Chapter 93 – How Many Steps Does It Take to Stuff a Pig into the Back Seat
It wasn’t just Shao Zhan—Xinghai’s veteran players were also dumbfounded. The usually reckless, foul-mouthed Old Pineapple, who cursed like a sailor when gaming, actually had a refined and gentlemanly side?
His demeanor was completely different from that time he fought with Yang Sa.
Max couldn’t handle spicy food. When a few drops of chili oil accidentally got into the clear broth side of the hot pot, he immediately called the waiter to change the base. Throughout the meal, Old Pineapple was humorous and charming. Listening to him talk, you’d think he was Xinghai’s absolute best friend in the entire streaming community.
“Have some shame.” Fat Tangyuan, who couldn’t bear to watch anymore, @-ed him on Weibo.
But Old Pineapple didn’t get mad. He sweet-talked him with one “brother” after another, and while he was at it, he boasted about Fat Tangyuan and the Xinghai team on Weibo.
This flattery was music to the ever-petty Fat Tangyuan’s ears, and in high spirits, he downed two more bottles of alcohol.
And then… well, the familiar scene played out once again.
Drunk beyond recognition, Fat Tangyuan and Little Blue hugged each other tightly, calling out each other’s names with deep affection, as if they were long-lost brothers no one could separate.
The Xinghai team and their foreign friends had already seen this once before, so they weren’t surprised at all. Old Pineapple, on the other hand, was quite shocked: “Th-th-they’re just gonna sleep on the street like this? Won’t they get sick?”
Shao Zhan offered a solution: “If you’re that worried about them, you can take them home.”
A few words shut Old Pineapple right up. What would he even do with these two? What could he do?
Qin Chuan checked the time: “It’s late. Let’s head back to the base.”
The Xinghai crew and the foreign guests all turned and left in perfect sync. Only Old Pineapple stayed behind, pointing at the two sprawled out on the ground: “W-w-wait, are you guys really just leaving them here?”
At that, Shao Zhan turned around, looking a bit troubled. “Since you insist, I guess we’ll have to borrow your car.”
That night, Old Pineapple truly had his eyes opened. Come to think of it, stuffing pigs into the back seat probably just followed this exact process.
With two “pig heads” snoring in his back seat, the flowers were temporarily entrusted to Max for safekeeping. Considerately, he even suggested Max ride in another car so the two drunkards wouldn’t stink him and the flowers up.
When they got back to the Xinghai base, they unloaded the passengers like usual—but thanks to previous experience, this time things went more smoothly.
The only hiccup was that the myna bird, who had been playing at the entrance, took one look at the scene and panicked, diving straight into the landscaping to hide, trembling with fear that someone might drag it into a brotherhood oath ceremony again.
Thankfully, the fat one had retained some sense of shame this time—no vomiting, and no running around the yard chasing chickens.
After dropping them off, Old Pineapple drove off. Max, who was seeing all of this for the first time, simply found it fascinating. When he turned to share the moment with his new friend, he found the guy had already disappeared, leaving him alone with the flowers, unsure what to do.
Room assignments were the same as before. The Xinghai team and the foreign guests made their way to their rooms with practiced ease, leaving only Max behind—he’d been deliberately kept by Yang Sa.
Before leaving, Shao Zhan specifically reminded Yang Sa to be subtle and first ask Max what he thought of Old Pineapple and the like.
But the new team captain, who had grown up overseas, didn’t think there was any need to beat around the bush. He told his old friend the truth outright.
He believed in Max—the friend he had known since childhood was fully capable of facing the bloody, brutal truth.
Who could’ve guessed that Max, the person in question, would let out a blood-curdling scream: “It’s him!!!” Then he bolted back to his room faster than a startled ostrich—and no matter who tried to talk to him, he wouldn’t open the door.
And he didn’t just hide for a day—he stayed an ostrich for several. Apart from mealtimes, he was basically invisible.
