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Experiencing All-Stars from the audience’s point of view was interesting to an extent, but Ye Xiu, who had never found All-Stars interesting even from a professional perspective, wasn’t impressed with anything but the new tech on display.
For the millionth time since arriving in Shanghai, he thought about how great it would have been if Chen Guo had decided to just leave him behind.
Still, he supposed there were worse things. And Chen Guo and Tang Rou seemed to be having fun, thanks to Su Mucheng’s craftiness.
Ye Xiu relaxed in his seat with patience forged from ten years of dungeoning and strategizing, and wished desperately to be back in his hotel room playing Glory.
The ladies eventually came down from the stage, spirits high. He smiled at them, glad to be left out of the game for once. It would be nothing short of disaster if he was called up there—not that it would ever happen.
* * *
In the chaos that followed, Ye Xiu was too preoccupied lamenting Tang Rou’s unfortunate inability to turn down a challenge to notice a certain set of eyes on him.
“What’s wrong? You don’t dare fight me?” Du Ming shouted across the stage.
Immediately Tang Rou spun on her heel, fully prepared to sit her butt back down in that booth and fight another round.
Ye Xiu nearly cursed. Why did Du Ming have such a big mouth? Were the booths really close enough for players to talk shit? What was with this shitty stage layout?
Inserting himself in front of Tang Rou, Ye Xiu blocked her entry and instead reentered himself. There was no aspect of these booths that were unfamiliar to him, and so he flicked a switch and said, for the whole stadium to hear, “How about I give it a try?”
And that was the instant his fate was sealed.
In retrospect, the outcome of his interference was obvious. Ye Xiu hadn’t pulled off a Dragon Raises Its Head in years. Naturally, he wouldn’t be able to get away with it.
He did expect to get off the stage, at the very least.
“Don’t move. I’m challenging you.”
The new voice booming throughout the stadium was considerably more familiar than Du Ming’s, and Ye Xiu found himself freezing halfway out of his seat.
Shit, he thought. Then: Fuck. Because the situation was just that bad.
This wasn’t the time to think too much. Ye Xiu all but lunged out of the chair and at the door.
In the corner of his eye, he saw the monitor flash. A box hovered above the Glory Arena interface, notifying him of a new challenge.
He was using Desert Dust.
What the fuck.
“What are you waiting for? Accept my challenge.”
Gritting his teeth, Ye Xiu slowly sat back down, placed his left hand precisely on the keyboard, and used his right to accept the challenge.
His battle with Han Wenqing began.
Ye Xiu didn’t sandbag, but he didn’t try his hardest, either. It was difficult to do anything clever with this throwaway account’s wonky point distribution. Because of it, however, he caught Han Wenqing off guard several times, chaining skills he wouldn’t normally have chained and prioritizing low-level skills with short cooldowns.
It wasn’t their best fight; far from it. Ye Xiu played because Han Wenqing demanded it, not for victory. While he didn’t make dumb mistakes, he also didn’t take advantage of every opportunity.
The battle was over quickly.
Han Wenqing did his best to draw it out, of course. He purposely slowed down here or there, left an opening where Ye Xiu wouldn’t normally expect one, but Ye Xiu, for the most part, refused to engage. The longer this went on, the more furious he felt. In the end, he gave Han Wenqing no option but to land the finishing blow.
Defeat granted him neither relief nor satisfaction. Ye Xiu stared at the screen for a few moments, then got up and calmly, resolutely walked to the door.
“No second round, Ye Qiu?”
He refused to look back.
* * *
Ye Xiu had stopped seething by the time a call came from the lobby asking if an Old Han could come up.
“You’re pissed,” Han Wenqing said as soon as Ye Xiu opened the door.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Ye Xiu replied pleasantly. “How did you know I was here?”
“Su Mucheng.” Han Wenqing raised an eyebrow. “Can I come in?”
“Well, you’ve come all this way.” Ye Xiu opened the door wider and stepped aside in invitation.
Han Wenqing walked in with a wary expression. He eyed the room in that evaluating way of his, then turned around to face Ye Xiu properly. “Why did you come here?”
“Why do you think? For All-Stars.”
“You hate All-Stars.”
“I hate participating,” he corrected.
Han Wenqing looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “And now you’ve suddenly decided you like watching?”
“Maybe.”
“Never would have figured you for a spectator,” he said mildly.
Ye Xiu’s tone held a warning. “Apparently not, considering you dragged me into the spotlight.”
“Are you complaining?”
