Chapter 95 – Tied to the Waistband
During the solo and duo matches the day before, Shao Zhan had absolutely nothing to do. Fearing he might stir up some trouble, Qin Chuan basically treated him like a kid tied to his waistband—wherever he went, someone had to keep an eye on him.
Yang Sa placed eighth in the solo match. As for the duo match, it ended in a classic “brothers go down together, hand in hand” kind of disaster.
Qin Chuan, long accustomed to such scenes, couldn’t even be bothered to open the forum. Instead, he prepared himself emotionally to comfort his “kids” the moment they came off stage.
“Don’t say anything, bro gets it,” Fat Tangyuan said, dramatically flicking his pudgy little hand as if throwing down a losing hand of cards.
Qin Chuan propped his face on his hand and managed a smile, but couldn’t hold it in. He jumped up in the break room and unleashed a full round of scolding on the team.
Once he was done, he felt much better—and so did the Xinghai team, oddly enough.
“There we go! That’s the true ace manager of Xinghai,” Fat Tangyuan said, throwing an arm around little Qin Chuan. “That fake smile you were forcing just now was so gross I nearly barfed up yesterday’s dinner.”
“I was just trying to keep your spirits up!”
“Yeah, well, did you have to smile like a ghost girl from a horror movie?!”
The Xinghai players gradually filed out, leaving behind Tangyuan and Qin Chuan bickering like a couple of squabbling siblings.
Just then, Captain Mu Chen of Team Glimmer happened to walk by. Giving a thumbs-up to the brother team, he said with admiration, “To be this cheerful after a game like that—Xinghai really has the best mindset.”
Shao Zhan let out a couple of dry chuckles. “You flatter us. Let’s hope Weiguang’s mindset is just as good once tomorrow’s results are out.”
“Hey now, watch it, punk,” Captain Mu Chen warned. “Weiguang is the number one team in Asia, you know.”
“Tsk, tsk, getting defensive already?” Shao Zhan teased, calming his old friend’s rising temper. “Come on, you’re the top team—at least keep that composure until the match starts tomorrow.”
The captains’ banter kept escalating all the way into the second day of the competition.
Surprisingly, Weiguang’s captain couldn’t find Shao Zhan in Xinghai’s starting lineup—even though just the day before, the guy had been trading trash talk with him nonstop.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered instinctively. “All that big talk and he’s not even playing?”
“Is Xinghai’s captain really that injured?” their younger teammate Jiang Te asked, sounding doubtful. “Or maybe… they’ve gotten so strong in squad matches they don’t even need him anymore?”
The answers could only be found on the battlefield.
…
Round One
In the first match, Weiguang and Xinghai landed in adjacent residential zones. When rotating into the safe zone, Weiguang deliberately avoided any early conflict with Xinghai.
Captain Mu Chen of Weiguang didn’t believe Xinghai’s squad was so strong that they didn’t need Shao Zhan. The newcomer promoted from Xinghai’s second team was clearly the weakest link in their lineup.
If they rushed in recklessly and engaged Xinghai head-on—especially when Xinghai held a terrain advantage—it would be difficult to wipe them out in one go. Taking out the rookie would be the least cost-effective approach. With him dragging the team down, it would actually restrict the other players’ performance.
What did make Captain Mu Chen take notice, however, was how quickly the rookie was improving. Probably because his initial shortcomings had been so obvious, even modest gains stood out. Xinghai placed eighth in the first round.
Zhao Yan let go of his mouse, his palm slightly sweaty—a clear sign of nerves.
Shao Zhan was recovering well, but still couldn’t play an entire match. As Xinghai’s ace, they couldn’t risk his long-term future just for the outcome of one game. Team captain Yang Sa couldn’t agree to that, and neither could Du Changcheng or Qin Chuan.
Originally, Du Changcheng had planned to let Shao Zhan play the first five matches, where the pressure would be lighter regardless of performance. But Shao Zhan wasn’t the type to let his teammates take the fall for him. He insisted on playing the final five rounds. So now, the current squad’s goal was to maintain form and keep their ranking steady in the upper-mid tier—to avoid putting Shao Zhan in too difficult a position when he finally took the stage.
Zhao Yan was fully aware of his own skill ceiling. His unstable mindset had given the enemy team several opportunities. The third and fourth rounds had terrible zone luck, and only a clutch performance in the fifth match managed to stop their rankings from plummeting further. Even so, by the time they reached halftime, Xinghai was only sitting in ninth place.
Back in the break room, Zhao Yan didn’t say a word. He’d already apologized too many times and truly didn’t have the face to look his teammates in the eye.
Shao Zhan, however, patted him on the back and comforted him: “Don’t worry—Daddy Shao is about to go teach them some manners.”
Sure enough, the moment Shao Zhan entered the match, players from other teams visibly straightened in their seats.
Sitting in the lounge, Zhao Yan felt a mix of emotions. This might be the last time he’d ever play at a top-tier international tournament. But to have been teammates with a player like that—to be given the chance to learn from a first-team star—left him with both a deep sense of honor and profound regret.
“Captain Mu, what’s the strategy?” asked Jiang Te, the youngest member of Team Weiguang.
“Stay calm and observe,” Mu Chen replied. Weiguang’s points had been hovering steadily in the third- to fourth-place range, and there was no need to change tactics just because of a personnel shift in Xinghai.
“Hold steady, that’s enough.”
For Weiguang, which was already near the top of the leaderboard, maintaining their advantage and progressing steadily was the best strategy. But for Xinghai, which was at a disadvantage, they had no choice but to take risks—fight hard, kill harder.
Shao Zhan’s return didn’t just shake the mental game for the other teams—it also dramatically boosted Xinghai’s morale. The familiar playstyle, the seamless coordination—the unstoppable Xinghai that once dominated the battlegrounds of the PUBG arena was back.
