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Kiss today goodbye
The sweetness and the sorrow
Wish me luck, the same to you
But I can't regret
What I did for love, what I did for love
There was nothing special about Lin Jingyan. This was a lesson he’d learnt bitterly, as he struggled through the alliance, watching countless championships slip by. He’d learnt what it means to be favoured by fortune— he walked among the gods so closely he was blinded by their brilliance; everybody else only got to marvel at their light from afar. He knew he was so lucky, luckier than most, to only work hard and get this far. To work so hard, and actually manage to get this far. That was the luckiest part of all, to boast no genius and still stand here. It was the unluckiest part of all, to run as they walked and when they began to run, only trail behind. It was only a matter of time before he got tired.
The dream had begun to fade almost as soon as he learnt to reach for it.
Everyone would like to believe that they could be a hero, that they could soar above the rest and enjoy the view. Everyone secretly wishes that there was something in their blood that endeared them to the Earth. Lin Jingyan, too, had always dreamt of standing at the top of Glory, fought for those few, invincible moments when he could have touched the stars if he just stretched his fingertips. He’s never once shied away from their light, or gotten lost in their grandeur, or worried that they would have burnt him out some day.
"I think it's about time I finished..."
Lin Jingyan had only prepared these words a day before the announcement, but they settled into him like old friends. He was not sure when retirement had become a quietly approaching reality instead of a terrifying unknown he refused to even conjure in his thoughts. It was his greatest fortune to have struggled up to this point, to be able to choose to leave and not be forced out by a bone-deep exhaustion. He had walked with this dream as long as he could remember. He was resigned and relaxed, when a different man might have bitten on fiercely to any remaining lifeline. To Lin Jingyan, this was already his limit, throwing in his lot with people so much brighter than he's ever been.
It really was about time he finished.
Han Wenqing's face had been stone-cold during the press conference, a fact that Lin Jingyan is grateful for. There is so much he is spared from confronting, when he doesn't have to worry about what his captain's expression is revealing.
(He never had to, actually; this was just another way Han Wenqing had always been stronger than him.)
Unlike what most would assume, he had first made his intentions known to Han Wenqing in private, without the added gazes of the other Tyranny members.
Alone with his captain and old friend in the moonlit quiet of the Tyranny practice room, Lin Jingyan had looked for the words to express his weariness.
How could he say he was tired, to Han Wenqing? Han Wenqing had been fighting through the alliance for even longer than he had, solid and unrelenting, endlessly strong. It felt, suddenly, like it would be an insult to speak of weariness, to this man, of all people. If Han Wenqing was not tired, how could anyone else ask to rest?
But Lin Jingyan clenched his fists by his side, feeling the strain from a long day, from a long nine years. His body had been protesting against him for so long. How could he not rest?
Lin Jingyan watched the other man then, poring over training regimens and game recordings with the same strict determination he had always had. Was he not tired? That thought was almost laughable to most people. Han Wenqing knew no pain or weariness, only victory and attack and his own tyrannical will to keep fighting on. Of course, Lin Jingyan knew that was not necessarily true. He had realised for a while that Han Wenqing felt things as deeply and in as many colours as the average person, maybe more. His steadfast actions could only be a result of such severe feelings and bitter longing. And Lin Jingyan admired him all the more for it.
He knew his decision would not come as a shock to Han Wenqing. Everyone had been predicting this before he had even begun to consider it. Not just for him, but for the other two old generals that fought by his side. He didn’t know whether or not to feel fortunate that he was in a team where choosing to retire now would be out of the norm, even in these circumstances.
“Do you remember how hot the player booths used to be, back in the early days?”
In thinking about his future, he had unwittingly begun by talking about the past. Who better to do it with than Han Wenqing? Back then, the league had still been growing, getting by with its meagre funding. The players of that time would sweat buckets from both their excitement and the heat, practically melting into the peeling faux-leather chairs. All the playoffs matches were done simultaneously in the same stadium. Everything had been smaller then, but their drives had been the same, and through his hazy memories it seemed that the championship trophies had always shone as brightly.
