By Zephyria 
Jing Mian didn’t stay at home for long.
His backpack was still at the hotel, so he didn’t have much luggage. After some thought, he only packed some necessities and daily supplies for the man, placing them all in the back seat of the car.
Mr. Ren started the engine, and the car slowly drove away from Maple Leaves.
Jing Mian gazed out the window at the damp brick roads and grassy fields. The entire city seemed freshly washed, and even the dim shadows under the trees carried a cool, refreshing comfort.
Compared to blazing sunshine, he preferred weather like this.
—Mr. Ren was coming to watch his match.
And they were heading there together, from home.
A strange feeling inexplicably rose in Jing Mian’s heart.
If not for the national competition being in full swing, the current situation with his husband almost felt like they were going on a vacation.
The car stopped in the hotel’s underground parking lot.
Jing Mian took the players-only back entrance and rode the elevator up to the seventh floor.
He silently swiped his keycard, and Mr. Ren followed behind him just as quietly.
The door clicked open.
Jing Mian paused mid-step. He noticed that everything he had left in the hotel yesterday had been tidied up, and the credit card with the note was now just the card itself, placed alone on the bedside table.
He secretly felt a little relieved.
Thankfully, Mr. Ren hadn’t seen those things.
Last night, the team captain had mentioned that the 10,000-yuan fine had already been submitted to the organizers. The one who had quietly helped him hide everything was probably Brother Xuan Cheng.
Jing Mian didn’t have a roommate during the national competition and had the room to himself. There were two beds—one with his backpack, the other neatly made.
That would be Mr. Ren’s bed.
Come to think of it,
this was the first time the two of them were staying somewhere else together.
Jing Mian suddenly felt a little nervous.
He hung up the man’s clothes, unpacked a new pair of slippers, and bent down to silently tidy up the bed for his husband. After finishing, he thought for a moment and decided to take a shower first and change into his pajamas.
Just as he hesitated whether to undress inside the bathroom, there was a knock at the door.
Afraid that Mr. Ren’s identity might be exposed, Jing Mian quickly answered it.
Unexpectedly, it was Yu Nian standing outside.
He was holding a bag, its contents unclear.
Yu Nian handed it over with both hands, not explaining further. “Brother Ren asked me to deliver this. Please take it. I have other matters to attend to, so I won’t disturb you.”
The door closed.
Jing Mian placed the bag on the small table and discovered it was filled with various hats, masks, fake mustaches… and even a wig.
Surprise flickered in Jing Mian’s eyes.
Then he remembered something.
It seemed their agreement last night—that Mr. Ren would disguise himself before going to the venue—hadn’t been taken as a joke. The man had seriously prepared for it.
Jing Mian couldn’t help but laugh.
A subtle warmth rose in his heart.
The next day, just before they set off, Jing Mian helped his husband put on a hat.
Then, he carefully selected the least conspicuous fake mustache and stood on his tiptoes to stick it on Mr. Ren’s face.
Ren Xingwan lowered his gaze, watching him without moving, letting him adjust the mustache.
The more Jing Mian looked, the harder it was to suppress his amusement, but under the man’s steady gaze, he managed to hold it in.
Ren Xingwan leaned down slightly.
“No mask?”
Jing Mian froze.
Was… his husband asking him to help put on the mask?
He nodded.
He pulled out a pure black mask, pressed down on the metal strip over the bridge of his nose, stretched the straps with his fingertips, and slightly rose on his toes as his clean fingertips brushed against skin.
Jing Mian’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.
He had touched the other’s ear.
Mr. Ren’s hair strands brushed against his neat nails, and his fingertips inevitably grazed the man’s earlobe, warmth faintly transmitting through.
Noticing the close proximity and the gaze looking down at him, Jing Mian paused his movements, fingers curling slightly.
His fingertips inadvertently brushed behind Husband’s ear before being inevitably pressed close by the black straps.
The young man’s heartbeat raced uncontrollably.
This subtle tension between him and Mr. Ren wasn’t the first time, yet even now, Jing Mian still didn’t know how to handle it.
