Chapter 8 – The Battle of the Old Foxes
While his own team fought hard in the match, Qin Chuan took the opportunity to gather intelligence from the managers of other teams. Meanwhile, in the seats reserved for Xinghai, Shao Zhan sat alone.
Having grown used to being surrounded by fans, basking in their cheers and admiration, the legendary player of the battlefield had almost forgotten what solitude felt like. Perhaps the last time was that night when the pillow beside him was empty, and he could no longer feel the soft, shallow breaths buried against the crook of his neck.
But peace was never meant to last long. The ever-scheming Qin Chuan soon teamed up with other team managers, exchanging tricks and counter-strategies like misinformation and double-layered schemes to probe each other’s next strategic moves.
“What’s wrong? Not going well?” Shao Zhan chuckled as he handed a water bottle to Qin Chuan, whose frustration was practically etched into his forehead.
“Going well. Why wouldn’t it?” Qin Chuan huffed, gulping down a mouthful of water before rolling down his sleeves one by one. “You should know by now—when Qin Chuan steps in, the road is smooth sailing.”
With that, he leaned in and whispered near Shao Zhan’s ear, “Young Master, I’ve already found out about the landmines.”
Shao Zhan pushed him back with a single finger. “Speak properly.”
“I asked about the Silver Emperor Cup. Those old foxes all claimed they wouldn’t participate, saying it’d be embarrassing to join a tournament organized by the Withering Club. But when I tried inviting them out for skewers next week, none of them had time.”
Shao Zhan subtly shifted his position, glancing toward the corridor. “Are you sure it’s not just because your social skills are terrible?”
“SHAO ZHAN!” Qin Chuan flailed his thin arms dramatically, twisting in his seat like a possessed noodle.
“Seriously, how can someone this skinny have so much flesh on their face?”
That casual remark shattered all of Qin Chuan’s defenses. He jabbed his chubby cheeks with his fingers—just like Huang Xuan—and huffed, “This is called baby fat. Baby fat, got it? You’re so outdated!”
“Noodle monster.”
Shao Zhan crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving the big screen as he took note of every mistake his team made, storing them for review later that night.
Silver Emperor had been Xinghai’s sister club before the acquisition. Though it now belonged to Baizhan Group, attending the honor match they were organizing was only proper—if nothing else, it would serve as a warm-up for the upcoming season.
For the other teams, it was also an opportunity for training. Even sending out their second-string players would help give them some exposure.
There was no need for a team manager to go fishing for information about something like this. Shao Zhan could see that Qin Chuan’s frustration—and everything he had done afterward—was just an act. What he was really trying to probe was how the other teams viewed that person.
In truth, his story with that boy wasn’t all that complicated. But over the years, no one had ever asked, and he never found the chance to tell it. Eventually, it became like a buried scar on his heart—not particularly heavy, yet capable of stirring his emotions at unexpected moments.
Qin Chuan mimicked the people around him, folding his arms and puffing out his cheeks, though his large, round eyes kept darting about mischievously.
Of course, he couldn’t admit that the other teams had secretly reached out to the fans who had previously attended matches—and that they had even started placing bets on who could get an autograph. He had tried to hold back, but in the end, he couldn’t resist and ended up wagering an entire month’s meal allowance.
He pinned his hopes on Mu Chen from Weiguang. Sure, the guy had a slight limp when he walked, but he had a sharp eye—especially when it came to fostering team cohesion.
Of course, Weiguang was still a fair distance away from Xinghai. But when it came to player development, they had already earned the recognition of Mars, the league’s number one player.
Not that he and Shao Zhan would ever say that in front of that bow-legged guy.
If it were up to him, he’d love to bring that kid under his wing. But last time, just before signing, the boy disappeared on his own. Three years of complete silence, only to suddenly reappear, demonstrating an extraordinary grasp of tactics. Even so, Qin Chuan didn’t dare make the decision on his own.
After all, no one knew what had happened that night three years ago. If something had happened, and he ended up triggering some bad memories, getting himself sued by the team’s golden goose and their boss in the process… well, would he even survive that?
But since Shao Zhan refused to talk about it, Qin Chuan couldn’t exactly ask either. All he could do was summon every ounce of willpower to suppress his overwhelming curiosity.
As the match ended, the two acting masters put on synchronized performances, clapping for the players coming off the stage with insincere smiles plastered on their faces.
By the time the group returned to the base, it was already close to eleven o’clock. Normally, the main team’s training hours ran from 1 PM to 11 PM, but extra practice sessions stretching into the early hours of the morning—one or two AM—were a common occurrence.
After meeting fans today and basking in the deafening cheers, the players had no intention of staying for extra practice. They grabbed the complimentary meal boxes from the organizers, ready to eat a late-night snack and call it a day—until their coach, Du Changcheng, caught them and tore into them with a scolding.
The reason? The main offenders, led by Tangyuan, had repeatedly blundered during the exhibition match, getting stuck in a low-rank lobby and nearly wiping out the entire team several times.
“Come on, Coach, take a seat and cool off first.” Tangyuan pushed over his custom-made, extra-large chair and set it behind him. “It was just a fun match, no need to take it so seriously! Sure, there were a few close calls, but that was all staged—we planned it on purpose! Think about it: a game with ups and downs, life-and-death moments, and last-minute comebacks makes for a much better spectacle. We just wanted the fans to experience more of that excitement.”
“You think I’m blind? Staged, my a*s!” Du Changcheng held his waist, his face turning pale with rage.
Whenever a player slacked off in training, the others would joke that they had “pissed off Coach Du’s hemorrhoids.”
