The League's Hei Yueguang Has Fought His Way Back [E-sports] Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Return – “Your eyes, they still love him.”

“Let us congratulate HUG on winning the 2024 IDL Summer Tournament Championship—”

The crowd was in an uproar. As golden rain fell from the sky, the members of HUG embraced each other on stage, collectively lifting the trophy that symbolized the highest honor in the domestic league.

Offstage, HUG’s fans wept tears of joy and celebrated their victory, while SG’s fans sat quietly in their seats holding their support signs, their forced smiles unable to hide their desolation.

It had been three years, and no one knew when SG’s dawn would arrive.

The camera finally panned over to Shi Wen. Half of his face was illuminated by the golden stage lights, his unwilling and lingering gaze cast toward the center of the stage before he dejectedly made his exit.

No one remembers the runner-up, unless that person is Swen.

Fans all said that Swen’s eyes looked affectionate even when looking at a dog. At this moment, he looked as if he was about to shatter into pieces; who wouldn’t feel their heart ache for him?

Shi Wen recalled how he had carefully touched that trophy before the match started; it had been so close to him.

He really wanted to win. He wanted to so, so much.

But things in this world don’t always go as one wishes. Was his persistence truly meaningful?

Returning to his senses, Shi Wen had already walked over to the van arranged by the club. Many fans had gathered around the van, loudly shouting the names of the SG players.

His teammates had boarded the van ahead of him, each of them hanging their heads in dismay. Shi Wen didn’t even have to think to know how oppressive the atmosphere inside the vehicle must be.

It was unknown who cried out first, “I’ll wait for you to come back!”

Following that, the overwhelming SG slogan resounded: “We share the glory!”

We share the glory.

The originally crestfallen team members raised their heads one after another, tears shimmering in their eyes.

Shi Wen accepted a gift handed over by a fan. It was a Polaroid picture—a group photo taken three years ago when SG fought their way into the global tournament for the first time. Everyone’s smiles seemed as vivid as if they were right before his eyes.

Shi Wen smiled in response. He already had the answer in his heart.

It was meaningful, whether it was for the people who had always supported them, or for themselves.

“Captain, it’s time to go.”

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Demo, the youngest substitute player on the team, poked his head out of the car window, relaying the manager’s urging.

Shi Wen nodded, bid the fans farewell, and got into the van.

Ever since Wuxian Weidu launched in Europe and America, it rapidly swept the globe relying on its pioneering asymmetrical gameplay and unique art style, and now possessed a mature league system. Each match consisted of two factions: one player acting as the Instance Controller, and four players acting as the Clearers, also known as the boss and the humans.

The humans’ task was to evade the boss’s pursuit, decipher the five fragments scattered throughout the instance, and successfully open the escape gate to flee.

The boss’s task was to kill the humans and eliminate them, preventing their escape.

It was a bit like a game of cat and mouse.

One month after the end of the Summer Tournament, SG’s veteran Support’s contract expired during the transfer period, and he chose to retire.

Even though fans and teammates repeatedly urged him to stay, he knew he was getting old and his mechanics could no longer keep up with his mind. He bore the primary responsibility for missing the championship this time, so he ultimately left.

As a permanent fixture of SG, Shi Wen had a lot of say within the team. Ever since the transfer period began, Swen’s streams were basically hounded by fans asking, “Who exactly is SG signing?” But Shi Wen kept his lips sealed; no matter how hard the fans tried, they couldn’t pry a single drop of information out of him.

In reality, it wasn’t that Shi Wen was tight-lipped; it was simply that SG themselves didn’t know who they were going to sign.

Seeing that the fans were about to be driven crazy, Shi Wen streamed according to his usual habit. The moment the camera turned on, a face so handsome it incited the wrath of gods and men was magnified on the screen, and the furious fans instantly quieted down.

[Even though he’s stood us up for so many days, of course we choose to forgive him.]

[Are they making Captain Wen take the heat again this time? What exactly is management doing?]

[So, did SG manage to recruit anyone? We’ve really been strung along until we’re numb.]

Even though SG was collectively mocked for “blowing in the wind every year,” this year was still their most promising year. However, the starting player announcing his retirement introduced variables to everything once again.

