Chapter 74 – You Don’t Love Me Anymore
Yang Sa placed the headphone stand he had prepared for Shao Zhan neatly on the desk, carefully leaving the packaging unopened.
However, Qin Chuan couldn’t stand it and quickly tore open the package, setting up the new headphones. “What’s the point of being so reserved? Shao Zhan already let you use his equipment, and his is bound to be yours sooner or later…” As he saw Yang Sa’s face turn red and his tongue start to trip over words, Qin Chuan awkwardly changed direction. “You’re the new captain, and when it comes to the training room, you… you… you make the decisions.”
“Right, right, right, Captain,” Tangyuan, who had finally regained his composure, chimed in with a sly look, “Since that old bast*rd isn’t around, let’s seize power and overthrow him…”
This earned him a long, hard smack to the head from the increasingly irritable Du Changcheng.
“Coach, you don’t love me anymore?” Tangyuan clutched his stomach dramatically, calling out in anguish, “Are you really… not going to love me anymore?”
“My biggest regret in life,” Du Changcheng grumbled, “is bringing this d*mn brat into the team…”
…
The arguments and commotion passed, and the time leading up to the competition flew by.
Tangyuan adapted to the wheelchair quickly and often raced around the facility in it. He even got in trouble for speeding in the hallway late at night.
The team members’ coordination was improving steadily. Though there were still some areas to work on, in such a short time, they couldn’t have done better.
The only regret was that after the racecourse incident, Shao Zhan had been too busy at headquarters to return and check on things. He rarely called, either.
The night before their departure, Yang Sa, who usually slept soundly, found himself unable to sleep. These days, not only had he grown closer to the Xinghai team members, but he’d also formed a strong bond with the team’s pet, a parrot.
Unable to sleep, Yang Sa stood by the gate, holding the chicken, staring up at the sky. Zhou Bo, asleep in the security office, snored loudly. The weather was slightly chilly, and in the quiet, it was almost impossible for him to tell where he was.
After some time, a dark red Flag sedan pulled up beside the base, and Shao Zhan, dressed in a dark brown suit, walked briskly out of the darkness.
The first to react was the parrot, flapping its wings and flying straight toward him.
It had only been a few days since leaving the base, but Shao Zhan looked down at the parrot, perched securely on his polished leather shoes, and smiled a rare, nostalgic smile.
Woken by the sound of the engine, Uncle Zhou came over, greeted Shao Zhan, then picked up the parrot and headed back to the dorm for some more sleep.
The others, seemingly still lost in their dreams, stared vacantly at Shao Zhan’s tall, slender figure.
His injured arm still hung in front of him, the skin beneath the plaster itching uncontrollably. Shao Zhan extended his free hand and ruffled Yang Sa’s hair. “Daydreaming?”
Yang Sa, startled as if waking from a dream, almost jumped up. He swung his arms back and forth, his conflicting emotions clear. In that moment, he really wanted to step forward, but also wanted to pull back.
The Xinghai team was taking a flight to Singapore at 8 a.m., and Shao Zhan could tell what was on Yang Sa’s mind. He shook his head slightly, signaling that he couldn’t stay long. Not far away, the driver of the red sedan leaned against the seat, unable to sleep well.
“Go sit in the security office.” Shao Zhan opened the glass door next to the security guard and noticed that Zhou Bo had turned on the warm air conditioning before leaving.
“Those kids aren’t easy to handle, you must be tired, right?” Shao Zhan smoothly pulled a chair over and sat down, leaving Uncle Zhou’s chair for the person behind him.
“It’s fine.” Yang Sa wasn’t used to the overly soft cushion and the thick lumbar support.
Noticing his discomfort, Shao Zhan pulled away the extra cushion. “Don’t worry about your brother. A few more people are still under internal investigation. The results will be honestly submitted to the police, so you don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
Shao Zhan noticed that Yang Sa seemed unusually reserved tonight, speaking very little.
“You don’t need to worry about the Asia Cup either. The captain withdrew due to injury, and the striker was disabled in an accident. You, as the emergency team leader, shouldn’t put too much pressure on yourself.”
Yang Sa, who was usually eloquent, seemed to have trouble finding the right words. After a long pause, he hesitantly asked, “Can your hand still compete?”
Shao Zhan shrugged, indicating it wasn’t that urgent. “I’ll have to wait until the cast comes off to see.” He wiggled his fingers wrapped in plaster playfully. “But I think it’ll be fine.”
Yang Sa lowered his head deeply, his expression hidden, and his voice barely audible. “I hope so.”
Unable to resist, Shao Zhan gently tapped the top of his head and exaggeratedly asked, “You don’t trust me, or you don’t trust the doctors?”
In the small security booth, the warm air from the air conditioner seemed to carry an unspoken, unclear emotion.
After a long silence, Shao Zhan cupped Yang Sa’s chin and forced him to look up.
It was then that Shao Zhan saw that Yang Sa’s face was streaked with tears, making his heart race. Why was his boy so silent when he cried? What kind of experiences had left such deep shadows on him, especially at an age when he should be enjoying his youth freely?
Shao Zhan carefully wiped his tears. “It’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to be angry with me, but at least tell me why you’re crying. Otherwise, I’ll be heartbroken.”
It wasn’t just the wrong words; Yang Sa’s crying intensified. Helpless, Shao Zhan clumsily wiped his tears away, hugging him with one arm.
It wasn’t until a long time later that Yang Sa stopped crying, awkwardly patting Shao Zhan’s shoulder. “Sorry, I got your clothes dirty.”