Everyone kept up a steady stream of teasing toward this guy who had the courage to fall in love online but didn’t dare meet his internet crush in real life.
Just like that, Max played ostrich for two days straight. On the third day, though, he finally came out.
It was New Year’s Day, and the Xinghai team had plans to have dinner at Shao Zhan’s house.
After hiding for two days, Max had spent a long time psyching himself up. He could skip the meal, but he had to meet Shao Zhan’s family—after all, they were going to be Xiao Sa’s in-laws one day.
And so, looking haggard and worn out, Max quietly joined the traveling party.
The foreign friends, who liked to think of themselves as Xiao Sa’s “family from the bride’s side,” had originally planned to show some support and help him save face. But one by one, they fell head over heels for Chinese food.
It wasn’t just the cuisine—the traditional Chinese pastries were equally elegant. Every dish had a story, every dessert a heritage. Their limited Mandarin skills were quickly overwhelmed, and they found themselves lost in a sea of knowledge and deliciousness.
By evening, snowflakes had begun to drift gently from the sky. While the Xinghai players and their international friends savored the feast, Shao Zhan and Yang Sa accompanied the old patriarch for a quiet chat under the covered walkway.
Grandfather brought up some recent developments in the family business and asked Yang Sa, “If it were someone else, would Shao Zhan have done the same?”
He had asked his grandson this question before. This time, he wanted to hear how the young man would respond.
Yang Sa believed that Shao Zhan was not someone easily swayed by emotion. He loved the team—so much that he’d be willing to step back in order to do what was necessary to keep it running. For Xinghai, for the future of esports, he would make the right decisions.
Grandfather’s eyes lingered on the boy’s youthful yet resolute face for a long moment. Then he pointed to the persimmon tree in the courtyard and said to Shao Zhan, “The fruit is ripe—go pick some for the kids.”
As night fell, Aunt helped the elderly man back to his room. “Now, we can finally hand the business over to Xiao Zhan.”
The old man gave a silent nod. In the end, it was out of love: “That team—if he likes it, let him keep at it for a few more years.”
Aunt feigned exasperation as she helped him into bed. “You just can’t help doting on your grandson. Aren’t you worried you’ll be wearing me out?”
The old man closed his eyes as if resting, as though he had drifted off to sleep. Just as Aunt was about to leave, his voice came faintly, like talking in his sleep:
“In this world, girls must be independent, worthy of respect… and must always give more than others…”
There are persimmons overseas too, but it’s rare to eat them freshly picked.
The Xinghai players, who were lucky enough to benefit from their new captain’s connections, were completely satisfied.
Fat Tangyuan ate three in one go before Shao Zhan stopped him: “If you keep eating, your stomach’s going to hurt.”
Fat Tangyuan knew he meant well, and he also knew he should start watching his blood sugar. But he still couldn’t resist firing back: “Look at you, acting like it’s a big deal. So I ate a few of your family’s lousy persimmons? I, Fatty, today—” he thumped his chest dramatically, “—charged the battlefield all by myself for the happiness of both the old and new captains. That’s no small feat!”
“Cut the fancy words. You’ve barely got enough education to use those phrases right,” Shao Zhan replied, well aware of this guy’s usual antics. “Just say it straight.”
“Fine, here it is.” Fat Tangyuan downed two cups of tea and struck a storyteller’s pose. “Right after I overate, I went to the bathroom—” Seeing everyone starting to disperse, he quickly called them back, “Wait, don’t go! On my way back, I ran into the old master. So I asked him what he thought about the young captain…”
Fat Tangyuan was still trying to build suspense when his not-brother-but-might-as-well-be brother, Blue Bro, smacked him across the face: “Spit it out already!”
“You hit me too?” Fat Tangyuan covered his face, sniffling dramatically. “So I asked the old chairman what he thought of those two. And the old man said—‘As long as my grandson’s happy, I’ve long since come to terms with it. This is your generation’s time.’” He even pulled out some candy from his pocket. “He gave me these.”