Ye Xiu wondered if Han Wenqing was being deliberately obtuse or if he really hadn’t picked up on just how much Ye Xiu had wanted to strangle him back there, in front of potentially millions of people.
“I’m certainly not thanking you,” Ye Xiu said coldly, hanging onto his composure by sheer force of habit.
“I thought you might enjoy the opportunity.” Han Wenqing crossed his arms over his chest.
“The opportunity for what? Were you trying to humiliate me?” Ye Xiu took a step closer. He still stood in front of the door as if waiting to throw Han Wenqing out—or keep him from escaping his very justifiable wrath. “Prank me?”
Han Wenqing stepped toward him, too. “I was trying to prove a point.”
“By betraying my confidence?” he spat. “Was the risk to me worth it, to prove a point? What fucking point, Han Wenqing?”
He swore he could hear Han Wenqing gritting his teeth. “That you can still keep going! That you made a mistake.”
“Oh, I made a mistake,” Ye Xiu said, and then the meaning of the words caught up to him: “What are you even talking about?”
“I’m talking about that bullshit retirement. How could you make such a stupid decision? I expected better from you.” Han Wenqing glared.
Ye Xiu stared back. He didn’t know whether to be furious or endeared.
Hmm… Furious. Definitely furious.
Han Wenqing thought he made a stupid decision? Han Wenqing expected better? What stake did Han Wenqing have in any of it? Neither his expectations nor his ideals about Ye Xiu mattered. Not even a little bit. “It’s none of your business.”
“I know you plan to come back,” Han Wenqing said, “but why did you leave in the first place? Just because you couldn’t make a clean break from Excellent Era?”
“What do you know about me and Excellent Era?” Ye Xiu scoffed.
“It’s not a big secret that your relationship with that team was deteriorating.”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to notice.” Or care.
“Well, I fucking did. What baffles me is that you’re hiding it,” Han Wenqing growled, taking another step forward.
Ye Xiu laughed incredulously. “There’s nothing to hide. Things didn’t work out between me and the club, so I left.”
“You retired, when the reasonable thing to do would have been to transfer to another team!”
“It’s not that easy,” Ye Xiu said, not so much as flinching at Han Wenqing’s snarl. “When will you understand that it’s just not always that easy? Sometimes you can’t walk away without giving something up in the process.”
“It’s a year of your career, Ye Qiu.”
It might be more than that, but Ye Xiu wisely didn’t let that slip. “And you’re so concerned about my career.”
“I’m concerned about you.”
Ye Xiu met his eyes squarely and immediately regretted it. He neither wanted nor needed to know that Han Wenqing could feel such depth of emotion over him.
Making an effort to gentle his voice, Ye Xiu said, “I appreciate it, I guess. But it’s not necessary. I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Han Wenqing said, and why did the distance between them keep closing? Would Han Wenqing get with the program and stand a little farther away? “But I’d like to know what exactly it is you’re doing.”
Ye Xiu frowned. “Well, maybe you should have asked instead of pulling that stunt. For someone who was just talking about being reasonable, you’re sure—”
And then Han Wenqing was right in front of him, his hands cupping Ye Xiu’s jaw, framing his face and raising it to the light.
Ye Xiu was shocked into silence.
“Whenever I ask you anything, you just blow me off,” Han Wenqing told him, frustrated and soft and—
What the fuck? What the fuck?
“I’m tired of asking. Just tell me what I can do.”
Ye Xiu wanted to laugh. He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell Han Wenqing to fuck off and he wanted to thank him. If he could do it all in the same breath, he would. If there was a word that could convey all these conflicted feelings, he would spit it out.
Who the hell did Han Wenqing think he was to do this to him on top of everything else?
Ye Xiu was vulnerable, and Han Wenqing knew it. Ye Xiu had faltered, and Han Wenqing wanted to be allowed to help. It meant something, and at the same time, it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. The choices Ye Xiu had to make from now on—Han Wenqing could take no part in them.
What a senseless request, Ye Xiu thought. He had never been able to command anything of Han Wenqing. He had grasped at every hint of affection his so-called rival extended to him and then refused to make more of it than a minor dalliance. Because a minor dalliance was all it was.
Except. Was that…not what Han Wenqing had wanted? Had needed?
If Ye Xiu had held tight and refused to let go, would Han Wenqing have drifted away? Would the lack of distance between them now be so strange and terrifying? Or would it just be…right?
Ye Xiu placed his hands gently over Han Wenqing’s and pulled them away from his face. Han Wenqing obediently released him, but refused to drop his gaze.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ye Xiu admitted. “I’m starting fresh. I have a plan. I have friends who want to help me, now that they know everything. There’s nothing in this for you, Old Han. You should just leave well enough alone.”