Thanks to Xinghai’s excellent secrecy, the other teams had built their strategies around Yang Sa, assuming he was the team’s central figure. After all, for months—no matter the event—there had been no sign of Captain Shao making a return.
But in this round, Xinghai practically wiped out every team they encountered. Their points skyrocketed, and by Round Six, they had surged up to fourth place on the leaderboard.
“Yay!” Fat Tangyuan beamed into the camera, striking a cute pose. Ever since Shao Zhan’s injury, he hadn’t played a match that felt this satisfying. In that moment, all the hardship of the past six months felt worth it.
“Stay focused,” Shao Zhan warned. “The real challenge is just beginning.”
Sure enough, Xinghai’s explosive performance in the second half forced the other teams to adjust their strategies. No one wanted to give this veteran powerhouse even the slightest chance at a comeback. On the battlefield, the best offense is to crush your enemy while they’re still growing.
No one wanted to give Xinghai time to develop—and more importantly, no one dared to. Wherever they went, teams instinctively turned their firepower toward Xinghai.
And yet, with Shao Zhan commanding the field, Team Xinghai showed no fear. Far from shrinking under pressure, they thrived in it. The more intense the fight, the more fired-up the players became, their will to win fully ignited.
Unfortunately, the battlefield had become too tightly contested, and Xinghai’s ranking slipped, falling to fifth place.
There were only two rounds left. To secure a comeback, they would have to win both matches decisively and earn enough points to surpass the competition.
As Round Nine began, Yang Sa carefully counted the remaining players—at this point, the fight for rankings had reached a boiling point. The good news: there were no longer any coordinated efforts targeting Xinghai.
The bad news: every team was unleashing their full strength and going all-out on the battlefield.
But with Shao Zhan and Yang Sa holding down the fort, Xinghai was far from an easy target. At that moment, they were more than just a strong team—they were like a two-headed monster, tearing through every area they passed. They devoured team after team, taking down several top contenders in a row. At last, their score broke into the top three.
After the round ended, Fat Tangyuan collapsed onto his keyboard, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. The broadcast cameras across the venue all panned to the team that had been pulling off miracles throughout the second half—Xinghai.
Fat Tangyuan’s wide frame swayed slightly as he slowly lifted his head. But contrary to everyone’s expectations, there were no tears on his face—only sheer exhilaration.
“We’re holding steady.” This time, it was Yang Sa who reminded the team not to get carried away.
In the final round, Yang Sa was already mentally tallying player counts the moment the game started.
Midway through the match, Fat Tangyuan didn’t even dare to glance at the scoreboard. “How many more points? How much more do we need?”
Just as Yang Sa was about to respond, Shao Zhan answered with the exact number—precisely what Yang Sa had just calculated in his head.
Moments later, Shao Zhan reported a second number. Yang Sa paused for a beat, then understood: that was the minimum score they needed from this round to secure the championship.
Watching the in-game player count drop too slowly, Yang Sa muttered, “It’s not fast enough.”
Just then, a supply plane roared overhead, flying directly above the housing area.
“Captain,” Fat Tangyuan called out. Years of playing together had given them a near-telepathic bond.
Shao Zhan quickly assessed the drop line, predicted the airdrop location, and jumped into a vehicle, taking Jiang Ranan with him to intercept. Yang Sa and Fat Tangyuan stayed behind to run along the edge of the zone, trying to pick off as many players as possible.
Yang Sa and Fat Tangyuan didn’t disappoint. But because of their edge-zone strategy and being only a duo, they inevitably found themselves surrounded and caught in multi-directional crossfire.
Fortunately, both had the skill and agility to navigate around the chaos, avoiding direct firefights. It was risky, but the reward was worth it.
Another reason Shao Zhan had chosen to split the team was that, in a match filled with top-tier players, breaking through the chaos required not just technical excellence and team synergy—but also superior gear. In a game like this, high-quality equipment could be the unexpected key to victory.
The battle over the final airdrop was bound to become a white-hot contest.
While on the move, Shao Zhan asked Jiang Ranan if he was afraid. The latter instinctively shifted his gaze to the distant horizon, feeling an oddly calming sense of ease.
“Not only am I not afraid,” he said, “I’m actually looking forward to it.”
Shao Zhan suddenly swerved the vehicle, and Jiang Ranan, already prepared, quickly took out an enemy lying in ambush in the bushes—all while keeping his teammate safe.
That moment brought Shao Zhan a deep sense of satisfaction. Once just a rookie in Xinghai, Jiang Ranan had grown—quietly, out of sight—into someone dependable, a towering presence he could now rely on.
Shao Zhan parked the car on the leeward side of a slope and used the terrain to scout the area. On the other side of the hill, a player was looting the airdrop, but the Xinghai duo didn’t act recklessly.
When it came to airdrops, speed was everything. Greed and hesitation could easily cost you the opportunity.
A top-tier player shouldn’t be making that kind of mistake. After observing for a moment, Shao Zhan called out two positions to Jiang Ranan. The two of them flanked from opposite sides of the hill and quickly eliminated two ambushers lying in wait.
One enemy remained—left to Jiang Ranan to handle. At the same time, Shao Zhan swiftly took out the Japanese player being used as bait.
Just as they prepared to drive toward the airdrop, another squad of three approached from the side. From the engine sounds, it was clear that more teams were rapidly converging on the location.
They had to act fast—beat speed with even more speed—and wipe out this squad as quickly as possible.
Jiang Ranan, having just finished off the last Japanese player, had his armor nearly destroyed. But without hesitation, he jumped into the vehicle.
“Leave it to me,” he said, then calmly turned his back, placing his full trust in Shao Zhan.