Shao Zhan took the candy from Fat Tangyuan and handed it to Yang Sa.
“Hey, hey! That’s mine! The chairman gave it to me—” But before he could finish, everyone teamed up to cover his mouth and carry the little chubster away.
…
Originally, Shao Zhan was supposed to stay home and rest. But since a friend had come from afar, he decided to return to the base with the group.
He’d hoped to use the chance to head back to the room with Yang Sa—but was met with a locked door.
“What’s going on?” Shao Zhan asked through the door. He had already gotten the family’s approval, so why the sudden modesty?
Yang Sa sent him a message telling him to leave. He didn’t want their visiting friend to notice anything, and on top of that, he had issued a strict rule: while in the base, Shao Zhan was forbidden from barging into his room—not even to think about it.
“Hey, I’m not even allowed to think about it now?” Shao Zhan gave the door a light but deliberate knock. “You’re really strict, huh?” Still, they’d talked about this before—he had agreed to respect Yang Sa’s decision. But wasn’t this complete ban a little too heartless?
What kind of person had he fallen for anyway? The young master felt increasingly sorry for himself. He thought maybe he should just hand the club over to Yang Sa—then, if he ever made a move on him again, it wouldn’t count as using power to take advantage. And if he turned him down then, he’d be the one throwing his weight around!
…
They waited and waited, and finally—the Xinghai team, who had been longing like stargazers for a full moon—welcomed the day of their former captain Shao Zhan’s official return.
The doctor had finally given the green light: From today onward, he could join training—but only for 30 minutes. If he experienced any discomfort during practice, he had to stop immediately, and daily check-ups were mandatory to prevent his injury from worsening.
After suffering through these past few weeks, the young master’s temper had mellowed significantly. He listened to the doctor’s instructions with exaggerated politeness—so much so it seemed fake. It went in one ear and out the other; not a single word made it to his heart. All he could think about was: I can play again. I can play again. I can finally play again!
Receiving the doctor’s approval felt like receiving a royal decree. Shao Zhan dashed into his dorm, yanked out the keyboard he’d hidden in his gear bag, and planted a firm kiss on it: “Baby, I’ve missed you so much!”
Ever since returning from the qualifiers, he had stashed his keyboard away, terrified that the new captain might confiscate it.
Unable to sleep at night, he would lie there cradling it, tapping the keys like he was battling invisible enemies.
But today—today—he could finally take it into the training room like a true warrior heading to the front lines.
…
By the time Shao Zhan stormed into the training room with his beloved “old flame” (his keyboard), Zhao Yan had already packed up, ready to return to Team Two. But Fat Tangyuan blocked him, refusing to let him leave.
“I am from Team Two! I was only loaned to this team temporarily!” Zhao Yan whispered, clearly desperate to escape before they roped him in again.
Fat Tangyuan wasn’t having it. “Nope. You’re not going anywhere,” he declared. “I broke my foot and still went to war. I haven’t even taken my sick leave yet. It’s my turn now!” Without further discussion, he used his size to shove Zhao Yan into his own seat.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Yang Sa told Fatty to sit down and explained, “Shao Zhan can only play for half an hour. Zhao Yan will take over afterward.”
That one sentence doused the burning enthusiasm between the two like a bucket of cold water.
Fat Tangyuan grumbled as he reluctantly returned to his seat, rocking the ergonomic chair until it creaked under his weight.
Zhao Yan, nervous and cautious, shuffled to the spot behind Shao Zhan. He held his breath, trying to minimize his presence while observing the former captain’s gameplay. After all, in just half an hour, he’d have to take over from the living legend of the battleground.
Strategy and drop-point selection were still handled by Yang Sa, while Shao Zhan temporarily took Zhuang Bai’s position.
“No problem,” Shao Zhan agreed easily, selecting a high-altitude jump point. “Wherever Daddy Shao goes, Daddy rules.”