Chapter 90 – No One Gets to Have It Easy
Fortunately, not long after, Shao Zhan decided to return to China to continue his rehabilitation.
The young secretary finally breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he could finally hand off this crazy boss to someone else.
Honestly, with the job market being so tough these days, it had taken a lot to land a decent job—only for the boss to turn out like this. He secretly made up his mind to sharpen his skills while he still could, get a few high-value certifications, and lay the groundwork for a future job switch before the boss lost it completely.
Meanwhile, the “crazy” boss Shao Zhan, who was on the same flight back to China, was completely unaware of his secretary’s inner turmoil. He was busy checking the day’s schedule his secretary had sent him, shuffling things around to free up 45 minutes of spare time.
He used that time to dash over to the Xinghai base, though they barely had ten minutes together.
As luck would have it, the club was in the middle of a business promotion event. As Xinghai’s team captain, Yang Sa was in front of the camera, participating in a livestream with the host. No need to guess—this was clearly one of Qin Chuan’s flashy gimmicks, taking advantage of his absence.
Yang Sa had led the team to victory in the Asia Cup and was starting to show promise, but his qualifications and influence still had a long way to go. That’s exactly why Qin Chuan had arranged this event—to boost brand engagement.
In the end, the best thing Shao Zhan could do for the team was to recover quickly and return to the field.
Turning around, he bumped right into the manager, Qin Chuan, who had appeared behind him without him noticing. “What are you hiding here for?” Shao Zhan said with obvious disdain, while helping him straighten up from the bump.
“You’re asking me?” Qin Chuan widened his eyes and mouthed, “Why are you back?”
“To see you, of course,” Shao Zhan teased casually, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were back in the good old days, fighting side by side.
“Yeah, right,” Qin Chuan scoffed. “We’re both seasoned pros—don’t try to play innocent with me.” He gave Shao Zhan a light shove and, eyeing the standout figure in the crowd, tried to tempt him: “Since you’re already here, how about making a quick guest appearance in the livestream…”
But Shao Zhan shot him down cleanly: “See you.”
Someone that dazzling—just one glance was enough.
Before going to the hospital for his check-up and physical therapy, Shao Zhan slipped unnoticed into the training room. When he left, aside from being spotted by Bage, no one else at the base noticed the “intruder,” as everyone was busy with their own tasks.
The planned two-hour livestream dragged on for twice as long. With great viewer metrics, both the streamer and the brand reps were riding high on enthusiasm.
When the stream finally ended, it was nearly time for training. Yang Sa squeezed in a few quick bites of food his teammates had kept warm in the insulated container, then finally had a moment to check his phone.
Shao Zhan had sent only one message: [Keyboard.]
Yang Sa was confused and turned off his phone without thinking much of it. But just before training started, a sudden intuition struck him. No way… right? he thought to himself—and quietly lifted up his keyboard.
Beneath the keyboard, a sticky note was stuck with four handwritten characters: [Waiting for you to come home.] At the end, there was a solid heart symbol, clearly traced over and over as if it had been carefully drawn for a long time.
“Captain, what’s up?” Tangyuan, the chubby and sharp-eyed teammate, came over when he saw Yang Sa freeze up while lifting his keyboard.
“Nothing,” Yang Sa hastily pressed the keyboard back down and quietly slipped the sticky note into his pocket.
Though he was dying to know when that guy had come back, Xinghai’s current captain chose to focus all his attention on the team and their cooperation—for now. It was only during breaks in training that he would unconsciously pat the spot on his jacket where the note was tucked.
After regular training ended, Yang Sa—as usual—stayed behind to give extra coaching to the new teammate, Zhao Yan.
During the session, Zhao Yan noticed that the captain seemed particularly mindful of the time today. “Captain, if you’ve got something to do, go ahead. I can practice on my own.”
Yang Sa snapped out of his distraction. “It’s nothing. Let’s keep going.”
