuan, who looked like he had something to say but kept hesitating. They were itching to dig up some juicy secrets—anything to make up for the crushing sense of defeat they felt whenever they were compared to their captain.
Tangyuan asked again, his eyes wide like brass bells, pestering the weak-looking Qin Chuan with relentless enthusiasm, practically giving him a mental massage.
“What are you so scared of? That old bast*rd isn’t here. And come on, don’t you know us by now? We’d take your secret to the grave.” Tangyuan held up three fingers as a solemn oath.
Seeing Qin Chuan still looking doubtful, he stuffed the nearly empty bag of chips into his arms and patted his belly with deep sincerity. “You know what brothers are for? We’re the ones who stick by you when you’re down and hype you up when you’re on top. So whatever’s weighing on you, just spit it out. If you don’t tell us, we can’t help. Seriously, I can’t stand seeing you like this. Worst case scenario, even if we can’t fix it, isn’t it better to vent than to bottle it up until you turn into a miserable wreck?”
Qin Chuan blinked, looking utterly lost. “I get what you’re saying, but why does it sound so weird?”
“See? You’re already messed up.” Tangyuan twirled his chubby fingers around Qin Chuan’s head in two exaggerated circles and declared, “This is a warning sign. You’ve lost your ability to tell good advice from bad.”
Then, without waiting for consent, he forcefully pressed Qin Chuan’s head onto his shoulder, chanting, “Big Brother Fat loves you, Big Brother Fat cares about you—now spill your secrets!”
Unable to stand it any longer, Zhuang Bai stepped in, pulling Qin Chuan away and motioning for Tangyuan to be mindful of his behavior.
Jiang Ranan, who had joined the team less than a year ago, sat with his hands neatly on his knees, ears perked up like a radar, not wanting to miss even the slightest whisper from the front row.
“Three years ago, in June, on the day of the youth training selection, a boy stormed into the first team’s training room and asked the captain if he was really the legendary God Shao.”
“Whoa.” Tangyuan’s jaw dropped so wide he could probably fit an ostrich egg in his mouth. If he could, he would’ve loved to witness someone calling out that old bastard to his face. He regretted not joining the scene a year earlier.
“And then? What happened next?” Jiang Ranan, unable to hold back his curiosity, leaned in closer.
“Shao Zhan asked him who he was.” Qin Chuan shook his head with a wry smile as he recalled the past. “Back then, Xinghai had just won the national championship. The trophy shelves were practically collapsing under the weight. And do you know what that kid said in response?” He scanned the group before taking a deep breath. “He said—‘I’m the Godslayer.’”
Even the usually serious Zhuang Bai couldn’t help but clap in amusement. “That’s insane.”
“If you’re that bold, you better have the skills to back it up.” Qin Chuan started recounting the boy’s performance in the selection matches like he was pouring out a sack of beans. The others listened in stunned silence, especially Jiang Ranan, who had struggled through the training camp himself—he couldn’t stop nodding in admiration.
“What’s the use of just being skilled? With that kind of personality, was he ever going to stay?” Qin Chuan said bitterly, unable to tell whether he felt more regret or frustration.
“Where is he now?” Jiang Ranan massaged the manager’s shoulders, secretly thinking that if he got the chance, he’d love to learn from such a talented predecessor.
“Who knows.” Qin Chuan patted his slightly pudgy stomach. “Every coach gave him an S+ rating for his performance on the field. They were practically ready to sign him on the spot. But before officially recruiting someone, there’s still a process—it had to be reported to headquarters for approval.”
“Did another team poach him?” Tangyuan’s round head was busy running through all the possibilities.
“Well… it’s complicated.” Qin Chuan sniffed. “After the selection match ended, he didn’t leave. Said he had nowhere to stay. So, the team made an exception and lent him a room. The coaching staff figured, ‘A talent like this, if we let him go, someone else might snatch him up.’ So they let him stay at the base. It was just a matter of processing the paperwork—what could go wrong? But who would’ve thought…”
“Oh, come on, get to the point!” Tangyuan, practically dying from suspense, gave him a shove. “You’re dragging this out one sentence at a time—it’s killing me!”
Qin Chuan’s thick eyebrows furrowed deeply as he recalled the past, looking like he was about to cry. “He seemed like such a steady, reliable kid. Who could’ve imagined… he ran away?”
“Ran away?” Fat Tangyuan scratched his ear. “Wait, don’t tell me you guys were skimping on food—did he leave because you didn’t give him any meat?”
“Not everyone’s like you, okay? Acting like you’d die if you skipped a meal without meat.” Qin Chuan rolled his eyes. “That kid ran away in the middle of the night. The security guards were asleep—no one knew why. The next morning, Shao Zhan had the entire base searching for him, and that’s when we realized he was gone. We had no choice but to check the security footage. And that’s when we saw… that night, the boy had snuck into Mars’s room…”
Realizing he had just said too much, Qin Chuan bit his lip hard. He hadn’t meant to spill that part—he didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if Mars found out he was gossiping behind his back. He regretted it so much he wished he could press a nuclear launch button and take the entire planet down with him.
The others looked like they had been dunked into a boiling oil pot, completely stunned.
“Room… Mars… midnight… escape…” Fat Tangyuan clutched his round head, staring at the battle-scarred figure on the big screen with an expression mixed with shock, confusion, and disbelief.
He swallowed hard and muttered under his breath—
“I’m done for. My mind is no longer pure.”