Just as Jing Mian’s thoughts wandered, he suddenly heard the man’s voice:
“Nervous?”
Jing Mian’s lashes stilled.
Mr. Ren reached up and grasped his wrist: “Your fingers are cold.”
Jing Mian swallowed: “…No.”
As the other’s palm turned upward, Jing Mian found his hand held, feeling bewildered until sudden warmth and softness registered.
Jing Mian’s pupils constricted.
His husband’s lips were warm—he knew how they felt when kissing—but having his fingers kissed like this was a first.
Soon, even the back of his hand flushed pink near his curled knuckles.
With the competition approaching, unlike others who repeatedly reassured him not to be nervous and to just play freely without pressure, his husband simply asked in a deep voice:
“What do you want me to do?”
Jing Mian moistened his dry lips.
He felt the vibrant pounding in his chest, vivid and distinct.
The young man whispered:
“Just stay with me.”
For the second round of the national tournament, the esports arena had already hung promotional posters in advance. Even on Glory’s login interface, the match information and featured posters for ARE. vs ME. occupied the largest ad space. Glory’s official blog noted that as the finals approached, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense and heated.
This was a night every Glory player couldn’t help but watch closely.
ARE. Team’s best performance was two years ago when they not only reached the national semifinals but nearly defeated that year’s champions. This promising dark horse, however, suffered consecutive crushing defeats in last year’s provincial tournaments.
Though their results were inconsistent, they seemed like a team that rose to stronger opponents while struggling against weaker ones—a squad with latent potential.
Rumors said ARE. recruited three fairly famous streamers this year, who delivered commendable performances in provincial tournaments months ago. ARE. advanced smoothly into nationals with little pressure.
Thus, this match promised to be compelling, with fan votes for the winning team almost evenly split.
After all, the victor here would likely face last year’s champions AUB.—led by captain Shock—in the future.
There was also another formidable team, QT.
Speaking of QT, most spectators actually hoped ME. would win this round.
Because Sheep and Dawn’s past remained one of the early playerbase’s most sighed-over tragic endings. Once daily duo partners, now complete strangers—rumors even mentioned awkward romantic entanglements.
Moreover, Sheep now had a lover.
This kind of plot where estranged rivals are forced to reunite is bound to become the most anticipated highlight for the audience.
Every Team that has qualified for the group stage possesses formidable strength that cannot be underestimated.
Moreover, with the elimination rounds approaching, tonight’s match and the next one are equally crucial for both Teams.
The big screen played thrilling match replays, intermittently interspersed with ads, while the live broadcast channel’s countdown timer had already begun.
The audience waited eagerly in their seats as the organizers finalized all preparations.
Before long, the players entered the arena on schedule.
Under the high-definition cameras, the crowd spotted the last ME. player entering from afar.
As the camera zoomed in, Sheep appeared wearing a mask, his long, curled eyelashes casting delicate shadows along the edges under the stadium lights, lending him an air of mysterious gentleness.
[I still have to say this…]
[Upstairs, I think I know what you want to say]
[What a coincidence, so do I]
[Sheep is so damn good-looking!!]
[MianMian is so handsome, mommy’s drooling]
[He still looks this stunning under HD cameras, would he really be worse without the mask?]
[Not necessarily, there’s a reason phrases like “please weld that mask to your face” became popular]
…
Jing Mian took his seat.
Picking up his headset, he watched the shifting lights dancing along its edges. With only five minutes left before the match, he took a deep breath, noticing his fingertips had gone ice-cold.
The familiar roar of the crowd below the stage surrounded him. Since the last unexpected incident, Jing Mian hadn’t checked any external comments or messages. He wasn’t even sure whether that would affect this match, or… if the arena still welcomed his presence.
Until his teammates seemed to hear something, simultaneously looking up, drawing Jing Mian’s attention too.
Gradually, he realized the sounds were coming from the esports arena below – starting as faint and scattered before growing clearer:
“Sheep!”
“Sheep!”
…
They were… just calling his name.
Nothing more.
Cen Xian chuckled softly, glancing sideways: “Little one, they’re all calling for you.”
