Chapter 50 – Chicken Leg Takeout
“I found out, I found out!” Fat Tangyuan held the freshly retrieved chicken leg takeout like a prized treasure and reported eagerly, “Old brother replied—his foreign girlfriend plays too badly and was afraid of dragging us down, so she hired a pro to play for her.”
A smurf account?
Shao Zhan turned that over in his mind, but showed no reaction on the surface. He just shoved the crumb-dropping offender away with disdain. “Fatty, if you keep eating like this, there won’t be a single gaming chair left that fits you.”
Fat Tangyuan stomped in frustration. “I’ve been running around for you all day, and now I can’t even have a late-night snack? Am I not still your little sweetie?!”
Shao Zhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Madam Niu, please ask Old Pineapple how his girlfriend ordered that pro player.”
The invisible antenna on top of Tangyuan’s head suddenly stood up. Suspicion sparked in his heart:
That old bast*rd—is he falling for someone new?!
Shao Zhan saw right through him but couldn’t be bothered to explain. He simply instructed that the smurf account should be arranged before the afternoon training session.
“How am I supposed to do that?” Fat Tangyuan looked troubled, crunching down a crispy chicken bone like a wronged housewife. He crossed his arms over his chest dramatically. “I’m straight, you know. Stop trying to test my limits, you scumbag.”
“Five times a week. Two hours each time. During our free practice window.”
Having laid out the details, Shao Zhan left without another word.
Left behind, Tangyuan twirled a mock orchid finger and muttered, “Five times a week… what, you trying to work that poor guy to death, you old monster…”
…
The next day, team manager Qin Chuan heard about the hired player but didn’t say much—just figured it was another sparring partner.
It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before. He was responsible for operations and external affairs; training was always under Du Changcheng’s jurisdiction.
After Lao Du’s chrysanthemum incident, no one got promoted from the second team. Shao Zhan had taken over all coaching duties himself. One, because he was highly capable—basically the assistant coach anyway. Two, because he was the boss’s kid, so any cost-cutting measures came out of his own pocket.
So not just Qin Chuan—even the main team players didn’t give it much thought. Just another semi-regular sparring partner, right? A gun’s a gun.
Who would’ve expected that after just a few days of intense training, even battle-hardened veterans were begging for mercy?
“If you guys don’t start trying harder,” Shao Zhan said coolly, legs crossed and tone indifferent, putting on his coach face, “you won’t even be able to beat a sparring partner anymore…”
If they hadn’t known how petty this old bastard could be, they’d almost think he had a secret lover he was trying to show off to—using his buddies as free human sandbags.
But that didn’t seem likely either. The guy on the other end was just too good. Except for the occasional moment when a teammate dragged them down, he rarely slipped up—and usually beat the three of them into the dirt.
Even though he was using a smurf account, the younger members of the team all knew who it was. They studied the tactics and strategies religiously, gathering in little groups…
…to watch the main team get stomped.
Day after day of drills. Day after day of beatdowns.
So much so that whenever one of Xinghai’s first-string players looked up at the midnight stars, they would quietly wish to the moon: “Please let the Trisolarans come… I can’t survive one more day on this planet.”
“Fatty, what did you just say?” Shao Zhan, having just finished a post-match review, put down his pen while tapping away on his phone.
“Nothing, I was just saying,” Fat Tangyuan turned toward the room, “May we have this day every year, may we have this moment every day. Under the captain’s leadership, Xinghai will rise and thrive…”
“Oh really,” Shao Zhan lifted his eyelids lazily. “Is that so?”
“Captain,” Fat Tangyuan patted his thick belly, “you can doubt my layers of fat, but you can’t…” he tapped his chest, “doubt Tangyuan’s sincere heart for you!”
Shao Zhan gave a humorless smile and grunted, “Then I’ll satisfy you.”
Ding—a notification sounded. The assistant coach had just sent out next week’s schedule in the group chat.
The main team members stared at the schedule, their whole bodies radiating pain and confusion. It didn’t feel like they were being accompanied by a booster—it felt more like they were accompanying the booster.
Five days a week, with two rest days reserved for the other party. The schedule was extremely well-organized, rotating each person’s specialty into special training sessions for the booster guy.
“This…” Fat Tangyuan chewed on some squid snacks while logging into his account, “this doesn’t seem right.”
“What part isn’t right?” the assistant coach asked with a good temper, even offering, “Want to sit in this chair instead?”
“No no no,” Fat Tangyuan quickly waved him off while controlling his operator in-game, “I love gunfights. Absolutely love ‘em. Especially love going head-to-head with the booster guy.”
After letting the monkeys climb trees (sending the team to practice), Shao Zhan walked to the front gate to check on Uncle Zhou.
Ever since the rooster had been injured, Uncle Zhou would take two hours every noon to be with it. The rest of the time, he just sat blankly at the entrance, day and night, waiting.
