The next day, before heading out for work, curiosity got the better of Xu Hexuan. He secretly glanced at Sui Ning’s screen.
[Strongest Yuna in the National Server]
1. Fenglan – 17,900
2. Are You Even Polite Up There – 16,100
3. Can’t Anyone Just Live Wuwuwu – 15,740
4. Give Some Face – 15,500
5. Grandpa’s Been Left Speechless – 15,080
Xu Hexuan: …
What a disaster.
In the livestream, the spectators who had just witnessed the top five of the national server collectively change their names also said they couldn’t take it anymore.
[I’m done. What kind of cursed scene is this?]
[Confirmed, Feng-bao hit #1 again in just four days. Can someone calculate the psychological trauma this gave those national server veterans?]
[It was my buddy’s birthday a few days ago, so I found some national server players to rename their accounts to wish him happy birthday… but compared to Feng-bao, what I did really has no presence at all.]
[Upstairs, you’ve got money power, Feng-bao’s got superpowers. Not the same thing, okay? ^^]
But unlike what the chat thought, Sui Ning wasn’t deliberately trying to push a hero’s rank sky-high. At this stage, climbing the pro ladder rankings meant little to him. What he cared more about was his own understanding of the hero—in other words, the mindset of a straight-A student: the score (aka full marks) doesn’t matter; what matters is what you’ve actually learned.
“Pretty much good enough now.” Exiting the match result screen, Sui Ning let out a long breath. “Now I can say I know how to play Yuna.”
[New definition of ‘know how to play’.]
[This is just ‘knowing how to play’? This is just ‘knowing how to play’??]
[I’m tired of saying the word ‘insane’ already.]
[Hello, is this the livestream of the Little Shark?]
Sui Ning, innocent: “Just being honest. Before, almost every match I had small mechanical mistakes. Now I’ve basically fixed them all.”
[That’s way too strict. This is like those parents who kick their kid out of the house for scoring 99/100.]
[Uh, may I dare to ask… is Feng-bao planning to go pro?]
[If you’re not going pro, why study the game this deeply…?]
[I might just be a Diamond Walnut, but there’s a sparkle in my walnut eyes—I vote he’s going pro.]
Seeing these questions, Sui Ning only gave a mysterious smile without answering directly: “Don’t know.”
According to his agreement, he couldn’t reveal signing information before negotiations were done or an official registration was made. The specific news would only be released on transfer day, when the little “walnuts” would find out.
As he smiled, his diamond walnut avatar on screen swayed, its crystal-like body refracting rainbow light—looking like it had just escaped from some Mary Sue novel.
[…No matter how many times I see it, that rainbow diamond walnut is still ridiculously cursed.]
——
While Sui Ning was grinding overtime to expand his champion pool, the spring season’s second half was flying by.
For efficiency, the HPL regular season used a single round-robin BO3 system. Points were awarded based on wins and losses, and in tied BO3 scores, net wins (e.g. 2:1 = 1 net win) were compared. The top ten in the standings would advance to the playoffs.
This meant that each team only faced each other once per season, making every single game and every point critical.
The playoff results would influence two major upcoming matters: first, the winning team would be crowned the S6 Spring Champion, earning the right to represent the HPL China region at the international Mid-Season Invitational; second, the top six teams by final ranking would earn corresponding circuit points, crucial for securing the summer season’s #2 seed.
The World Championship—the dream of every player—would be held in summer. Cicadas singing at dawn, glory’s battlefields shining in the brightest season, and life’s eight flavors all condensed into these few months, displayed vividly through match after match.
As a major region, HPL had six Worlds seed slots.
The first seed went, without question, to the summer champion.
The second seed went to the team with the highest total points across the year. To compete for that slot, laying a strong foundation in spring and racking up as many points as possible was essential.
Unfortunately, PNG’s performance this spring had been poor. With a final rank of 14th, they failed to make playoffs.
Ji Yunyu took it fairly lightly. When he spoke with Sui Ning over voice chat, his tone wasn’t heavy: “It’s fine. I’d already expected this result. We’ve got a lot of shortcomings.”
Sui Ning held his phone between cheek and shoulder while still gaming: “Mm, you’re right.”
“…Normally, at this point, people would comfort me, right? Like, ‘It’s not your fault,’ or ‘You did your best,’ or ‘Actually, you guys played really well.’”
“You want to hear that kind of comfort?”
“…No.”
“Then that’s settled.” Sui Ning pressed his lips together in a faint smile.
