Question marks flooded the screen like falling snowflakes, even obscuring Pei Yanqiu’s devastatingly handsome face.
Pei Yanqiu tapped the mouse lightly with his slender, well-defined fingers and took a deep breath.
Watching the barrage of comments scrolling wildly across the screen, he knew these were genuine concerns from his fans.
A flicker of gloom, almost imperceptible, passed through his eyes, but when he spoke, his tone remained as languid and unruffled as ever:
“Stop spamming question marks. It looks a bit silly.”
“Please give your support to the newcomers. Let’s see how we perform when the tournament starts.”
As soon as he said this, the previously lighthearted livestream seemed to freeze.
After a brief, dead silence, the comments exploded at a speed almost impossible to follow!
【？？？？？？What did I just hear? Who the hell is Nanbei?】
【There are so many promising talents in the youth training program you could mention, and you could also consider other established players. Xiao Yueyue, aren’t you always the one who cares most about the players? Blink if you’re being held hostage!】
【No way! Absolutely not! You’re not planning to get eliminated in the first round of the Cup, are you?】
【Yueyue, why not bring back the retired big brother? Big brother will always be big brother—even an old Ferrari is still a Ferrari】
…
The fans were practically going crazy. No one could accept this news.
They were all here for results!
Forget championships—at the very least, they couldn’t just get crushed and sent packing, right?
Shen Xingyao bit down on her yogurt straw, flattening it completely.
Watching the screen filled with furious fans, she felt a mix of emotions.
For the first time, she truly understood the pure, intense passion of esports fans.
The fans didn’t know the truth, but Shen Xingyao knew it all too well.
Pei Yanqiu had no choice.
The massive debt had nearly crushed him, and for the sake of past loyalty, he hadn’t even made the situation public.
No one knew that the Dawn Team was on the verge of bankruptcy.
Although there was immediate capital support, the terms were harsh, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the person behind it.
He had fought for a month, even nearly lost his only family, and under the pressure of capital, he had no choice but to compromise.
Being able to sit in front of the computer and livestream now was the last bit of breathing room he had bought with his scars.
“Everyone, don’t get too worked up,” Pei Yanqiu said, forcing a relaxed smile as he looked at the comments, his beautiful peach-blossom eyes filled with gentle reassurance. “Newcomers are like blank slates—they’re the easiest to train.”
“I’ve trained quite a few people this year. Didn’t Yongheng turn out well? Trust me~”
The fans, unaware of what was happening, had no choice but to listen to him, and gradually, the livestream regained its lively atmosphere.
However, the newly appointed general manager, Wang Qiang, couldn’t wait another moment. He immediately announced the roster for the Cup.
The fans were in an uproar. When they checked, they even saw an announcement about personnel changes in the Dawn Team.
The former team owner, Pei Yanqiu, was now just a team leader.
And an unfamiliar name had become the general manager?
In other words, Pei Yanqiu had lost control of the Dawn Team?!?
What was going on?
Everyone knew that the Dawn Team was founded by the legendary Shuoyue in partnership with friends.
Since when was there a general manager?!?
Capital truly had sinister intentions!
Filled with heartache, fans flooded the Dawn Team’s Weibo page, but Wang Qiang was clearly prepared.
The club issued a statement, explaining that the Dawn Team was poorly managed and that the investor had taken full control, appointing Wang Qiang as the general manager.
Instantly, a flood of paid commenters swarmed the post, frantically controlling the narrative and cleaning up the mess, barely managing to withstand the fans’ first wave of anger.
All these twists and turns were invisible to Pei Yanqiu on the other side of the screen—or perhaps he pretended not to know.
Shen Xingyao sat in her rented apartment, watching the impossibly handsome man on the screen play games all night.
Even while her heart was bleeding, she spent a great deal of time comforting the fans who were on the verge of crying themselves unconscious.
Seeing him force a smile despite being utterly exhausted, Shen Xingyao felt as if a water-soaked sponge were stuck in her chest—heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, at midnight, the livestream ended amid waves of reluctance and heartache.
Less than two minutes later, Shen Xingyao’s phone on the table vibrated.
[Pei Yanqiu: Still awake?]
Shen Xingyao didn’t reply with text. Instead, she immediately dialed a video call.
The screen flickered, and the call connected.
Pei Yanqiu seemed to have just taken off his headphones, his hair slightly messy from being pressed down.
He sat on the sofa in the lounge, his collar slightly open. The face that had forced a smile for four hours in front of the camera had finally shed its disguise.
Shen Xingyao immediately noticed his reddened eyes.
“You…” Shen Xingyao opened her mouth, but her usually eloquent tongue suddenly felt tied in knots. “Did you… cry in secret?”
Pei Yanqiu was taken aback for a moment, then rubbed his eyes and forced a light laugh. “Don’t talk nonsense. I’ve been staring at the screen all night—my eyes are just sore.”
His stubbornness reminded her of a large, injured dog licking its wounds in a corner.
Shen Xingyao didn’t expose him. Instead, she softened her voice by eight degrees, as if coaxing a child. “Alright, alright, you didn’t cry.”
“You looked really handsome today. I knew at first glance that this outfit suited you!”
Hehe, the impact wasn’t as strong watching on screen as it would have been in person, so this time, she managed not to get a nosebleed.
Hearing her unreserved praise, Pei Yanqiu couldn’t help but chuckle softly. The suffocating gloom in his chest miraculously dissipated by more than half.
“If it looks good, I’ll wear it more often,” Pei Yanqiu said, his gaze softening as he looked at the girl on the screen, who wore no makeup yet remained radiantly beautiful. “Alright, it’s past midnight. You should get some sleep.”
“Aren’t you catching a flight tomorrow to film that survival variety show? Have you packed your luggage?”
“All packed. I secretly used your suitcase!” Shen Xingyao pouted.
She had planned everything meticulously but forgot to buy herself a luxury suitcase. Coincidentally, Pei Yanqiu had an expensive suitcase that wasn’t fully packed, which she mercilessly commandeered.
The two chatted a bit more, exchanging meaningless small talk, before reluctantly ending the call.
However, neither of them noticed the pair of jealous eyes glaring intently from outside the half-open door of the lounge.
Wu Lele had originally brought a cup of hot milk, hoping to play the role of a comforting presence while Pei Yanqiu was feeling down after ending his livestream, seizing the opportunity to show her affection.
Who would have thought that just as she reached the door, she heard Pei Yanqiu speaking in a tone she had never heard before—so gentle it could drip with tenderness—while on a video call with someone!