Zhao Yan was determined not to drag the team down, so he pushed himself with all he had. By the time they finished, the sky was already beginning to lighten.
Yang Sa told him to hurry back and rest, then lingered in the training room, pulling out the sticky note again to read it over and over, debating whether he should go back.
He figured the person was probably already asleep by now, and he couldn’t bring himself to disturb someone adjusting to a time difference. So, after a quick wash, he returned to his room to rest.
The team’s training schedule was consistent, which also meant the players’ rest schedules were fixed. Yang Sa had to maintain his condition and prepare for upcoming matches, and with Shao Zhan’s physical recovery in mind, he hadn’t found the time to visit.
What he didn’t know was that what he thought was a “considerate” act had actually hurt Shao Zhan deeply.
After finishing his work at the company each day, Shao Zhan had to rush to the hospital for rehab—to rebuild muscle strength and prevent fascial adhesions.
As an esports player, the sensitivity and precision of his arms post-recovery was crucial. At the same time, he had to undergo strength training to maintain his overall physical function. Every time he came home, he was utterly exhausted.
Even so, he would still sit at the door with a blanket, waiting for someone. Day after day, his shadow fell against the wall, like he’d turned to stone—just like the legendary wife waiting eternally for her husband to return.
Maybe it was the injury, but it made him prone to emotional spirals late at night. During those times, he would flood his foreign friends with messages, clinging to these people on the other side of the ocean just to survive the long, lonely nights.
And just like that, he managed to spread his emo energy to everyone around him.
“Brother, foreign friends are people too,” Max tried to rescue the emotionally spiraling youth, advising him kindly, “If you chat my friends to death, that’s basically a diplomatic incident—it could seriously harm international relations.”
“So what do I do then?” Shao Zhan said, picking at the frayed edges of his blanket. “My boyfriend is too considerate. It’s breaking my heart…”
Shao Zhan was just about to dive into a heartfelt discussion about his emotional journey over the past few days when, in the next moment, a call from Yang Sa came through.
“Can you stop harassing my friends?”
Over the past few days, his friends had been lining up to complain. Xiao Hei had just grumbled that Shao Zhan’s late-night chats had given him dark circles, and Max had sent a voice message saying he was ready to cut ties entirely.
“I can,” replied the ever-reasonable Shao Zhan, like a good boy. “Then can I harass you instead?”
A soft chuckle came through the phone. Yang Sa said, “Open the door.”
…
The slightly weary voice on the other end made Shao Zhan almost doubt his ears.
He pulled open the door—and the person he’d been longing for stood right there.
“Why are you frozen like that?” Yang Sa looked at him, dazed and unmoving in the doorway. Just as he was about to tease him, Shao Zhan stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
“I haven’t even changed clothes yet.”
“Just one hug,” Shao Zhan murmured, shutting the door behind him. The next second, he silenced any protest with a kiss full of pent-up frustration.
After a conquering, breath-stealing kiss, Shao Zhan decided rest could wait. While the other was still catching his breath, he reached out to unzip Yang Sa’s team jacket.
“What are you doing?” Yang Sa grabbed his hand.
“Helping you change,” Shao Zhan replied shamelessly, taking the opportunity to cop a feel. “I’m helping.”
Yang Sa tried to push him away, mindful of his injuries. “Your hand—be careful.”
“It’s fine,” Shao Zhan whispered into his ear, then kissed him again.
“Don’t—” Yang Sa pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t… don’t…”
The man who had been all gloom and doom moments ago was now full of energy, grinning as he asked, “Don’t what?”
“…Don’t stop.”
…
Since returning from surgery abroad, Shao Zhan hadn’t slept this deeply in a long time.
At 9:15 a.m., he opened his eyes, ready to admire his lover’s sleeping face and begin a brand-new day—only to find the space beside him completely empty.
He reached out to check. The blanket on the other side was already cold.
Same routine, same scene—again.