Ji Yunyu fell silent for a while, then softly asked: “So… when are you coming?”
“What for?”
“Train—training, of course. To prepare early for summer season.”
Sui Ning almost couldn’t hold back his laughter again: “I’m pretty sure I’ve told you many times already, I’ll be coming over in mid-May. Don’t miss me too much.”
“…Tch.” Ji Yunyu curled his lips, scooped up the desk calendar, and silently calculated the days in his head. He didn’t deny the part about missing him, though.
That actually surprised Sui Ning a little.
Maybe he had teased him too often—beginner-level verbal jabs seemed to be losing their effect on Xiao Yunduo now…? The black-haired young man lowered his eyes in thought, while the little devil in his heart couldn’t help sneaking out, clamoring to make the boy blush and stomp his feet.
…When did he start enjoying this kind of mischief? Sui Ning was a bit puzzled.
——
The final results of the playoffs weren’t surprising.
Navic, at the peak of their dominance (60), fought HTG (40) to a grueling five-game series at the Shanghai Gymnasium, ultimately claiming the championship and earning the right to represent the China region at MSI. Meanwhile, Tayloo (30) and Gen (20) battled it out that same afternoon for third and fourth place.
Furia (10) and Star.L (10), who had also reached playoffs, took fifth and sixth, securing the last available extra points.
In Jinling, the TV in their rental apartment was casting the match stream.
The spring finals had just concluded, and it was about to move on to the FMVP award ceremony.
“Damn, that was intense.” Xu Hexuan gulped down several mouthfuls of soda. “Good thing I’m not a hardcore fan of either team. Otherwise, I’d have been watching those five games with my heart doing sit-ups, popping heart meds by the box just to survive.”
Leaning back on the sofa with his arms crossed, Sui Ning looked relaxed: “These two teams are very evenly matched. The last two games came down to pure willpower. HTG’s mentality slipped—once they got reverse-swept, you could see the fear all over them.”
“That’s only natural, right? Every match after that feels like life or death—” Xu Hexuan tried to imagine himself in that situation and shuddered. “Ugh, just thinking about it is scary.”
After a pause, he asked, “So who do you think the FMVP will be?”
“Meng Xiyue,” Sui Ning answered without hesitation.
The younger man immediately lit up. “Hehe, me too. God C was absolutely stunning these last few games.”
The black-haired youth gave him a helpless sidelong glance: “I get the feeling your reason for picking him is totally different from mine… forget it.”
Just then, the broadcast camera cut to the arena. Not a single one of the 100,000-plus spectators had left; the vast sea of people was packed tight, glowing signs and cheers filling the space with crushing force.
The host walked up beside Meng Xiyue and raised his hand high: “Summoners from around the world, let’s witness this moment together! The FMVP of HPL’s Season 6 Spring Split is—!”
“CPYHC——!!!”
“CPYHC——!!!”
“CPYHC——!!!”
The roar of the crowd surged like a tidal wave, thunderous. Even HTG fans couldn’t help but open their throats and shout that name with the host.
Meng Xiyue smiled, waving to the crowd as his team jacket slipped slightly off his shoulders.
Xu Hexuan’s face flushed red in his living room. “My Crispy Duck!!”
Overexcited, he crushed the soda can in his hand flat, sticky carbonation spilling all over his palm.
“…Shit!”
Sui Ning sighed and quickly handed him some tissues. “No need to get that worked up. You don’t even watch Navic games that much.”
“I’m the hype-man, you don’t get it!” Xu Hexuan scrubbed frantically at the mess, still talking nonstop. “This is what it’s all about—100,000 fans screaming your name in the stadium, 8D echoes bouncing from every direction, everyone’s eyes glowing, shining with tears! You’re the savior, the new king of a new era—”
“…Stop. The more you talk, the edgier it sounds.”
Sui Ning, embarrassed, covered his mouth.
In truth, he knew that scene far too well.
Just as Xu Hexuan described—like a war god returning in triumph, like a new king ascending the throne, with devout followers worshipping a god capable of splitting the heavens.
But…
“Wasn’t Meng Xiyue wearing a wrist brace earlier?” Sui Ning frowned slightly. “Looked like there was a layer of white gauze underneath. Did I see that wrong?”
Stunned, Xu Hexuan shook his head. “Didn’t notice. What’s so weird about a wrist brace?”
Pressing his lips together, Sui Ning hesitated.
