Chapter 76 – Can You Chill Out Already?
“Aiya, hey—stop pushing me! Can you not?!” Fat Tangyuan was recklessly steering his character across the racetrack.
Taking care of this little “lame-leg” in real life had already drained every ounce of patience from Team Xinghai. He was already annoying enough with his usual bossy attitude, and now, Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan had teamed up to pin him down and give him a good beating.
They were merciless—beating him until the little fatty questioned his very existence. Eyes brimming with tears, he clung to Yang Sa’s arm, wailing about those heartless beasts.
Yang Sa, now back to his usual composed self, didn’t reject the sudden closeness. With a blank expression, he suggested they go over a replay of their last scrim before the big match.
Fat Tangyuan immediately pulled a face of pain and cried out, “Oh, come on, Little Captain!”
He bared his big teeth as he protested, “You’ve watched that match so many times the video’s about to grow moss! On this whole trip, it’s either you reviewing it alone or dragging us to do it too. Little Captain, listen to me—there isn’t a single antique walnut that’s been rubbed as much as that footage!”
“Antique walnut?”
Seeing that Yang Sa—who grew up abroad—didn’t quite get the reference, Fat Tangyuan opened up his shopping app to proudly show off his collection of precious walnuts.
After taking a glance, Yang Sa couldn’t help but say, “Never seen a walnut as round and smooth as you, though.”
Fat Tangyuan inhaled sharply. “Little Captain,” he said in disbelief, “you—you’ve gone bad!”
Grieving like a betrayed parent, he looked up at the heavens and complained: “My Little Captain used to be so sweet! You never used to roast me like this. When did you turn bad? Who taught you?!”
Checking the time, they realized it was about time to head back to the hotel.
Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan packed up their stuff and wordlessly followed Yang Sa out.
Left behind and confused, Fat Tangyuan started a new game, aimlessly socializing and looking around while waiting for his teammates to join… only to turn his head and realize—they’d already left.
He wheeled himself toward the exit in a panic.
“Hey—wait up! Wait for me! Let’s go together, okay? If people see this, they’ll say Xinghai has no brotherhood, no love!”
“Save it, Fatty,” the new captain replied, merciless as always. “Our team never had that crap to begin with.”
“…Should we really not wait for him?” Still young and a little soft, Jiang Ranan hesitated.
“Relax,” Zhuang Bai slung an arm over his shoulder, “Think about it. Logically speaking, if he can wheel himself to the internet café, then he can wheel himself back, right?”
He ruffled the younger player’s hair. “Think about it carefully. Makes perfect sense, yeah?”
“I mean, technically yeah,” Jiang Ranan admitted, “But… isn’t the tournament about to start soon?”
That gave Zhuang Bai and Yang Sa pause. The two of them stopped in their tracks and turned back. They walked over to the little chubby guy, who was now grinning and waving his arms like a fool, overjoyed that they’d come back for him.
At that moment, the three teammates silently reached a rare moment of agreement:
Once the tournament is over… we’re ditching this little fatty.
Shao Zhan had always known that their little chubby guy was easy to please—he just hadn’t realized how easy.
All it took was his teammates casually bringing him back to the hotel, and the guy actually thought that was worth sending over a dozen voice messages to brag about?
Clearly, as the former captain, Shao Zhan hadn’t been caring or attentive enough to his players. Otherwise, how would that kid dare to voice-message bomb him during his meeting?
With that thought, Shao Zhan quietly made a bold mark in his return plan—extra training for the little fatty.
…
The first day of the tournament featured solo and duo matches.
The results weren’t just bad—they were downright embarrassing.
Everyone on the team placed outside the top ten in the solo matches. The duo games were slightly better—Fat Tangyuan and Zhuang Bai managed to scrape into the top eight thanks to a clutch performance in the final round.
Throughout the entire livestream, Team Xinghai was almost invisible.
Aside from a few brief appearances when they crossed paths with top-ranking players, they had virtually no camera time.
Even fans who were ready to flame them were left speechless.
Sure, the performance was trash, no denying that—but if you wanted to nitpick specifics? Good luck. They weren’t even on screen.
Still, that didn’t stop the flood of posts bashing them and stirring up drama.
Even Qin Chuan, who was usually bouncing around like crazy during matches, had completely shut down. He silently touched the few sponsor logos remaining beside the team crest, heart aching. After this trip to Singapore, he feared that all that would be left… was just the team crest.
Du Changcheng and the new coach, Li Bai, both wore grim expressions as they led the players onto the bus provided by the organizers, heading back to the hotel.
So when the media waiting outside snapped photos of Team Xinghai, what they captured was a group that looked like they were headed to a funeral.
Those who knew the context assumed they’d just lost a match.
Those who didn’t might have thought their former captain, thousands of miles away, had suffered a tragic accident.
When those photos made their way back to China, they caused a stir online.
…
Yet the noise and chaos online didn’t affect the Xinghai players in the slightest.
They had no time to care about the rumors and gossip flooding the forums—after all, they’d expected this reaction from the very start.
On the way back to the hotel, the players barely spoke.
It wasn’t until they all gathered in Du Changcheng’s room that the silent tension exploded—like ants on a hot pan, they scrambled to grab notebooks and pens, scribbling furiously.