Han Wenqing was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I’m sorry about tonight. I got impatient.”
Ye Xiu hummed in acknowledgment. “I’ll accept your apology the next time we meet…as opponents.”
In deference to the line Ye Xiu had just drawn between them, Han Wenqing stepped away, giving him space at last. “I look forward to it.”
* * *
“Ye Xiu,” Chen Guo said with an odd expression, “someone’s here to see you.”
Ye Xiu didn’t look up from the monitor for several moments. It was only when the doorway to the training room darkened considerably that he spared Chen Guo a glance.
…What?
“Old Han,” said Ye Xiu slowly, “why are you looming over my boss like that?”
Chen Guo jumped forward, putting distance between herself and Han Wenqing, then swept her arm out as if to welcome him inside. “Why don’t you come in?”
Ye Xiu thought about saying that he didn’t invite him in, but managed to hold back. Chen Guo fled the room a second later.
“Nice lady,” said Han Wenqing, as if it was perfectly normal to show up on his doorstep in Hangzhou with no prior warning.
Ye Xiu could do nothing but nod. The click of the door shutting was somehow portentous.
They’d hardly even spoken this past year. What was the matter with this man?
“Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Ye Xiu admitted, “but nothing too important. What brings you here? I thought you’d be preparing for All-Stars.”
“Nothing to prepare for,” Han Wenqing said dismissively. He crossed the room, weaving between the desks, and sat in the chair next to Ye Xiu’s. “In fact, I’m doing some light traveling this New Year’s.”
“That’s nice. I guess Su Mucheng told you where I’d be. Again.”
“She’s helpful like that.”
“Oh, I agree.”
Han Wenqing gave him a penetrating look. “Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”
“Why are you here?” Ye Xiu asked obediently.
With a twitch of his lips, Han Wenqing said, “I’m still wondering when we’ll meet again as opponents.”
“Give it another year at most.” Ye Xiu pointed at the document he had open. “Can’t you see I’m working on it?”
Han Wenqing leaned forward. Ye Xiu’s shorthand notes must mean little to him, but he still studied the document carefully.
“As previously established, this isn’t all that easy. There’s a lot to prepare, and a lot to improve.” Ye Xiu propped his elbows on the desk and wove his fingers together in front of his mouth. “But I can’t complain. Progress is progress.”
“True.”
Ye Xiu narrowed his eyes at the monitor. “What about you? Think you’re going to last long enough for us to face each other again?”
“Yes,” Han Wenqing replied, utterly certain.
“Good,” said Ye Xiu, and meant it. “If I can keep going, so can you. Even if you are older than me.”
“Being older than you has never stopped me before.”
Ye Xiu snorted. “It sure hasn’t.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Ye Xiu picked at his notes, typing in additions here and there, and moving some things around. But it was difficult to concentrate with Han Wenqing there, and at long last he suggested, “Arena?”
“Absolutely.”
Han Wenqing inserted an account card into the reader as soon as his PC booted up. Glory welcomed them both, but the Arena positively beckoned.
“What’s with that equipment?” Ye Xiu asked, curious despite himself. From his position, he could only catch glimpses of Han Wenqing’s avatar, but what little he saw was questionable.
“I don’t need the good shit to be good.”
“Well, no, but I thought you’d put a little more effort into a smurf.”
Han Wenqing shrugged. “We going with the default Arena settings?”
“Sure, why not? Simple is best.” Ye Xiu finished setting up their one-on-one. “Ready when you are.”
It didn’t take even a minute for Han Wenqing to be ready, too. Their avatars—Ye Xiu’s Lord Grim, Han Wenqing’s Striker—loaded in at opposite ends of the ring, weapon and fists raised, respectively.
Han Wenqing approached first, using a movement skill to launch his Striker at Lord Grim. Lord Grim dodged, and Ye Xiu positioned him to retaliate. Han Wenqing made sure to block.
The exchanges continued like that for a while, neither giving ground, neither going all out. Testing each other, feeling for weaknesses. Han Wenqing, when Ye Xiu glanced at him, seemed completely absorbed in the duel.
He wasn’t as nimble as Ye Xiu remembered.
It didn’t matter. He was still a formidable opponent.
The duel ended inside of five minutes, in a hard-earned victory for Ye Xiu, who pushed himself a little harder than necessary.
Han Wenqing lifted his hands from the keyboard and flexed his fingers calmly. Without looking at Ye Xiu, he said, “You’ve changed.”
“I could say the same for you.”