Shi Wen truly couldn’t wait any longer. The longer he played, the more severe his hand injury became. The fans really didn’t want to see him retire with regrets; he clearly deserved a championship.

[If it doesn’t work out, just let Demo play. Demo has been practicing with the team for a season, synergy shouldn’t be a problem.]

[Bro, synergy isn’t a problem, but did you look at the team composition? If Demo plays, are you going to ask Kim to give up his position?]

[Wuwuwu, so Captain Wen, who exactly is SG signing? It’s not going to be like three years ago again, right…]

[Pah! Don’t bring up that jinx. Now is not then; no matter how down and out SG is, it’s impossible for them to not scrape together a starting lineup.]

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Shi Wen casually glanced at the bullet screen, preparing to pick a few to respond to. This was also the club’s intention, having him start the stream to pacify the fans.

It was just that as he looked, he uncontrollably thought of a certain someone, and a touch of irritability inevitably tainted the bottom of his heart.

Mu Jiu, Nine.

When SG was first established, they fought side-by-side, fighting their way from domestic all the way to international stages.

Over all these years, even if he didn’t want to admit it, he had never seen such a naturally gifted player; that was the star he had personally discovered.

After leaving behind a dazzling trail of light, amazing everyone, he quietly faded away.

Irresponsible and capricious. He did such a thing, and no one would ever forgive him.

Seeing the public chat’s bullet screen about to veer into an uncontrollable direction, Shi Wen pretended not to see it and changed the subject. “Everyone just pay attention to the official Weibo for specific arrangements. I won’t be playing ranked today; I scheduled a solo practice with HUG’s boss faction player, Ruler.”

[Whenever a certain someone is brought up, Captain Wen changes the subject, doesn’t this count as love?]

[CP brains stop being delusional. Your idol harmed Captain Wen and SG so terribly, how do you still have the nerve to say that?]

[So does Bleach know that Captain Wen would rather schedule solo practice with Ruler than play with him?]

Bleach was SG’s own boss faction player, who recently became obsessed with playing as a human. But his mechanics… were hard to describe. He tortured everyone on the team by making them play humans with him, griefing people while simultaneously complaining that his teammates were trash and couldn’t carry him.

An invitation message from Ruler popped up in the chat box. Shi Wen wiped his mouse and was just about to click in, but his mouse involuntarily paused, his gaze fixing on an ID.

An ID that had been dimmed for a long time, gathering dust at the very bottom of his friends list.

The social system of Wuxian Weidu was designed so that online friends were prioritized at the top, while accounts that hadn’t been online for a long time sank to the very bottom, silently out of the way.

Therefore, after Mu Jiu retired, even though Shi Wen hadn’t deleted him, he hadn’t seen him for a long time.

After three seconds of dead silence, the public chat went completely crazy.

[Wait, are my eyes playing tricks on me? Nine is back?]

[Mom, I must be sick. I’m already dreaming in broad daylight.]

[He either sold the account or it got hacked. He’s been missing for so long, how could he possibly come back?]

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[Impossible, I’ve been looking to buy an account recently and keeping a close eye on things. If Nine’s account was listed, I couldn’t possibly not know.]

[Shocking! It’s him! Bleach is also streaming, and he directly approached him! Now the two of them are duo-queueing!]

Below was attached a screenshot of Bleach’s stream. The content was roughly a chat log between the two in the game:

Bleach: You? Nine: Yes. Bleach: Play together? Nine: Sure.

[Captain Wen, hurry and get on too!]

Most fans were dizzy with shock by Nine’s sudden return, but after a short while, many also reacted and began spamming [Forfeit Dog]. Although there were quite a few rational fans who felt they shouldn’t turn Shi Wen’s stream into a toxic wasteland because of Mu Jiu, Mu Jiu didn’t have a public account. The fans’ anger, having nowhere to be released for years, had already lost all reason. Moreover, most of them were Swen’s fans; scolding Nine was just to vent their frustrations for him.

[That forfeit dog still dares to come back?]

[We’ve already issued a bounty to sanction that forfeit dog, see the main page for details.]

Undeniably, the moment Shi Wen saw his ID, his heart trembled. Although he tried his best to maintain his composure, his taut lip line betrayed the turbulent emotions in his heart.