Today, Lao Du hadn’t attended the event in person because he had taken advantage of the schedule gap to finally get a hemorrhoid removal surgery.
But after watching the official livestream from his hospital bed, he was so furious that he yanked out his IV and rushed straight back to the team.
In reality, for an event like this, playing at half-strength was acceptable—it was all about ensuring a good experience for the fans. What infuriated him wasn’t their performance, but their attitude toward the match.
As professional esports players, they were supposed to take every game seriously.
Respecting the opponent, respecting the game itself—this should be a belief ingrained into the very bones of every player.
But today, all he had seen in that livestream was fooling around. No belief.
Shao Zhan had just opened his mouth to defend his teammates when Du Changcheng turned his glare on him. “And what about you? We agreed you wouldn’t go—what happened to that? You think the official announcement was just for show?” He winced, pressing a hand to his lower back as he snapped, “No organization, no discipline—do you even know what you just did? Do you realize your contract terms are different from the others? Just showing up like this—how do you expect us to explain it to the sponsors? This is a team. This is a job. There are rules. If you don’t want to follow them, go back to being a rich young master, and stop setting a bad example for the kids!”
Shao Zhan almost reminded him that, aside from the 19-year-old Jiang Ranran—who barely qualified as a “kid”—the other two were battle-hardened veterans who had been deep-fried in the esports scene for years. But watching Lao Du break into a sweat from the pain, Shao Zhan worried he might actually burst a blood vessel somewhere—cleaning that up wouldn’t be fun. So, he held his tongue.
Du Changcheng kept ranting non-stop, a*s sticking out in frustration, and in the end, even Qin Chuan—who had only tagged along for the trip—got dragged into the scolding.
The team members returning from their assignments hung their heads like wilted eggplants. Even Young Master Shao Zhan was obediently listening to the scolding—let alone the others.
The players who had come back full of excitement now sat through Du Changcheng’s match review with blank expressions, played their scrimmages with blank expressions, and welcomed the arrival of 3:30 AM… still with blank expressions.
On his zombie-like walk back to the dorms—too embarrassed to go straight to bed after getting chewed out—Qin Chuan even bumped into two youth trainees, causing a small commotion.
Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranran had both collapsed over the wide gaming desk, fast asleep, while Shao Zhan was still on his phone, finalizing the next week’s training priorities with Du Changcheng, who had rushed to the hospital overnight for treatment.
Only Tangyuan remained wide awake, his bulb-bright eyes shining as he enthusiastically played Snake.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Shao Zhan asked, putting down his phone.
Tangyuan carefully pinched the corner of a chip bag with his fingertips and peeled it open just a crack. “Ate too much. Feels like heartburn.”
“Then why are you still eating?” Shao Zhan scratched his head.
Sprawled in his chair, Tangyuan weakly kneaded his round belly, a chip hanging from his mouth. “Keeps coming up… Trying to push it back down.”
Shao Zhan’s mouth fell open in genuine amazement. “Is there anything you can do besides eat?”
“Esports,” Tangyuan replied, brimming with pride.
“Besides esports?” Shao Zhan asked again.
This time, Tangyuan lowered his head and muttered softly, “Nothing.”
Shao Zhan was about to offer some words of comfort when Tangyuan suddenly perked up and asked, “Does trash-talking count?”
At a complete loss for words, Shao Zhan felt that if this were an anime, there would definitely be a murder of crows circling above his head.
“It’s all junk food. You should eat less,” Shao Zhan advised.
But Tangyuan simply raised his greasy fingers and waved him over. “Boss, boss—help me out here!”
“What is it?” Shao Zhan leaned back in his chair, his voice carrying the lazy drawl of the approaching dawn.
“Get on your alt account. My friend wants to put a team together—I’ll pull you into the lobby.”
“Not playing. I’m exhausted today,” Shao Zhan said.
“No way. The other side is Old Pineapple. If I back out now, he’ll track me down after his stream,” Tangyuan fidgeted anxiously, picking at his fingers.
This Pineapple Head was one of Xinghai’s few genuine friends. When the team suffered consecutive losses in the league and fell into a slump, he had defended them fiercely on his stream—so much so that he had been penalized by the platform multiple times for his harsh words.
Although Shao Zhan had a strong suspicion that Pineapple Head simply liked cursing people out, the guy had spoken up for them during tough times. It didn’t feel right to refuse.
“What kind of match?”
“Oh, this one’s tough,” Tangyuan said in an exaggeratedly serious tone. “An Infernal Affairs game.” As he spoke, he dumped the remaining chips into his mouth and, without missing a beat, ripped open a new bag.
Turns out Old Pineapple had set his sights on a girl and had boasted that he would carry her to a higher rank. To make sure everything went smoothly, he had recruited two extra teammates for backup.
After hearing Tangyuan’s explanation, Shao Zhan nearly flipped his computer over. “He’s a streamer with over a million followers, and he still needs pro players just to carry a girl in PUBG?”
“He’s just being careful,” Tangyuan muttered, covering his mouth like he was spilling a big secret. “If nothing else, this proves that old bast*rd is really serious about her.”
“The mic isn’t even on. Why are you covering your mouth?” Shao Zhan kicked his chair. “Wait—why is it a duo match?”
Tangyuan scooted his chair out of Shao Zhan’s reach. “Because it’s Infernal Affairs! We’re undercover teammates hidden among the enemy—exciting, right?”
“You’re insane.”
“Hey, buddy, I heard that!” Old Pineapple’s distinctively cheerful voice rang out in the all-chat.