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The concept of Weibo virginity, Fang Rui reflected, was a hilarious one. He felt like he should cry after seeing all the replies his stupid Weibo post had garnered, but Dai Yanqi’s inane joke helped him see the humor in the situation.
If anyone had a right to laugh at his circumstances—and all the chaos said circumstances had generated—it was him.
Comedic potential notwithstanding, though, Fang Rui’s circumstances were…not grim, exactly, but not great, either.
No matter how he looked at it, no matter how generous Wind Howl’s management was in helping him find a new team, there weren’t that many places he could easily fit in. The low-risk options were hesitant about him; the higher-risk options were, well, a higher risk. Giving up his place in Wind Howl was less a risk and more an inevitability, so if he could avoid gambling on his future from here on out, Fang Rui would naturally avoid it.
Which was why he felt like a bit of an idiot when he told Ye Xiu he was going to Team Happy to take a look.
Still, it was Ye Xiu’s team, so maybe, just maybe, it would be worthwhile.
* * *
His first thirty or so minutes at Happy Internet Café, Fang Rui felt like an explorer in foreign land, observing the customs of a strange people. Beautiful women or no beautiful women, Bao Rongxing or no Bao Rongxing, Team Happy was an odd bunch.
Of his observations, skill was the least of them. Of course Fang Rui would notice his potential teammates’ skill levels: that was more or less the point of him being here. Their personality traits, too, were well within the scope of his perception. It didn’t take a sage to sort out initial impressions and context clues and synthesize them. It helped that, though their interactions weren’t outrageously unguarded, Happy’s rookies were relatively straightforward in their treatment of him.
What really caught Fang Rui’s attention was the team’s atmosphere. Because at the center, connecting all these disparate parts into a semi-cohesive whole, was Ye Xiu. And that made for a…unique atmosphere indeed.
It also made for a worrisome possibility: What would Team Happy look like without Ye Xiu? Could it survive without Ye Xiu to begin with?
Boss Chen’s assurances were a little generic. Tang Rou’s identity was downright alarming. But Ye Xiu’s challenge…
Fang Rui knew he lacked many things. He flattered himself to think that resolve wasn’t one of them. But here were all these young people (and Wei Chen) who could be doing anything else with their lives. But here was Ye Xiu, a god of Glory whose feats were yet unmatched. If all they wanted was to win a championship by any means necessary, they could have made far more advantageous choices.
Rookie or veteran, to question these people’s resolve after coming to this realization—Fang Rui was shameless, but he wasn’t shameless enough to heap doubts in front of a pile of evidence that proved his doubts were better left for another day, and another Happy. Preferably, a Happy with a championship to their name.
Fang Rui had run out of reasons to refuse.
“I’ll join Happy!”
* * *
Later, when everyone had retreated to the training room for some end-of-the-day training, Fang Rui and Ye Xiu lingered in the hallway.
“I hope you won’t change your mind as soon as you go back to Wind Howl,” Ye Xiu told him.
Fang Rui scoffed. “You think so little of me!”
Ye Xiu smiled. “I think very highly of you, but I also think I’m not the only person in the world with incredible powers of persuasion.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Fang Rui said with a shake of his head. “There aren’t that many people who will be as dedicated to talking me out of this as you were in talking me into it.”
“Good to hear.” Ye Xiu raised his eyebrows. “For my part, anyway.”
“Are you suggesting that anything that keeps a magnificent player like me on your side could not be good?”
Ye Xiu patted his shoulder, smiling again. “Not at all, O great Fang Rui. Not at all.”
In a moment of sincerity, Fang Rui smiled back. “Thanks for approaching me.”
“Heh. No problem. It’s not like we were desperate for a Qi Master or anything.”
“No, really. Thank you.” Because the meaning of Ye Xiu’s offer went beyond practicality or even necessity. Happy needed a Qi Master. Happy needed a great player. Happy didn’t need Fang Rui specifically, yet they chose to share the risk of his class change. And despite all the contention over his salary, Fang Rui understood they’d been ready to treat him far more generously than his teammates from the outset.
Though he still seemed amused, Ye Xiu regarded Fang Rui with equal sincerity. “You’re welcome.”
Okay, this was getting mushy. “You’re not going to change your mind as soon as I leave, right?” Fang Rui joked.
“How could I? You’ve already enthralled the little ones with your immense potential as a training dummy.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
* * *
“Look at that,” Ye Xiu said a few days after Fang Rui’s exclusive interview was published in Esports Home. “Since you transferred in, everyone is suddenly willing to acknowledge our Happy’s potential.”