“This is custom-made.” Shao Zhan said, deliberately turning the collar to show the edge of the fabric. He didn’t actually care about material things, but said this just to lighten the mood.
Yang Sa immediately understood, covering his swollen eyes and speaking through his congested nose, asking if he should compensate for the damage.
“Yes,” Shao Zhan answered quickly, as though afraid Yang Sa might change his mind. “My clothes are very expensive, you can’t find them in stores. You’ll have to pay me back with something just as expensive.”
“I don’t have anything.” Yang Sa raised his hand helplessly, his voice flat.
“Then I’ll have you compensate,” Shao Zhan said, burying his face in Yang Sa’s neck, inhaling the long-lost warmth. “For a lifetime.”
…
On the plane, the wheelchair-bound Fat Tangyuan received an unprecedented level of attentive service.
During past team trips, thanks to the ever-handsome Shao Zhan, it was hard for anyone else to shine. As for this fatty, goofy little ball of fluff, he had always been relegated to the background.
This time, while Yang Sa may have taken the spotlight in terms of looks, Fat Tangyuan’s leg cast brought him special attention from both flight attendants and stewards. Even Du Changcheng, who usually showed him little patience, kept a low profile throughout the flight—worried that any unpleasant photo might land him the reputation of “mistreating an injured teammate.”
During the journey, the little fatty ate well, slept well—the only downside was the person beside him, Yang Sa, who had taken it upon himself to “look after the injured.”
Yang Sa stuck by him the entire trip and, whenever he had a free moment, buried his head in a tablet, studying tactics and strategies.
Fat Tangyuan managed to sneak in a complaint to their manager Qin Chuan, asking if it was possible to not seat someone so diligent and handsome next to him. After all, he’d finally gotten a bit of spotlight due to being sick, and now it felt like his “C-position” was under threat.
Watching him dig into his third in-flight meal, Qin Chuan, already wearing his sleep mask, replied sincerely, “Yeah… you should probably feel threatened.”
Since both Beijing and Singapore were in the GMT+8 time zone, there was no need to adjust for jet lag. After landing, they headed straight to the hotel. Qin Chuan briefed them on the next day’s schedule for the solo and duo matches, then left everyone free to manage their own rest and recovery.
The happiest of all was, of course, Fat Tangyuan. He whipped out a detailed food guide he’d prepared in advance, enthusiastically introducing the must-eats of Singapore to his teammates.
The Xinghai team, all too familiar with his antics, silently picked up their luggage and headed for the front desk to check in.
“Captain, captain,” the relentless little fatty wheeled his custom chair behind Yang Sa, “Let’s go get some bak kut teh and laksa, yeah? We’re finally here—how are we supposed to have strength for the matches if we don’t eat well?”
Before Yang Sa could answer, Du Changcheng replied dryly with his usual poker face, “Yeah, if you don’t eat your fill, how will you have the strength to crawl home after losing?”
“Aiya, pfft pfft pfft, don’t jinx it!” Fat Tangyuan insisted, dragging the coach into a round of spitting to ward off bad luck. “Under our captain’s leadership, Team Xinghai will definitely win the championship, take the crown, achieve glory, and return home in triumph!”
After checking in and handing out room cards, Qin Chuan smirked coldly, “If we lose, let’s sacrifice the little fatty to the heavens. Anyone object?”
Nobody spoke up for a long moment. The chubby one raised his tiny hands in mock protest, “You’re all so cold, so cruel… so not human!”
Annoyed by the non-stop chatter, Jiang Ranan simply wheeled him—chair and all—into the elevator. Then the entire team stood outside, waving goodbye like it was a farewell scene.
“The hallways are very accessible, no obstacles. If you get lost, just ask a staff member…” Qin Chuan’s “kind” reminder got caught mid-sentence as the elevator doors closed—half inside, half out.
In the elevator, Fat Tangyuan furiously pulled out the data SIM card Qin Chuan had given him, activated it, and began furiously typing out a rant on Weibo, complaining about his cold-blooded, heartless teammates.
Meanwhile, Manager Qin Chuan and the staff went to coordinate event details with the organizers. Du Changcheng and Li Bai stayed back at the hotel to hold a mini meeting on strategies, while the rest of the team took time to rest and recover.
After dropping off his luggage, Yang Sa headed out to a nearby internet café to get back into the groove, only to bump into Jiang Ranan and Zhuang Bai, who clearly had the same idea.
There was a brief moment of surprise at the encounter, but it quickly melted into understanding. Even though Yang Sa was temporarily acting as captain, these two had deeper emotional ties to the team. With the original captain absent due to illness, and Shao Zhan fighting on another front for them, the remaining members of Xinghai had also silently taken on the responsibility of carrying the team’s banner.
The weight on their shoulders was no lighter than Yang Sa’s.
They exchanged smiles, wordlessly acknowledging each other’s thoughts, and headed off together.
Singapore had hosted major esports tournaments in recent years—TI11 (The International 2022), the Wild Rift Global Championship, the Valorant Champions Tour (APAC), and the DOTA2 Majors. The inaugural Olympic Esports Week also launched there in June 2023, cementing its place as a rising esports capital.
The local youth were passionate about esports, and most internet cafés were located near commercial centers. The one they picked was a bit far from the hotel, but it had high-end equipment, so they didn’t mind the walk.
As they chatted, Zhuang Bai—always the thoughtful one—suddenly voiced a concern about Fat Tangyuan:
“Do you think he’ll be upset we didn’t bring him along for practice?”
“Upset? That guy?” Jiang Ranan looked at him incredulously, genuinely wondering if his teammate had a fever.