He believed that as one of the top mid-laners in the country, Meng Xiyue should share his own philosophy: in a finals-level match, the most valuable weapon a player has is their hands. If you don’t usually wear a brace, putting one on now could make you uncomfortable, even cause mistakes.
What’s more, when Meng Xiyue waved earlier, it seemed there was something else under the brace.
In his past life, he’d seen players wrap gauze around their wrists under a brace before—usually to protect an injection site in an emergency.
A sealed IV port.
But that flash of white had been too quick. Even Sui Ning couldn’t be sure if it had really been gauze… or just the inside pattern of the brace.
“…Maybe I saw wrong,” he said softly.
Xu Hexuan, confused, handed him another can of Happy Water.
——
The end of the Spring Split did nothing to cool the fans’ enthusiasm. At MSI, Navic’s performance—cutting through obstacles and advancing all the way to the finals as expected—only ignited even higher hopes among their domestic supporters.
Tomorrow, in the MSI Grand Finals, China’s champion Natus Vincere will face North America’s champion Napleb at Madison Square Garden.
On the domestic War of Glory forums, the same kinds of posts kept popping up every day:
[Rational analysis: how many days until N-bao takes the championship?]
[The prophet has spoken: 3:1, Navic will surely take MSI!]
[The New York Knicks lost their game, so Madison Square Garden gives North America a debuff. Napleb is doomed!]
[Confession board: about N’s unstable mid-lane substitute.]
Sui Ning raised a brow and clicked into the fourth thread.
Original Poster: As the title says. He’s a rookie, but isn’t he just trash? Back in Spring Split it was the same—misplays all over the place. And N had hyped him up so much before.
Comments: Just name him directly: Nv_fiw. Better yet, rename to “five,” iron-five.
Comments: Wasn’t this guy once a solo-queue king? Got #1 in the server when he was 14 or 15? And this is it?
Comments: Honestly, not as good as Fenglan.
Comments: Stop dragging streamers into this. This is about pro play, not streamers. Disrespecting N now?
Comments: Don’t drag Feng-bao into it either, stop stirring shit. Anyway, the kid usually plays fine. No idea why he chokes in big tournaments.
Comments: @Nv_coaching_staff, care to explain?
Comments: Mechanics are there, but you can see the self-doubt in his plays. Looks like a mental problem. Poor God C—clearly there’s a sub, yet in big matches he still has to play every game himself.
Comments: Otherwise he wouldn’t have 70% of N’s endorsements, would he? Ha, team tyrant really feels no shame?
Comments: What kind of dumbass dares slander God C here? Wasn’t FMVP enough to shut you up? If he wins MSI, no one’s allowed to flame him till next year, got it?
After that, the thread devolved into the usual fan vs. hater brawl. Sui Ning stopped reading. As for this “Fiw,” he already knew a little: supposedly signed with N’s youth program at 16, but was always directly trained under the first-team coaches, practically the handpicked crown prince of N.
He just hadn’t expected his Spring Championship and MSI performances to be this underwhelming.
The black-haired youth shook his head, interest waning. Nurturing rookies was always something of a gamble—who could say if the problem was Navic’s coaching staff or Fiw himself?
He sent Ji Yunyu a message.
[Go With the Flow and Be at Peace]: Want to watch the finals together tomorrow?
It took quite a while before the reply came.
[Xiao Yunduo]: I guess…? But Yuehuo’s been in a really gloomy mood these past few days.
[Xiao Yunduo]: Looks like g might be transferring.
Ji Yunyu only used a single letter, but both of them knew exactly who it referred to.
This time, Sui Ning was genuinely surprised.
[Go With the Flow and Be at Peace]: Why? Because of me?
[Xiao Yunduo]: Don’t know, talks are still ongoing… Heard it was his own decision, and another team happened to reach out?
[Go With the Flow and Be at Peace]: …We’ll see how the coaches handle it. cat-pat-head.jpg
[Xiao Yunduo]: …Mm. cat-sigh.jpg
——
At PNG’s base.
Lin Zhaoxu dragged Cheng Su into the dorm room, locked the door, then pulled him into the bathroom and locked that too.
Cheng Su: …
Cheng Su: “…What are you doing.”
“There’s something I want to show you.” Lin Zhaoxu hesitated, swallowed hard. “But don’t be scared.”
Cheng Su gave him a once-over: “Stop shaking. I won’t be scared.”
“I-I’m not shaking…”
Lin Zhaoxu, trembling, pulled out his phone and opened the newest audio recording.
----------
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