Song Xianyang whispered: “Brother Mianmian, don’t feel pressured.”
“I’ve got your back this round, our teamwork will be unbeatable.”
The redhead scoffed: “Yeah right. Everyone knows Cen Xian has the best synergy with Mianmian.”
Song Xianyang gritted his teeth: “That’s only because I joined the team later.”
Jing Mian couldn’t help but smile slightly.
Just like that, his initial anxiety was significantly eased.
Yet the young man still lifted his gaze, instinctively scanning the audience stands. Before the match began, he had discussed with Mr. Ren – the man wouldn’t sit in overly conspicuous seats to avoid drawing attention from surrounding spectators or live cameras, to which Husband had silently agreed.
Soon, in a corner of the third row, he immediately recognized the tall figure wearing a black mask beneath a cap.
Jing Mian’s breath caught.
Then quickly relaxed again.
Husband was enveloped in shadows untouched by the stadium lights. As the illumination shifted between brightness and darkness, it outlined his broad, tall silhouette – imposing and handsome, though his face remained indistinct.
Without any communication, Jing Mian somehow knew.
Amidst the roaring crowd of the arena, Mr. Ren was also watching him.
Jing Mian held his breath slightly.
This thought completely calmed him.
The players adjusted their headsets as staff conducted final checks and equipment tests.
The match countdown continued its steady march.
The moment the clock ticked over, the match officially began.
The screen plunged into darkness before gradually transitioning from blurry to clear. The headphones blocked out most external noise, forcing Jing Mian to focus entirely, his nerves taut.
The map they drew for this round was the Deserted Island of Arid Sands.
Ruins dried by desert winds, withered vegetation covering the stone bricks, and the remaining architectural debris served as cover for the players—a medium-difficulty setting.
The spot where Jing Mian’s character spawned happened to be at the edge of the desert, with the nearest supply point ten meters away at the six o’clock direction.
The map wasn’t particularly large, but ruins were scattered everywhere. Even at the start, caution was necessary. Sheep crouched low, masking his footsteps along the edge of the debris, moving silently and stealthily.
Yet, in the next second, gunfire suddenly whizzed past overhead.
Jing Mian’s mind sharpened. Pressing his lips together, he immediately dropped to the ground. Within the three seconds it took for the enemy to approach, he picked up the M24, stood, and in the instant the opponent peeked out, turned to aim and fired.
—Bang.
The motion was fluid, without a hint of hesitation.
The system updated the prompt the next second:
「“ME.Sheep” used M24 to knock down “ARE.Quinn”!」
Sheep had achieved the fastest first kill of his esports career in a national tournament.
[Damn!]
[That reaction speed!]
[Sheep is still Sheep.]
[Though he started as a streamer, he has the sharp instincts and professionalism of a pro gamer.]
[Seems like he was born for this.]
[Ahhh, I was so worried! Thought MianMian’s condition from the last match might affect this one, but it looks like everything’s normal. Finally can relax.]
Jing Mian remained expressionless. After finishing off the enemy, he quietly looted the supplies.
He had thought he’d feel nervous with Husband watching the match, but the opposite turned out to be true.
Instead, he calmed down, his chest filled with a sense of composure and security he’d never felt before.
The map wasn’t too expansive, so Jing Mian neither roamed far nor hid behind cover for prolonged ambushes. After all, the more enemies defeated, the higher the chance the red door would spawn near him.
When he found Mole, Mole was being pinched between two ARE players. He had taken cover behind a tall, vine-covered ruin when faint footsteps grew increasingly closer.
A smoke grenade landed at his feet, right near the closest enemy to Mole.
The decision was made in an instant.
Mole left cover and fired relentlessly toward the direction of the footsteps.
As the health bar plummeted from the hits, the ARE member decisively retreated. But just as he left the smoke, his vision still blurry, he was headshot the next second.
The perspective shifted, stretching infinitely.
Before being eliminated, his grayed-out screen reflected Sheep in the distance, holding a sniper rifle.
「“ME.Sheep” used M24 to knock down “ARE.Under”!」
The other ARE player also witnessed this.
