Chapter 67 – Emotional Debts
Fat Tangyuan was just gathering his words to fire back when Qin Chuan’s phone rang.
“It’s Lao Du,” Qin Chuan said, answering the call.
For a moment, peace returned to the dinner table.
Half a minute later, he put down the phone. His baby face had completely collapsed—he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world.
“What’s wrong?” Jiang Ranan asked anxiously.
“Oh come on, if something’s got you down, share it. Let the rest of us have a laugh,” Fat Tangyuan grinned like he was asking to be smacked, while sneakily dragging the peeled crayfish from Qin Chuan’s bowl into his own.
“Laugh? Laugh!?” Qin Chuan nearly crushed his phone, lunging at Fat Tangyuan. “They’re fighting, and you want to laugh!?”
It wasn’t until they were all crammed into a taxi, still flustered, that Zhuang Bai managed to ask, “Wait—who is fighting?”
He was still carrying a plastic bag packed with spicy crayfish, chili chicken, mapo tofu, and hot-and-sour crab from the restaurant.
“Yang Sa and… and—”
…
The group jumped out of the cab, greeted Uncle Zhou at the gate, and dashed inside with their takeout boxes in hand—only to be stunned speechless by the dramatic display of roses and a sea of pink balloons at the entrance.
Inside the guest lounge on the first floor of the Starsea base, Fat Tangyuan was so shocked by the scene that he let out two loud howls.
The steamed pork ribs and black chicken feet he was holding went splat on the floor as his hefty body dove onto the figure sprawled across the sofa.
“Old Pineapple! Are you dead? Old Pineapple—are you… are you dead dead?”
His round body rolled back and forth in emotional turmoil, pressing down on the half-dead person beneath him, who now had more air going out than coming in.
“Old buddy, why didn’t you wait for me? Open your eyes—look at me one more time! One more time!!”
The man with pale yellow-dyed hair weakly pushed at the mass crushing him, gasping, “G-Get off… I’m still… alive…” As the oxygen drained from him, his eyes frantically rolled back.
“This—this won’t do!” The team’s on-call medic, who had just retrieved a portable oxygen device, rushed over and—with the help of Team One—peeled the weeping blob of a man off the sofa. He was still limp and heavy like a sack of sorrow.
“He’s fine, he’s fine,” the doctor quickly reassured the devastated little fatty. “I’ve already checked—no major injuries.”
“So there are minor ones!” Fat Tangyuan still couldn’t hold back his sobbing, clutching the medic’s hand.
“Doc, please—you’ve got to use your miracle hands to save him. You know our team’s social skills are tragic. Our coach’s a mute when it comes to networking. The manager’s a certified nutcase—best-case scenario, people ignore him; worst case, someone reports him to the psych ward. And the captain? Don’t even get me started—he left humanity behind a long time ago. Our whole team’s external communication relies on me, Fat Lord Tangyuan! This Pineapple—he’s our only friend in the Jiangling esports scene, maybe even the entire global esports circle! Please, save him, save my Pineapple…”
“I—” gasped the now-breathing Pineapple furiously, “I’m not dead yet!”
“It’s best you’re not dead, really,” Fat Tangyuan rubbed his chest to calm his breathing. “If you’d died, I’d have to give a condolence gift—that’s a lot of money, you know.”
“All right, enough fooling around,” Qin Chuan stepped in to restore order. “Spill it—what exactly happened?”
Old Pineapple, lying on the sofa, rolled over, strapped the oxygen mask over his face, pointed at Yang Sa, and muttered, “Ask him.” Then he refused to say another word.
…
Rushing back as soon as he got the message, Shao Zhan walked right into the scene of Old Pineapple, looking grim and standoffish, saying his dramatic goodbyes to the Xinghai team.
“You’re already leaving?” Shao Zhan walked up, feigning ignorance about everything that had happened.
Old Pineapple grunted, not bothering to play nice. “Now that I see you’re not dead, I can rest easy.”
“Oh, so this whole production… was just a hospital visit?” Shao Zhan raised his bandaged hand, shaking it slightly—half in thanks, half in sarcasm.
Old Pineapple grabbed a heart-shaped balloon with the word love on it and pop pop pop—burst it in quick succession.
Then, stomping on the floor littered with pink balloon fragments, he stormed off with slumped shoulders and obvious frustration.
“Well… can’t really blame him for being mad,” Jiang Ranan watched the staggering figure trying to maintain his dignity. “That over-the-shoulder throw looked really painful.”
Old Pineapple had exaggerated the story of being suplexed by Yang Sa, leaving everyone listening completely stunned.
Fat Tangyuan slithered over to Yang Sa with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey teammate, that suplex move…”
Yang Sa, face equally cold, glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”
“Can you teach me?” Fat Tangyuan wiggled his chubby fingers. “You know, just some basic self-defense… It’s dangerous out there for a lone boy like me…”
“Brother,” Zhuang Bai couldn’t hold it in anymore, “when you go out, others are the ones in danger.”
“Lao Zhuang! What… did… you… just… say?!” Fat Tangyuan bounced in rage. “Are we even brothers anymore?!”
“Best brothers, best brothers,” manager Qin Chuan stepped in to smooth things over. “Come on, let’s get back to the food—it’s all getting cold.”
Still fuming, Fat Tangyuan snapped back to attention and sprinted toward the dining room. “My chili chicken! My fried crab! My mapo tofu!!”