Han Wenqing shook his head.
“We all change, Old Han. It’s not optional.”
“I guess. Maybe I wasn’t prepared for things to be so different.”
In that case, Ye Xiu had no idea what Han Wenqing had expected. To him, everything was different. The only constant was Glory.
Eager to change the subject, Ye Xiu asked, “Will you be ready to face my Lord Grim after this season?”
Han Wenqing didn’t exactly look enthused, but he nodded. “I’m ready when you are. Was it your plan all along to fight your way into the pro league?”
“Yeah, obviously. Don’t give me that judgmental stare; it’s going well enough, no? We’ll be drawing lots for the offline portion soon.”
“You’ll have to win against Excellent Era,” Han Wenqing said grimly. “Is your team prepared for that?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Ye Xiu patted his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes, and relievedly began to smoke. He swore talking with Han Wenqing didn’t used to take this much out of him.
“Remember, I’ll be waiting.”
“Whatever. Still hung up on that apology?”
“On your acceptance of it,” Han Wenqing corrected. “Or do you think I should stop seeking forgiveness?”
“Nah, we have a deal.” Ye Xiu exhaled smoke. “I have to forgive you because we’ll be opponents again by September. I promise you that.”
Han Wenqing sighed and leaned back in his chair, his weight making it squeak. “Are you going to this year’s All-Stars?”
The question sent a frisson of nerves down Ye Xiu’s spine. The memory of last year’s event yet lingered, weighing heavily on his mind and heart. The disbelief, the fury, then the sense of betrayal—one exhausting emotion after another, all directed at the man beside him. A man who wasn’t even his friend.
“I will,” Ye Xiu said, “but only because I was invited. I’m not going up on that stage come hell or high water.”
“I wasn’t intending on making you.”
“Hmph.” Ye Xiu stared at Han Wenqing. “You can’t have come all this way just to have a conversation we could have had in QQ.”
Han Wenqing began logging out. “I was just passing through and figured I may as well stop here. Don’t overthink it.”
Aside from the emotional upheaval of that night, Ye Xiu distinctly recalled the heat of hands on his face and the intensity underlying Han Wenqing’s every word, every action. He didn’t believe he was overthinking anything.
But it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, so Ye Xiu just scoffed and showed Han Wenqing out.
* * *
Nevertheless.
The time came when Tyranny and Happy faced each other. It was just another game in the regular season, but it was also the first time Han Wenqing and Ye Xiu greeted each other on the stage, the first time they shook hands in front of an entire audience of spectators.
It wasn’t momentous. It was just keeping a promise.
“Apology accepted,” Ye Xiu told him over the din of the screaming crowd.
Han Wenqing smiled.
* * *
Now eleven years into his career, Han Wenqing’s refusal to retire was a running joke between them.
It had gotten less funny once Ye Xiu was dragged back onto the scene kicking and screaming, at which point he had to stay retired on principle. He understood why a person would joke about the situation. Even so, leading the Chinese team didn’t really count as a comeback, did it?
“It’s not a comeback,” Han Wenqing said, “but it resembles one enough that I should be allowed to make fun of you for it.”
“Well, you’re not allowed. I’m not allowing you.”
“You don’t get a say.” Han Wenqing smirked at him.
Ye Xiu squinted back, but his annoyance was mostly for show. He had nothing against being made fun of, especially when it came to Han Wenqing.
Sigh.
He was aware this was a rather abnormal thought to have about his longtime rival. Unfortunately, such thoughts had been cropping up with increasing, and increasingly alarming, regularity.
“Why are you sighing?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t have to come. I would understand if you hadn’t.”
Ye Xiu shrugged. “I’m hopeless at turning down invitations, it seems. Besides, it’s not so bad, being a spectator. I can see that now.”
Han Wenqing ever so slowly raised his arm and wrapped it around Ye Xiu’s shoulders. The crisp winter wind, faint as it was, bit at their skin, so much so that Ye Xiu leaned into Han Wenqing’s warmth almost involuntarily.
Almost.
Neither of them acknowledged the closeness. Neither of them took their eyes away from the preparations for Season 11’s All-Star Weekend.
In truth, there was nothing interesting about the stadium’s exterior. Ye Xiu knew they must look like idiots, slumped on a bench like they had nothing better to do except stare at a building in the cold. But he wanted to be here, he wanted to do this—to sit and talk with Han Wenqing and quietly exist together.
For him, for the person he had become after these last three years…there seriously was nothing better.
“Well, if you ever miss the audience’s tender affections…”
Ye Xiu sighed again. “Don’t even think about it.”