“Dammit…” He quickly raised his gun toward Sheep, but before he could fire, bullets whizzed through the air from behind—just two shots.
The system promptly announced:
「“ME.Mole” used AUG to knock down “ARE.Tear”!」
The tide of battle had turned!
In just three minutes, the trapped became the dominator, with the roles of hunter and prey instantly reversed to the extreme.
The barrage exploded in that moment:
[“We’ve got this!!”]
[“Sheep and Mole’s teamwork is absolutely killer. Cen Xian had been quiet for a long time due to his hand injury—this is the first time I’ve seen him play so freely on the field.”]
[“Same here +1”]
[“Our MianMian is a little lucky star!”]
[“Who wouldn’t love such a good boy?”]
[“Didn’t expect ME. to be this strong. With Sheep and Big Brother joining, ME. is definitely not the same as before.”]
After Sheep and Mole regrouped, the two seamlessly geared up. With few players left, it meant the red gate’s location would soon appear. Though tense, the pressure dropped sharply.
They trusted each other more than anyone else.
After the final airdrop, six minutes before the match ended, the red gate finally appeared.
Jing Mian didn’t hesitate. Like a hunter lying in wait, he raised his gun, crouched, and aimed as unfamiliar footsteps drew nearer.
The moment the last remaining enemy reached for the red gate, he delivered the decisive final shot.
Not far away, the sound of a player tossing their headset in frustration echoed.
It was an exceptionally thrilling match.
Though not as effortlessly smooth as the previous round, every ME. member performed steadily—flawless teamwork paired with swift, decisive judgment.
The screen soon shifted to the waiting mode.
Before the second round began, there was a roughly five-minute break.
Players used this time to drink water, stretch, while the live feed briefly scanned their conditions. Commentators recapped highlights before cutting to ads.
The audience, still buzzing with excitement, mingled in lively chatter, while the players remained relatively quiet aside from scattered conversations.
Then, a man’s voice suddenly erupted from the stands.
In an instant, it shattered the calm on both sides.
…
“A player who walks out mid-game still has the face to compete in a national tournament?”
“Is the organizer your daddy? Did you even pay the fine? A streamer who’d lose all his fans if he took off his mask—just a pretty-faced attention-seeker riding on clout. What right do you have to play Ash’s Shadow Guard?!”
“Get the hell out of esports!”
“Sheep, just retire already!!”
…
…
The venue first plunged into stunned silence.
Then erupted in shocked uproar.
The voice seemed to come from the front row’s center—still some distance from the players but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear clearly.
Staff reacted swiftly, cutting to ads after the commentators wrapped up their segment.
Despite the ongoing commentary, a large portion of the online audience caught the hateful rant.
[“What the hell?”]
[“Damn, insulting MianMian? And this viciously?”]
[“Sheep left due to health reasons—the officials already clarified that.”]
[“+1. That match, Sheep rushed back in record time, didn’t delay the schedule, and even became the best ACE, single-handedly breaking ME.’s national elimination curse. What’s this guy screeching about??”]
[“Wasn’t the fine paid? Or is Sheep lying about it?”]
[Is Sheep just a pretty face? My fists are clenched. I watched him stay up until 2 a.m. with a fever, his face flushed, just to grind through Ash’s Shadow Guard triple qualifiers.]
[Honestly, I don’t think much of streamers like Sheep either. Take off the mask and he’s nothing.]
[Get lost, jealous hater.]
[Why does the national tournament allow such spectators to buy tickets?]
[Rumor has it, anyone sitting in the front row of a national tournament of this scale either has serious family backing or insider connections.]
[Being this brazen means he’s definitely backed by someone untouchable…]
…
The redhead clenched his fists, blood boiling as he nearly shot to his feet: “Damn it, that bastard—!”
Song Xianyang gripped his wrist, pinning him to the player’s seat: “Don’t fucking lose it. This isn’t something players can handle.”
“So what, we just let him slander our guy like that!?”
Cen Xian glanced over, whispering worriedly: “Hey, MianMian.”
“MianMian?”
Jing Mian’s lips pressed together faintly, his gaze shadowed beneath his hood, betraying no emotion.