Ever since that day, Yang Sa would occasionally come over—but only occasionally. And each time, without fail, he would leave before Shao Zhan woke up. Not once had he stayed until morning.
The young master was thoroughly displeased. This setup made him feel like some kind of lowly concubine or serving girl. Leaving that early—was he that unpresentable?
Still, annoyance aside, he didn’t dare confront Yang Sa directly. He was afraid that one wrong word would make even these rare nights disappear. All he could do was silently sigh and think: ah, youth. So much stamina.
Soon, Shao Zhan was halfway through his treatment course and recovering well. At the current pace, full recovery was just a matter of time.
But time—was exactly what troubled him the most.
Lately, Yang Sa had led Xinghai through several matches. To the public, it was said that Zhuang Bai was taking a break and that Zhao Yan was temporarily filling in.
But Tangyuan—the chubby teammate—was already walking again, his leg injury nearly healed. Shao Zhan, who’d been injured around the same time, seemed like he should be ready to return too. So why was his account showing up in scrims but not in official matches?
Gradually, rumors about the severity of Shao Zhan’s condition began to spread.
To help cover for him, Fat Tangyuan reluctantly got back in the wheelchair and wheeled himself around the base. He even posted a picture on Weibo of the team coach making him bone broth, captioned: [A hundred days to heal tendon and bone—an esports player’s body is their most valuable asset, gotta take good care of it.]
For a while, the internet buzzed with a storm of conflicting reports. Rival teams, unsure of the truth, all adopted a cautious, wait-and-see approach.
During this time, the only bit of good news was that Shao Zhan’s aunt had finally finalized her divorce and returned to take over operations at the family’s corporate headquarters.
Honestly, if it weren’t for the need to silence certain conspiracy theorists, Shao Zhan wouldn’t have even bothered attending the board meeting.
He went through the motions symbolically, then handed over all the prepared documents—along with his secretary—to his aunt in one fell swoop.
“Don’t you think this is a bit over the top?” his aunt asked. She wasn’t being picky—it was just that this kind of handover made it seem like he never intended to come back.
Shao Zhan loosened his tie—he still hadn’t gotten used to wearing the damn thing. “Well, they say Mulan joined the army in her father’s place. I grew up watching you run things. I know you’re just as capable—if not more so—than my dad ever was. From now on, the three men of the Shao family are all counting on you, Auntie.”
“Get lost, you little rascal! You watched me grow up, did you?” After Shao Zhan’s father passed away, it was his aunt who had pulled him out of the shadows. She adored this nephew of hers, spoiled him rotten, and now, seeing his eager expression, she waved him off.
With her permission, Shao Zhan turned and left without a hint of hesitation.
“Hey,” his aunt called out to the wild monkey she was setting free again, “don’t forget to come home for New Year’s dinner.”
“Got it!”
…
After being away for so long, pro esports player Shao Zhan finally had the chance to return to the sacred ground in his heart.
Just thinking about the familiar base, the familiar teammates—even the scraggly sunset tousled by the wind at the roadside—made everything feel especially endearing.
Of course, traveling through the city during rush hour meant the inevitable encounter with traffic jams.
At times like these, someone desperate to get home would wish for a divine hand to sweep away all the cars blocking the way on either side.
But the more he thought about it, the more childish the idea seemed. What kind of experience had made him so restrained that even his daydreams came with limits? If such a divine hand existed, why not have it just deliver him—or his lover—directly to the other’s side?
Daydreaming his way through the traffic, he finally arrived at Xinghai.
The team’s mascot, a lively little myna bird, was as enthusiastic as ever. It still had a bit of a crooked head from the time it got hit by a car driven by a blind bat from a rival team, but aside from that—and its steel neck brace—it was full of life and had a great appetite.
Shao Zhan played with the little guy for a while before heading back to the team—and to his surprise, the warmest welcome he received at Xinghai… was waiting for him right at the door.