Back before the top four matches, Mu Jiu had suddenly disappeared. The manager, the coach, and he himself went personally to his hometown to look for him, but they couldn’t even see him. And no matter how many times they asked, his parents only firmly conveyed: “He’s not playing anymore.”

Ultimately, they returned resentfully, and SG announced their forfeit.

When they got off the plane returning to the country back then, there were even overly emotional fans who threw things at them. “We can accept you losing, but we cannot accept surrendering without a fight! Since you care so little about this spot, why didn’t you give it to someone who cares!”

Shi Wen raised his hand to block a notebook thrown by a fan for the manager. The notebook fell apart, its inner pages scattering all over the floor, each one bearing the signatures and photos of the SG members. Among them, the most elaborately framed page belonged to Mu Jiu, which was trampled underfoot by someone who didn’t notice.

At that time, Shi Wen still harbored illusions about Mu Jiu, believing he must have had some unspeakable difficulties, and actually felt a bit glad that Mu Jiu wasn’t there; otherwise, the irrational fans would have definitely torn him apart.

Didn’t care? They cared more than anyone else, cherished this opportunity more than anyone else; it was a chance they obtained by almost burning themselves out.

So he didn’t know either; he didn’t know why Mu Jiu would commit such an irresponsible act.

They were all waiting for Mu Jiu’s explanation. In the end, they only waited for three years. He vanished without a trace, the fans were disappointed, and his teammates gave up.

Reeling in his thoughts, Shi Wen turned his gaze to the public chat. Looking at the screen full of curses, his brow furrowed imperceptibly.

“Room managers, make sure to ban them.”

He couldn’t control others, but he would continue to wait.

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A single sentence stirred up a thousand waves.

Everyone remembered when Nine forfeited three years ago. Shi Wen had thrown a minor fit, hesitating for a long time before finally just unpinning Nine.

At that time, his conflicted and perplexed expression—filled with a mix of love and hate, along with a trace of lingering attachment—had directly shot to the top of the trending searches under the hashtag: “Your eyes, they still love him.”

[No way, bro, you’ve fallen in love again?]

[I’m leaving my words here! If Nine returns to SG, I will instantly drop my fandom and turn into a hater. What gives him the right to come and go as he pleases?]

[The person above is really overthinking it. Let alone whether Nine himself plans to return to being a pro, he hasn’t played for three years. Even if he wants to come back, he can’t.]

[The new waves of the Yangtze River push the old waves, and the old waves die on the beach. With so many new generation players in the IDL, who would sign a player riddled with black marks?]

He was different.

Shi Wen saw the bullet screen and silently replied in his heart.

Mu Jiu’s talent was enough to thoroughly convince everyone. As he thought this, he had already missed Ruler’s invitation time limit. Ruler sent another invitation over, and Shi Wen hesitated for a long while before finally clicking decline.

Clicking into his chat box with Ruler, he typed: Sorry, something suddenly came up today, I can’t play. I’ll treat you to a meal next time.

Ruler: okk~

Then he exited the game interface, and said to his stream room that was completely filled with question marks, “I won’t be streaming today, I’ll make up for it later.”

He didn’t even give the fans time to say a word before directly exiting the stream.

Looking at the large “Stream Ended” text on the interface, the fans were practically angered to the point of laughter. What kind of massive self-deceiving operation was this? Was he so afraid people wouldn’t be able to tell that Swen cared about Nine very specifically and immensely, to the point that seeing his return made him completely disregard his stream?

On the other side, after Shi Wen closed the stream, he slumped into his esports chair, blocking the light before his eyes with one hand, and didn’t move for a long while.

He’s back?

He’s really back?

The thoughts in his mind tangled together like a messy ball of yarn. Remembering what the bullet screen said, Shi Wen sat back up, put his headphones on, and clicked into Bleach’s stream.

Just as he clicked in, he heard that voice, so familiar yet making him feel slightly estranged, exactly the same as back then, clear as jade.

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“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Translator’s Notes

Room managers (房管 – fángguǎn): Moderators of a livestream chat.
Bullet screen (彈幕 – dànmù): Real-time comments that fly horizontally across the screen on Chinese video and streaming platforms.
Public chat (公屏 – gōngpíng): The main chat box of the stream.
CP brains (cp腦): Fans who are obsessed with “shipping” (coupling) two people together, often disregarding reality or context.

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