Only his trembling palms gave him away.
Meanwhile, backstage at the Glory National Tournament, chaos erupted.
“Insulting a player? That’s fucking outrageous!”
A tournament official behind the glass partition pointed at the heckler in the front row, barking into his phone: “Security, get him out. Now.”
“Understood.”
“Wait.” A staff member beside him paled upon recognizing the man, lowering his voice. “Director Song, that’s… the crown prince of our tournament’s second-largest investor.”
“He’s a diehard ARE. fan. That VIP seat in the center was reserved for him.”
“Having security drag him out… might not be appropriate.”
The air turned stifling as silence gripped the backstage for several seconds.
“Damn it, this is a live national tournament! Hundreds of thousands are watching!”
Director Song, dressed in a black shirt, paced furiously before gritting his teeth and tossing his headset to a staffer. “Fine. I’ll personally escort him out.”
“Slot in two more ads. Send two guards with me.”
Staff: “Yes, sir.”
At that moment.
From the dim corner of the audience stands, a man stood up.
His position was so inconspicuous most hadn’t even noticed.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his striking silhouette remained unmistakable even under the sparse lighting. Though silent, each step carried an undeniable, crushing weight, an invisible pressure spreading in his wake. As more eyes turned, the man skirted the edges of the spotlight’s reach.
Under bewildered stares, he strode through the shadows—heading straight for the front row.
His pale golden eyes gleamed faintly in the dimness as he walked, casually removing his cap.
Next came the black mask, followed by the carefully applied stubble beneath his lips.
His imposing frame alone made him impossible to miss in any crowd.
Within moments, attention locked onto him.
And in an instant, the audience finally saw the face previously hidden beneath the brim.
The air froze.
Then, the packed stands erupted into gasps and shouts.
“Oh my god…”
“Is that… Ren Congmian!?”
“Holy shit—”
“What’s going on??”
“How could it be Ren Congmian!?”
“Why would Ren Congmian appear at the Glory national competition?!!”
…
Footsteps came to a precise halt right in front of that person.
The man’s figure blocked most of the light from the stage, his silhouette outlined by a brilliant glow as dust particles drifted faintly around him. He stood almost entirely backlit.
His presence was overwhelming.
The restrained yet oppressive aura he exuded made it impossible for anyone watching to look away.
Even the man who had been spouting insults earlier unconsciously swallowed hard.
He spoke haltingly, “W-who are you?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Ren Congmian lowered his lashes.
When the man spoke, even his voice was chillingly cold, sending a shiver down one’s spine:
“Get up.”
Through the reflection in his pupils, the man could see Ren Congmian’s face—and the unsettlingly calm expression that made his blood run cold.
For a moment, even though he instinctively wanted to stand, he realized he couldn’t even move his toes.
Then, in the next instant—
His collar was seized by a large, powerful hand.
In a flash, his shirt was yanked upward, the faint whistle of wind brushing past his ears as his upper body was forcibly lifted into the air.
Gasps rippled through the audience around them.
Cold sweat broke out across the man’s body in an instant.
A bone-deep chill seeped from his temples down his spine. He opened his mouth, only to find his tongue had gone numb.
Terror laced his voice as he stammered, “W-what?”
Ren Congmian’s thin lips held a faint sheen, the shadows beneath his lashes delicate and fragmented. His pale golden pupils revealed almost no emotion.
“This is my seat.”
His voice wasn’t gritted between teeth, nor did it carry even a trace of anger.
It was a kind of cold, bone-deep calm—suppressed to its absolute limit.
The sweat soaking through the man’s back had already drenched his clothes.
He swallowed hard again.
Too many eyes were fixed on them. Pride forced him to keep up his bravado, though his voice cracked uncontrollably: “What are you doing? Whose seat are you talking about… This is a national competition! Why should the seat be yours? Just who the hell… who are you?”
Ren Congmian lowered his gaze.
In the interplay of light and shadow, his black overcoat absorbed the dim glow of the stage lights, yet his face grew clearer. The man looked down at him with an oppressive, silent dominance before speaking, his voice icy and detached: