Chapter 65 – The Little Sulk
It was a brief, fleeting hug—Shao Zhan didn’t want to give the idi*ts on the team any reason to start teasing. He told Yang Sa to go sit at his own station:
“The temporary setup isn’t great. My password is—”
“I’m not sitting at your spot,” Yang Sa interrupted, stubbornly turning his face away.
“Such a little sulker. Fine, have it your way.” Shao Zhan didn’t push him. He glanced at the time.
“I’ve got to go. If you need anything, talk to Qin Chuan. Don’t bother being polite with that group of old bast*rds.”
“I don’t need anything,” Yang Sa shook his head. “I’ll wait for you.” Then, realizing how that sounded, he added, “Wait until you’ve recovered… so we can play esports together.”
“Kiddo, you wanna play tournaments with me?” Shao Zhan asked knowingly, the corners of his mouth curving like the tail of a spoiled cat, slowly curling upward in delight.
Yang Sa silently watched him leave the base and get into a taxi. Only then did he turn and head back to the main training room. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t officially part of Xinghai yet. Although he and Qin Chuan had reached a preliminary agreement on the contract, it wouldn’t be finalized until HR processed it the next day.
He chose to stay partly to find a chance to see Shao Zhan, and partly to start blending in with the team early. Still, leaving during training hours without permission wouldn’t have been appropriate—even if he wasn’t officially signed.
Coach Du Changcheng didn’t say anything about it and simply called him over for the review session.
…
Compared to that, Shao Zhan’s situation was far less relaxed. He’d chartered a car to travel overnight to a hot spring resort in a neighboring city.
His grandfather had chosen this time for rest and recuperation, leaving him with full authority. But after causing such a stir, it wouldn’t sit right not to explain things to the old man in person.
He closed his eyes in the back seat, thinking, and unknowingly drifted off. When he opened his eyes again, it was already 3 a.m.
The driver, considerately, had parked on the roadside to let him rest.
Elderly folks tend to be light sleepers—at home, his grandfather would already be out for a walk at this hour.
When Shao Zhan found him, the old man was standing in front of a decorative sandbox, eyes closed, pondering over a go board traced into the sand.
The movement stirred the leaves of a nearby bonsai tree. Shao Zhan squatted beside the board, where no stones had yet been played.
After a long silence, the old man finally placed a stone. His gaze settled heavily on the edge of the board, right at a poorly drawn intersection.
“So… everything’s been handled?”
Shao Zhan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he quietly reached out to fix the broken edge of the board.
“I’m working on it,” he said after a pause, watching the old, slightly hunched figure in the dim light. “But some of it… might involve people from our own family.”
The old man’s voice came quietly out of the stillness. “Before I left, I already told you—everything is up to you.”
Shao Zhan gave a slight nod.
“When will you be coming home?”
“This old body of mine…” Grandfather rubbed his shoulder, aching faintly from rheumatism.
“It’s about time I enjoyed some peace and quiet. I won’t help you with this matter—but I won’t stand in your way either. Just one thing: whether it’s the corporation or your club, they both have to keep moving forward.”
Shao Zhan understood well. The next steps would be critical for both the corporation and the club. Not only did they have to move forward—they had to do it with grace, without leaving any regrets behind.
“By the way, that child…” Just as Shao Zhan was preparing to leave, his grandfather spoke again. “His name is Yang Sa, right? The boy who went missing three years ago.”
The incident from three years ago, when Shao Zhan had searched all over Jiangling to no avail—his grandfather had known all along, but had chosen to keep silent.
“Are you doing this… for him?”
Shao Zhan slowly brushed the scattered grains of sand back toward the dark-edged tray. His long, pale fingers stood out sharply against the background.
“Yes,” he said as he finished smoothing it out, then lifted his head. “And no.”
He explained that his initial involvement had indeed been driven by personal reasons. But after learning the truth, his decision to bring it all to light was no longer rooted in emotion. He was pursuing it because it needed to be pursued. It wasn’t just about justice for that boy—it was about justice for every Xinghai trainee who had once suffered unfair treatment.
“Besides,” he added,
“after Qu Jin was injured and dismissed, unable to earn money anymore, the family who had adopted him dumped him in their remote mountain village. His younger brother—also from the orphanage—was adopted too, and no one’s heard from him since. The people who hurt him were never punished. Even the club’s compensation went straight into the pockets of his foster parents…”
A child in his teens, abandoned in a strange mountain region, with no one to turn to. His injured arm was left untreated. That fragile, tragic life was frozen in time—at sixteen.
Shao Zhan said he wasn’t just doing this for the two brothers. He was doing it for every child with an esports dream—to give them a safe place to enter the club without fear, and to give their parents peace of mind.
He wasn’t rebelling or acting recklessly—he was simply trying to return the world to the course it should’ve always followed.
“Even if the cost is one of your own?” his grandfather asked.
Shao Zhan didn’t raise his head. He kept his gaze lowered.
“If he didn’t do it, I won’t allow anyone to throw mud on the Shao family’s name.”
“And if he did?” His grandfather asked again, but this time, it didn’t sound like he was expecting a reply. His eyes were half-lidded, his breath slow and long, as if he were already drifting off to sleep.