After training, Shao Zhan would come sit with him for a while. Neither of them spoke. They just watched the passing cars—or when there were none, the flying bugs and the night. Occasionally, they’d share a cigarette Shao Zhan had dug up from Du Changcheng’s room. One per day, no more, no less.
Once enough time passed, Shao Zhan would get up and leave. Still, neither of them said a word. Uncle Zhou sat there like a withered tree, as if he didn’t know Shao Zhan had come, nor noticed when he left.
This routine had already gone on for a week. Shao Zhan rubbed his tired eyes, the scent of tobacco lingering on his fingertips.
Du Changcheng’s recovery was nearly complete. He’d be back around Mid-Autumn. With the two old men together again, maybe there’d be a little more comfort.
Soft snores echoed through the hallway.
Shao Zhan wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Fat Tangyuan sprawled out in all directions on the sofa in the break room.
His gaze fell on the little strawberry blanket draped over him, and the smile on his face faded with a hint of melancholy. He paused his steps toward the dormitory, then turned back to the training room.
Fat Tangyuan’s computer was still on. The game was still running.
Shao Zhan simply sat down in Fat Tangyuan’s seat and opened the game.
The agreed session time with the booster guy had already passed, yet the other party still accepted his team invitation. Shao Zhan adjusted the mic hanging from the headset and said to the in-game player with the ID KS, [How about trying the in-game leader role this time]
The team voice chat lit up briefly. Yang Sa stared blankly at the profile icon of teammate Nuomituanzi.
Half a second later, he marked the drop point and notified the team: [Jump.]
Shao Zhan clicked [Follow.] In the dark of night, his usually tired eyes and brows softened unconsciously.
…
Meanwhile, at the hospital, Du Changcheng was completely unaware of the misery his teammates were going through. He basked in the endless messages of concern on his phone, wiping away tears again and again, deeply touched.
“These little brats… they’ve really grown up.”
People always say recovery requires peace and quiet, but anyone who’s been to the proctology department knows that “quiet” is a luxury.
During dressing changes, the whole floor echoed with pig-slaughter-level howls.
Everyone here was polite though—no line cutting, no queue jumping. In every room, patient after patient dropped their pants like piglets awaiting their fate, sharing a deep empathy for their fellow “pigs.”
So the moment the doctor gave him the nod, Du Changcheng bolted back to base with all his bags in tow, practically tumbling over himself like a scared rabbit—afraid the doctor might change his mind. He finally made it back on Mid-Autumn Festival day.
As per tradition, Xinghai’s team had attended the sponsor’s Mid-Autumn event and a fan meet-up, so they only returned to base in the evening.
When they saw their long-lost coach, the members of Xinghai’s main team were practically moved to tears.
“Coach, I missed you sooo much…” chubby Fat Tangyuan clung to him tightly, burying his big head into the coach’s chest. “Did you abandon your Fatfat? Did you really abandon your Fatfat…”
Du Changcheng, who’d been anticipating a touching reunion, coldly shoved him off—only to be stunned by Fat Tangyuan’s loud, dramatic sobbing: “Coach! I thought—I thought I’d never, never see you again…”
Du Changcheng’s face turned to ice. Not even the pain from the dressing changes had made him look this sour. He turned to his team and snapped, “Someone feed this dead fatty some rat poison.”
Fat Tangyuan casually wiped his snot bubble on Du Changcheng’s sleeve. “Coach, how could you be so heartless? I missed you so much I couldn’t even eat properly.”
Du Changcheng pinched his waist: “Sure, you didn’t eat carbs. But crayfish, grilled cold noodles, chicken hotpot, sweet-and-sour fish—you didn’t skip a single meal.”
“Coach, you’re so mean,” Fat Tangyuan pouted and gave him a playful punch with his chubby little fist.
“Why do you always have to tell the harsh truth?”
“Enough nonsense. Tell Ranan to book a few cars.” Du Changcheng thought for a moment. “And a couple fruit baskets and some juice.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just follow along,” Du Changcheng snapped, his tone sharp and irritable. “It’s not like I’m going to sell you or something.”
Seeing Fat Tangyuan still looking indignant, he added, “And even if I tried, no one would buy you.”
After roasting FaT Tangyuan, he waved toward Shao Zhan in the security booth. “Xiao Zhan, let’s go. Bring Uncle Zhou with you.”
Shao Zhan didn’t ask much about the destination—he simply mentioned that he’d turned down an offer from the higher-ups at Silver Empire.
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Du Changcheng mumbled from where he was slouched like a centuries-old turtle in the backseat of the taxi. “It’s your team. You make the calls.”
“Coach, where exactly are we going?” Fat Tangyuan still wouldn’t give up.
“Shut up,” Du Changcheng clenched his fist. “Don’t make me hit you!”
Fat Tangyuan stared out the window with tears in his eyes and began softly singing the currently popular song “Little White Boat”—
“In the galaxy of the blue-blue sky, there sails a little white boat…”
In between lines, he sneaked in a question: “Hey Coach, are we going mountain climbing?”