Fang Rui leaned into Ye Xiu’s space so he could view his monitor. Displayed on the screen were the top-trending threads on Glory’s biggest discussion forum. His name, Boundless Sea, and Happy were all mentioned multiple times. When he checked the page count of some of these threads, his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.
“Damn, people have a lot to say about me joining Happy!”
“Yep.”
A little embarrassed, Fang Rui scratched at his temple. “Well, this is good publicity, right?”
“Of course.”
“And there aren’t any downsides to being taken seriously by the media at this point.” Fang Rui frowned. “Being taken seriously by the other teams, though…that could be a problem.”
Ye Xiu huffed. “Think about who’s on this team. They’d have to take us seriously sooner or later. For now, at least, we can rely on the inscrutability of the unspecialized to keep them in suspense.”
“That’s fair.” Fang Rui tilted his head down at Ye Xiu. “Besides that, it’s like you asked me: why is it that no one believes Happy can win? Because our disadvantages seem nearly insurmountable at first glance, that’s why! Maybe with me and Boundless Sea here, they’re a little more willing to believe we can win because we don’t look quite so shoddy next to the powerhouses.”
As if sensing Fang Rui’s eyes on him, Ye Xiu turned his chair to the side so that he could comfortably look up at Fang Rui. “Somehow, I doubt that. Watch what will happen as soon as I talk about winning the championship in public.”
Fang Rui laughed. “Not that many teams would be ballsy enough to just come out and say that. Of course the media will be thrown for a loop.”
Ye Xiu glanced at the screen again. “Well, I don’t know why anyone would expect me to be humble.”
“Yeah,” Fang Rui conceded after a moment’s thought, “you’re the furthest thing from humble, so it’s their fault if they expect it. Ignoring that the media barely knows you, naturally.”
Ye Xiu sniffed, unconcerned. Fang Rui grinned down at him, another joke on the tip of his tongue, but Ye Xiu stood up before he could speak it.
“Sorry,” Fang Rui said automatically. This sudden crowding was Ye Xiu’s doing, but somehow, he became the one to apologize, as well as the first to take a step back.
Ye Xiu, for his part, made no move to distance himself and offered no excuses for his weird behavior. “Still not changing your mind?”
“No,” Fang Rui replied, surprised. “What, do you think I can’t accept criticism and speculation and whatnot? I’m not a rookie.”
With a thoughtful cast to his usually indifferent gaze, Ye Xiu looked him up and down.
“You can rely on me a little bit,” Fang Rui reminded him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ye Xiu needed reminding, but he supposed even someone like him still counted as human in the end. “Class change or no.”
“Yeah,” Ye Xiu said finally, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m glad you’re here.”
They were about to enter mushy territory again, weren’t they? Although Fang Rui’s first instinct was to veer off this perilous course, he found himself hesitating. Here and now, mushiness didn’t appear to be as undesirable as usual. After all, weren’t he and Ye Xiu officially teammates? Two comrades united by common cause (and contracts)?
Also, hadn’t they been exchanging a lot of profound glances lately? That couldn’t be Fang Rui’s imagination, could it?
Curious, Fang Rui stepped forward, reclaiming the space Ye Xiu had edged him out of. And to his (secret delight) utter lack of surprise, Ye Xiu didn’t back down.
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” he said warmly.
Ye Xiu met his eyes. “Are you making moves on me?”
“Just the one.”
With a quiet laugh, Ye Xiu cupped Fang Rui’s cheek and delicately swiped his thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re lucky everyone else left already.”
“Or what? You’d punish me for my impertinence?” Fang Rui blurted. He berated himself a moment later, but the words were already out and, well, he had a good poker face.
Ye Xiu shook his head and dropped his hand. But he was smiling, so he couldn’t be too scandalized.
“I don’t want to make things awkward,” Fang Rui clarified. Awkwardness was the last thing Ye Xiu and Happy needed right now.
“I know. Don’t worry about it. We can both handle ourselves, right?”
Fang Rui studied him. He seemed to be in earnest, so Fang Rui nodded. “Right.”
Ye Xiu nodded back. He looked like he was about to say something more, but Fang Rui decided it may as well be his turn to interrupt, so he grabbed Ye Xiu’s hand and brought it to his lips.
Speechless, Ye Xiu blinked at him.
“I’m heading out! Don’t take too long or we’ll all eat without you,” Fang Rui said, only half-joking, and released Ye Xiu’s hand.
Ye Xiu blinked again. Nodded again. His gaze flicked down toward his hand.
Fang Rui was still grinning when he left the training room. The season hadn’t begun yet, but there was no doubt now that Happy was worth his while—and for more reasons than one. Changing his mind was so unlikely that it wasn’t even a possibility anymore.
Ye Xiu should follow his own advice: there was nothing to worry about.