Shao Zhan slowly stood up. Before leaving, he placed a single stone on the board.
After he left, the old man opened his eyes and looked toward the sliding door painted with a scene of a sunset over a pond. “Come out.”
Shao Ruigang’s head popped out from behind the door, still reeking slightly of alcohol. “Dad, you saw it—Xiao Zhan really doesn’t care about family at all…”
The old man snorted. “If you could behave yourself, who would be able to do anything to you?”
Shao Ruigang burped with a tilt of his head, then stumbled forward to cling to his father’s arm with exaggerated affection.
“But you can’t just let this go, can you? Just ask Xiao Zhan to ease up a little—give the victim’s family more compensation, and that’s that. No need to drag the whole corporation into some moldy old affair from the past.”
His eyes darted slyly as he laid a trap for his nephew.
“If you ask me, it’s just something from over a decade ago. Why make such a fuss? Just handle it quietly, behind closed doors. Xiao Zhan’s clearly been bewitched by that little boyfriend of his—he can’t even tell who’s family and who isn’t anymore. I mean, this whole family empire is going to be his sooner or later anyway…”
“Shut your mouth.” The old man yanked his hand back and silenced his son’s nonsense with a sharp rebuke. He’d watched this boy grow up, but never thought he’d stray this far.
“You really think Xiao Zhan’s doing this to bring you down? To scheme for the inheritance? You’re completely out of line.”
“Dad, Dad—I’m sorry, I was wrong, I really know I was wrong…” Shao Ruigang dropped to his knees and inched forward on the tatami like a child begging forgiveness after causing trouble.
“Please don’t be angry, okay? Don’t be mad at me.”
The old man let out a long, heavy sigh and turned his face away.
“Let me ask you this—do you really think you could keep what you did a secret?”
“Other than Xiao Zhan, who else…” He started to say, Who else but my own nephew would dare keep digging this up?—but the rest of the sentence died on his lips under the sharp weight of his father’s gaze.
The old man’s hand dropped heavily onto his knee.
“Let me tell you—the truth about what you did has already come out. There’s testimony, there’s evidence. It’s all been gathered. They’re just waiting for the right moment—when the partnership with the overseas corporation is announced…”
“No way. That’s impossible.” Shao Ruigang shook his head in disbelief. “Only a few of us even knew. And the others—they…”
“They’re dirty too,” his father finished the sentence for him,
“But if the price is high enough, even the devil will offer up his own head. You thought you had leverage on them—but they had leverage on you too. This kind of ‘mutual interest alliance’… is this what you want to bring into our overseas expansion?”
He leaned in slightly, eyes piercing.
“The real threat… comes from within.”
Shao Ruigang muttered under his breath, then suddenly looked up sharply at his father.
“You… you didn’t find out through Xiao Zhan. You knew even before he did—even before the overseas deal was in motion… You… you’ve been keeping quiet on purpose. You want to use this chance to get rid of me… to replace me with your real chosen successor, don’t you?”
The old man choked on a deep breath, holding it in his chest until he could exhale again. His hand pointed toward the door, his voice weak with fury.
“Get out.”
Middle-aged, yet already physically weak from years of indulgence, Shao Ruigang shot to his feet. He glared furiously at the air above his father’s head and, in the early hours of the morning, slammed the door as he stormed out.
The old man leaned gently against the low table, his back barely rising and falling. He reached out and swept the pieces off the chessboard. A single tear slipped from his tightly shut eyes.
In the taxi, Shao Zhan received a call from his grandfather. Just as he was about to instruct the driver to turn back, the old man stopped him.
“I’m fine. I just wanted to talk. Old folks like me tend to get chatty.”
Shao Zhan listened quietly, a shadowy silhouette from the dim room surfacing in his mind.
“I’m getting old. There are a lot of things I can’t manage anymore. If your uncle ever ends up in trouble… could you look after him for me? He’s… my only son left.”
…
After hanging up, Shao Zhan drifted into a heavy sleep. He should have returned straight to headquarters to prepare for what came next, but instead, almost unconsciously, he gave the driver the address to the base.
By the time he realized what he’d done, the car had already pulled up in front of the Linjiang Villa. Uncle Zhou, the gatekeeper, was out walking with their “chicken-son,” Bage—the team’s beloved bird. Bage, having once been maliciously run over by a rival team’s car, now strutted about in a special custom-made metal neck brace, swaggering with exaggerated figure-eight steps.
Back in familiar surroundings, Shao Zhan felt the weight on his chest lighten somewhat. But even so, his sleep was restless. Bage didn’t crow that morning—whether the neck brace affected its vocal cords or last night’s training had worn it out, no one could say. Without its noisy wake-up call, it felt like the day hadn’t properly begun.
Awakened by a call from his secretary, Shao Zhan groggily stumbled toward the break room to make himself a cup of coffee—only to catch Fat Tangyuan and Jiang Ranan crouched suspiciously beside the vending machine. Each had a bag nearly as tall as themselves, stuffing it full of snacks at lightning speed.
Fat Tangyuan, too short to reach the top row where the yam chips were, was huffing and puffing as he jumped in place trying to grab a bag. Just then, a long-fingered hand reached up and plucked the snack down for him.
“Thanks! And that jelly next to it, too…”