Han Wenqing looked up from his screens at last, the furrow of concentration just beginning to fade from his brows. He did not say anything, but that was just the way he was. It was kind of comedic to think of Han Wenqing as a soft-spoken man, to think of him as anything soft, but Lin Jingyan had to concede; he had never really had a long casual conversation with this old friend of his.
Lin Jingyan said, “I remember Lao Wei used to say that he could barely pluck his butt from the seats after matches.”
This drew a laugh from Han Wenqing, whose shoulders finally released some of their tension. He probably was also thinking about their uncouth friend from the past who had suddenly returned this season. He lifted a water bottle to his lips and drank slowly, his gaze light and far.
Finally, Han Wenqing said, “We were just kids back then.”
They really had been. The Alliance today always looked back at the first few generations as giants, but that was just the benefit of hindsight. They were only children back then, who had just figured out that what they wanted to do with their lives was viable. They had been so little back then, but their spirit had been unmatched. No matter how fiercely they continued to charge on now, that kind of fervour could not be replicated. No matter how hard you longed for it, the time when they felt like heroes was only in the past.
“Didn’t you feel like you could conquer the world?”
Lin Jingyan pulled up a chair and sat down next to Han Wenqing. He sat very close, closer than he would get to the other man on a regular day. At this distance, he could hear Han Wenqing’s low breaths, steady as always. Their shoulders brushed, knees knocking softly against each other as though signalling the need for more engagement. It was exceedingly peaceful.
He considered swallowing the words. Maybe if he never put them to sound and made them real, he’d never have to face them? Only wishful thinking, unfortunately. Besides, Han Wenqing must have already sensed the weight of the conversation to come. His friend was ready, and Lin Jingyan had at least never been a coward. He let the words come out as they wished.
“Captain, no matter when our season ends, I will be retiring after.”
He had given no thanks, no apologies, no justification. Staying was the contrarian choice, actually, and his leaving needed no explanation. Telling him ahead of time was the courtesy owed to a captain and an old friend. More importantly, Han Wenqing had been one of his partners for the past two years, and he was not going to blindside him by leaving without a warning. That was a basic principle of cooperation, and he still hung onto it.
(Every part of him still clung onto the battlefield.)
Han Wenqing’s shoulders tensed against his immediately, but relaxed quickly after.
He had obviously heard what was unsaid— No matter what, Lin Jingyan was tired. He was not giving up out of loss or frustration, because even a championship could not have convinced him to keep pushing himself beyond his limits. Honestly, he had already overexerted himself to get here, and would soon wear himself out completely trying so hard to keep up with the sons and daughters of god that surrounded him.
His captain nodded after a moment, and a hand came to rest atop his. He pushed down his surprise at this. Han Wenqing is not a very affectionate person, but even with physical touch, he gets to the point. As Lin Jingyan’s hands were held within warm and soft ones, the silence was heavy with all the words unspoken.
He knew his captain would not try to convince him to stay. Both of them knew how hard they had worked, and he, of all people, knew that Lin Jingyan did not blame Han Wenqing or Team Tyranny for not having won the championship like their goal and promise had been. For him, being given a dock when he had been drifting was already the biggest kindness in those lonely days. Tyranny had allowed his heart to find a home, but it felt too early to tell them this. He simply dropped his head onto Han Wenqing’s shoulder. There really was so much to appreciate about how solid this man was. A low hum passing through the air was the only response to his advance.
The silence sat with them that night as ever present as a third person in the room. They stayed together, pressed undeniably close. At midnight, they both still went to bed on schedule. The next day, they continued to work hard as always.
He had some idea about what his future would look like. A house of his own, and having to get used to living alone, breaking out of the routines he had gotten used to over nine years. He would sleep in, and sleep late, and even drink at social functions. He would pick up a hobby outside of gaming, visit his relatives. He would… He wasn’t sure what he would do, aside from a bucket list of activities. He had no idea what the constants and the trajectory would be like from now on. All he knew was that he was ready to let go of his current life, but it was another thing altogether to move on to something completely unknown.
He had even more of an idea of what Tyranny’s future looked like than his own. All throughout seasons nine and ten, the team had been transitioning, shifting their centre from their captain to their vice-captain. Although Xinjie had always shouldered the shot-calling along with Han Wenqing, the team’s strategies and pacing had always orbited their captain as their core. They followed him not just in commands and actions, but in breath and heart, like wings on his tiger. To centre Xinjie instead in their tactics, Tyranny had undergone countless changes, from individual playstyles to teamwork alike.
This was something frequently discussed these days. Zhang Xinjie had had to suppress his defensive instincts to suit the aggression that Tyranny favoured over most of its existence. Despite having had to limit himself and change his playstyle, he had led Tyranny to its first championship win in his first year in the Alliance, toppling Excellent Era’s reign for good. He was part of the Golden Generation and had earned himself a spot among Glory’s top tacticians alongside people like Ye Xiu himself. What could he accomplish now that he was no longer holding back?
What would Zhang Xinjie’s Tyranny be like? He wondered if the man himself knew. He longed to know, longed to be a part of the glory. He longed to know what it felt like to know what the future held, even as you let the past slip away. What was it like to stare into the horizon and not be left behind in the fading light of a past day’s sun? He could only watch the youths of Tyranny with a heart-stopping envy that could not turn back time.
Tyranny’s vice-captain was well-known for his strict schedule and even stricter adherence to it. It would not be a shock to anyone to know that this rigid man, who had left Glory by 11pm even in the earth-shaking Lord Grim- Troubling Rain PK, had an even more complicated schedule pasted on his room door. When Lin Jingyan had first transferred into Tyranny, he had wondered how he would get along with this eccentric junior of his.
This adjustment period had come quickly— they spent a lot of time together in-game, fighting for materials for Dark Thunder.
Lin Jingyan would melt into the battles, flitting in and out of essential fights with a Sand Toss here, a Brick there, with his medley of unremarkable alternate accounts. Behind him, Misty Mountains stood high above, forever pristine in his pale robes, watching over the battle with his expressionless face.
It was not the same perfect and dirty camaraderie he shared with Fang Rui, but fighting alongside Zhang Xinjie was an experience to behold. Xinjie was detail-oriented and endlessly reliable, providing Lin Jingyan with a sense of safety he was eager to get used to. After a few days, he could almost have been addicted to it, this freedom to battle bravely and smoothly, knowing that he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder. He was safe . Beyond just the game, who knew how long his heart had been yearning for a shelter like this?
(Drifting, like he had been since that Rookie Challenge, was tiring. Tyranny, and Zhang Xinjie— they had given him a place to rest.)
Lin Jingyan watched Zhang Xinjie packing up after their last day fighting for materials in-game. A clear exhaustion in his expression and a slight slouch in his shoulders reminded him that his vice-captain, too, was human.
When he looked up from his things and made steady eye contact, head tilted invitingly and his fingers resting on the side of the table, Lin Jingyan was reminded that his vice-captain was a pretty human.
He was strong, and still delicate, and so careful with everything around him without giving them added fragility. This was the impression that Lin Jingyan formed of him over the few weeks fighting together in the game, and it remained what he thought of Zhang Xinjie even until he had decided to retire. He believed that until he chose to rest, his dreams and his heart would be safe in the care of his vice-captain.
He knew, even back then, that he was seeing Tyranny’s future with his own eyes. Flawless, exquisite, detail-oriented, this was the man that the stubborn and fierce Han Wenqing had begun to change for. This was the only man careful yet crazy enough to bring together three old generals, believed to be all but retired, and decide to take over the world.
“Good luck.”
That was what Xinjie said to him, the day he finally wheeled his luggage out through Tyranny’s front door. He had been hearing those words a lot after his announcement, the usually meaningless and polite phrase carrying too much meaning from any of the other pro players who spoke them to him, now. It was severe and profuse, an alternate to goodbye and a promise, somehow, at once. It was even heavier from Xinjie, who meant everything he said, and picked out every word on purpose.
These well wishes, given to him so deliberately, weighed down on his recently freed heart.
Fang Rui had been waiting for him when he returned from the press conference. A wave of nostalgia hit him as the familiar silhouette of his old partner came into view. Fang Rui was leaning against the corridor wall, shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets in a way that was too casual, too forced. He had looked this way too when Lin Jingyan had announced his departure from Wind Howl back then. It seemed that the other man was determined to say each and every unwilling goodbye with a smile on his face.
That is a kindness Lin Jingyan can never thank him for.
Fang Rui made eye contact with him as he headed down the corridor, and he was momentarily unsure of whether to speed up or slow down. In the end, he simply stopped where he stood. They simply looked at each other for a moment. There was a world to see in Fang Rui’s eyes, especially to his old partner who knew him best. The joy of victory still remained (an expression Lin Jingyan wished he could have been more familiar with), and still some grief, undoubtedly from the recent news of his retirement.
“So, this is it, huh?”
Fang Rui was the first to break this silence. His voice sounded slightly cut off, the first words tumbling as if they had come out before he had had a chance to consider them. Lin Jingyan held back weak laughter— all that silence and this was what you came up with? What had you been doing all that thinking for? — and nodded slowly.
“Congratulations, Fang Rui,” he said in lieu of an answer. He meant this sincerely. How could he not? Fang Rui had grown under his watch and then by his side for the longest time; his success could only bring Lin Jingyan joy. After all that he had given to this game, finally being able to almost grasp the championship was undoubtedly a wonderful achievement. The only thing that left a bitter taste in his mouth was that after working together for so many years, they both only reached Glory’s grandest stage when they were on different teams. At least by retiring now, the number of years they were partners would always outlast the number of years they were enemies.
He was pulled into an embrace before he knew it, something his congratulations must have triggered. There was a harsh beat tangled between them; he was not sure whose it was. Maybe it was just his pulse rushing through his veins. Maybe it was two hearts pounding side by side. Fang Rui squeezed him tightly, burrowing his face into the crook of his shoulder. Familiar, always familiar. He wondered, then, how long he could continue to enjoy this incomparable privilege of knowing Fang Rui best. As if in mourning, or perhaps in gratitude, he pressed a kiss onto Fang Rui’s head. It was received with a sniffle and a laugh together, this endearing sound he hadn’t heard in a while.
All this happened in a matter of minutes, probably negligible in the midst of the celebration undoubtedly happening in Happy’s prep room. Lin Jingyan was almost sorry for bringing gloom to such an atmosphere, to introduce an end while younger and brighter people were still fighting on. Maybe if his news had not dampened their spirit, he could have soaked in the joy that was overflowing from there, and shared in one last taste of triumph. This kind of thought of course was just that: a passing thought. There is no grief in his decision today, and finality did not always symbolise breaking. Standing there then in the space between Tyranny’s discussions about their future and Happy’s determined charging towards the finals, all Lin Jingyan chose to feel was accomplishment.
Peace was his only option anyway, nestled in the arms of the man who knew him best. He may not have started or ended his journey by Fang Rui’s side, but it was still there that he reminded himself his career was worthy of pride anyway.
After they finally released each other, he stood to the side as Happy’s representatives passed by him. Fang Rui was the last to head out.
No matter how far his friends walked, from now on, their future will not include him. That was the hardest part to come to terms with. Walking forward is hard. It is so hard, and always was, especially for him.
But walking forward, to pro players, will always be easier than simply standing still.
Because standing still, all you can see is everyone moving away from you.
And they will only move further.
Still, Lin Jingyan refused to mourn. Their future might not know him, but their history cannot forget him. No matter how ordinary he was, how futile his efforts towards the stars had been, they cannot forget that he had once stood amongst the gods, and shone as bright. Even the light of old centuries still hit the Earth, and all he would have to do from now was watch the rest of them fight on from here.
As he watched his old partner’s silhouette blur into the light, he realised it wasn’t so hard to bear.