Fat Tangyuan, unable to physically fight for writing supplies due to his wheelchair, howled in frustration:
“Give me some paper! Someone—please spare me a sheet! I need a pen too!”
“Aiya, Fatty, quit messing around right now,” Jiang Ranan said, giving his chair a shove. “Just use your phone.”
Unable to get in on the writing frenzy, Fat Tangyuan switched gears and opened his voice input with full swagger.
Before the other players even had a chance to complain about the noise, Du Changcheng was already covering his mouth.
“Quiet!” he barked.
Seeing how tense the coach was—afraid of even the slightest distraction—Fat Tangyuan nearly burst into tears. He stared at the coach with wide, betrayed eyes, silently demanding: “Am I not your favorite player anymore? Do you not love your Fat Tangyuan the most?!”
As expected, Du Changcheng gave him a solid punch to his belly full of folds, gritting his teeth as he said,
“I love you, I really freaking love you, you little chubball!”
On the other side of the room, the new coach Li Bai was also scribbling furiously in his notebook, while the translator at his side worked to turn his notes into Chinese in real-time.
It turned out this entire situation had been part of a pre-set strategy. For Team Xinghai, today’s match was a rare preview session.
When Shao Zhan had been around, the players could focus on their personal performance and adapting in the moment during battle.
Now, under the current circumstances, they had to use the shortest amount of time possible to analyze and understand their opponents’ movement styles and tactical shifts.
Then, based on that intel, they’d have to craft targeted strategies.
The new captain was still too green and lacked international experience.
At this moment, every member of Xinghai was stepping up to carry the responsibilities of a team leader.
Here, the team’s honor was each individual’s honor.
…
Du Changcheng had plenty of experience leading teams, but it had been a long time since he’d encountered a moment like this.
It reminded him of the early days of building the team—the hardships, the struggle.
Moved by the sight of the players all racking their brains, he took a few photos and sent them to Shao Zhan, telling him not to worry and to charge ahead freely on his own battlefield.
…
While everyone was busy scribbling, Fat Tangyuan flexed his cramped typing fingers and complained to Du Changcheng:
“Coach, seriously… this is all the captain’s job. Since we’re doing it for him, shouldn’t we at least get bumped up two compensation tiers this quarter?”
“Zip it, fatty,” Du Changcheng snapped, jotting down his own notes and summarizing key tactical points from the match. “Say one more word and that half-good leg of yours isn’t coming back to China.”
Fat Tangyuan immediately went cross-eyed in fear, slapping a chubby palm over his mouth:
“Coach, what if I only say half a word…?”
He didn’t even get to finish the joke—before Du Changcheng could react, the rest of the team, already annoyed with his chattering, gave him a solid group punch straight into silence.
It was in rare moments like these that he actually missed their former captain, whining tearfully: “That old bast*rd—sure, he had a sharp tongue and a black heart—but at least when he was around, he never physically punished your poor Fat Tangyuan…”
He struck a dramatic pose, eyes glistening.
“Captain… ever since you left, your Fatty’s been so pitiful… like a motherless child, like a stray weed in the wind…”
…
Even as his mouth ran non-stop, Fat Tangyuan’s fingers moved quickly, typing up a detailed match analysis.
Sure, the other teams might not have shown off their latest strategies during the solo and duo rounds.
Still, from the way they coordinated and their individual combat styles, Xinghai could glean a lot of valuable insight.
First came a breakdown of individual player skills and how to counter them.
Aside from Yang Sa, the others were all veteran players who had fought alongside Shao Zhan in the league.
On a shifting battlefield, their ability to analyze opponents was top-tier.
Almost every time someone mentioned a particular player’s strength, someone else could immediately suggest a counter-strategy.
Even though PUBG didn’t have fixed man-to-man guarding like basketball, they could still rely on their own strengths to neutralize the opponents’ tactics.
As for the tactical upgrades and shifts from the other teams, Xinghai took a more flexible approach in response.
It could be said that under Yang Sa’s leadership, the team was gradually finding their rhythm, and communication among members was becoming increasingly smooth.
Du Changcheng and Li Bai ended the analysis session right on schedule. After all, no matter how thorough the summaries, they were still just theory—tomorrow would be the true test of the team.
They didn’t want to stay up too late, wanting to leave the players enough time to rest and recover.
After a late-night snack, the Xinghai players headed to a nearby internet café to get in a few rounds and get their hands warmed up.
Fat Tangyuan slipped up twice due to clumsy fingers and some bad luck with drop zones, getting completely surrounded and wiped by the opposing players.
On the way back, he was ruthlessly mocked by the rest of the team.
The sulky little round dumpling curled up in his wheelchair, covering his head while Jiang Ranan pushed him along.
He protested furiously, “I’m warning you all, stop laughing! This is bullying! Straight-up, blatant bullying against your poor Fat Tangyuan!”
Just then, Yang Sa pulled a chocolate stick from his pocket, ready to hand it out to help the players recharge.
He waved it in front of Fat Tangyuan’s face, “Don’t want it anymore?”
Fatty’s face instantly lit up with a satisfied grin.
He hugged Yang Sa’s arm and gathered the rest of the snacks into his arms protectively, like a giant Garfield, rubbing affectionately against him.
“Godfather, I’ve finally found you. I knew I was your long-lost biological son…”