After motioning for Jiang Ranan to drag him back to the base, Qin Chuan deliberately slowed down, turning to the sharply dressed Shao Zhan and quipping, “What an honor, having our leader grace this humble home. Since you’re already here, how about sticking around for a bite?”
Shao Zhan restrained himself with visible effort—not firing him on the spot was already a huge act of self-control.
A few of them were gathered in the open tea room on the third floor, sitting around eating crayfish.
Well—they were eating. Shao Zhan just watched.
Since his injury, he had to avoid anything inflammatory, so he could only hold the buckwheat noodles made by the auntie in the kitchen and try to satisfy his cravings with sheer willpower.
Du Changcheng’s hemorrhoids had healed, but the trauma and shame lingered. He picked at two chicken pieces—just enough to symbolically say he’d eaten.
He threw in a few words of criticism about Old Pineapple, but considering it was his friend who’d used Yang Sa’s photo for catfishing, he didn’t press the issue.
After all, that’s why the guy showed up in the first place, recognizing Yang Sa from the team’s official photos. On second thought, Yang Sa was a victim too, and it all happened before he joined the team. After a bit of grumbling, Du went off to play chess with Lao Zhou.
Still, the whole thing gave the Starsea members plenty of gossip fuel.
Fat Tangyuan was cracking crab claws as he spoke: “Man, Old Pineapple really went all out. That whole sea of flowers? Must’ve cost a fortune.”
“All you care about is money.” Jiang Ranan elbowed him, trying to save face for Yang Sa.
“Why’d you shove me?” Fat Tangyuan cried out like he’d been wronged, then leaned his big head in front of the person in question, mimicking his foreign friends’ accents: “Sa~ will you play games with me, okay~?”
Yang Sa’s face turned so dark it could’ve been used as cement. But Fat Tangyuan wasn’t done yet—he kept going, fanning the flames: “Sa, this thing could be big or really big. You have to take it seriously! Today he uses your picture to fool innocent hearts, tomorrow he could be using it to join an international scam ring…”
Yang Sa clenched his lips and struggled to remain calm. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then, pushing back from the table, he added, “Excuse me, I’m done eating.”
“You seriously…” Qin Chuan muttered, disappointed. “You just had to bring that up.”
Fat Tangyuan looked around, aggrieved: “Then tell me—what can I bring up, huh?!”
“You ridiculous creature.” Qin Chuan gave him a knock on the head. “The real problem here is that I still expect better from you.”
Fat Tangyuan pretended to be fragile and collapsed onto Jiang Ranan, sending the poor guy crashing to the floor.
Still half-angry, Qin Chuan rushed over. “Dude—do you have any sense of your own body weight?!”
Leaving the chaos behind, Shao Zhan followed Yang Sa into the training room.
By the time they arrived, Yang Sa had just finished a match. When he saw Shao Zhan enter, he closed out of the game. His chair turned slightly as he shifted toward him. “So… your hand…”
He really wanted to ask how Shao Zhan’s injury was doing, but it felt too forced to ask something so obvious when the guy’s arm was still in a cast.
Shao Zhan caught his meaning perfectly. His long fingers, the ones poking out from the cast, twitched slightly. “It’s mostly healed. Should be able to take the cast off in about two weeks.”
“Two weeks…” Yang Sa repeated softly.
Two weeks was also when the Asia Cup was scheduled to start.
The invitational tournament used a points-based system, and before Yang Sa had joined, Xinghai had already secured their entry.
“The tournament—just go with the flow,” Shao Zhan said, not wanting Yang Sa to put too much pressure on himself.
Though his individual skills were top-notch, blending in with a professional team in such a short time and facing world-class opponents within just half a month was, needless to say, a monumental challenge.
“What do you mean by that?” Yang Sa’s voice dropped a few degrees colder.
“Don’t overthink it.” Shao Zhan pulled a swivel chair over and sat beside him. “The team’s trophy shelf is already overflowing—the Wall of Glory can’t fit another award.”
“You don’t believe in me?” Yang Sa’s gaze fell on the rainbow-colored lights pulsing from the PC tower. “Am I really that unworthy of your trust?”
“I…” For the first time, Shao Zhan seemed at a loss in the training room.
“I’m just worried you’re putting too much pressure on yourself—it’s not that I don’t trust you. You do have what it takes. It’s just that synergy between teammates takes time.” His tone softened as he leaned forward slightly and held the other’s hand.
“I think you know what I mean. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard, not wanting to let me down, not wanting all the sacrifices to be for nothing.” He paused. “We’ve already lost so much time—let’s not waste the rest of it on misunderstandings, alright?”
Yang Sa tried to pull his hand back—twice—but didn’t succeed. He sat quietly for a while, then looked up. “The Asia Cup. If I say I can win it—do you believe me?”
“I do.” Shao Zhan chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his soft hair.
Faced with someone like this—how could he not believe?
“As for your brother’s situation, leave it to me. We still need to submit some additional evidence. Do you know anything about what happened after he was adopted?”
Yang Sa shook his head. He had been too young back then, and whenever his brother came to visit him at the orphanage, he only ever shared the good news and kept the bad to himself.
“It’s okay—I’ll look into it,” Shao Zhan said.
It was rare for teenagers to be adopted. According to people familiar with the case, the family had taken in Qu Jin because he could play esports and earn money.
So once he got injured and could no longer bring in income, being discarded wasn’t entirely surprising.