By Zephyria 
The usually calm and composed young man, who had remained steady throughout the pre-match and post-match moments, could no longer hold back his tears the instant he saw his guardian.
Even when victory was just one step away, even when he watched AUB lift the trophy, even when he saw his teammates, who had fought day and night, with reddened eyes, Sheep had held on until now.
A championship wasn’t something easily obtained, and the e-sports arena was never short of regrets. These young men all knew that. He wasn’t unaware, he had the passion to win, but also the courage to walk away at any moment. No one was born to be the protagonist.
Yet, even understanding all these truths, it seemed impossible to remain detached and walk away unscathed.
All the grievances and regrets surged uncontrollably to the tip of his nose the moment he saw Mr. Ren, like floodwaters breaching their banks after being held back for too long.
The young man who had shouldered the weight of the world had finally met the guardian who would shelter him from the storm.
When you’ve relied on someone for too long,
their mere presence is enough to make you drop all defenses.
Without his cap to hide behind, the boy lowered his gaze, instinctively raising a hand to cover his face.
But his hand was quickly caught.
His burning earlobes suddenly cooled.
It was Mr. Ren’s hand, cupping Jing Mian’s cheeks.
This forced him to lift his chin, abruptly exposing his tear-streaked, vulnerable state to the man. There was no escape, the carefully concealed disarray was now laid bare.
“What’s wrong?”
Mr. Ren’s voice was softer than usual, steady and gentle.
…This, too, was unfair.
Jing Mian’s lashes trembled repeatedly before lowering, causing more tears to spill, dampening his chin and the man’s palm.
“Mmm… uhn…”
Jing Mian cried quietly, his voice so faint it was barely audible, softer than a kitten’s. Yet, in stark contrast to his muted sounds, were the large teardrops that fell, softening the heart of anyone who saw them.
Breaking alongside the boy’s.
“My little one has grown up,” Mr. Ren murmured as he wiped away his tears, his deep voice quiet. “You can hold your own out in the world now.”
Jing Mian’s pupils trembled slightly.
He pressed his lips together, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke: “We lost the match.”
“It was because of me.”
“They told me it was just a narrow miss, that you performed well, that you did your best, and no one blames you.”
Jing Mian’s lashes fluttered, his voice shaking, lips pale. “If I had made the decision faster, if I hadn’t messed up controlling the puppet, or if I had noticed Shock’s movements sooner…”
“There’s no such thing as ‘just a narrow miss. I’m the reason ME. didn’t win the championship.”
……
The cool air hung silent for a few seconds.
Then Jing Mian heard Mr. Ren speak, his voice calm: “Sheep is human, too.”
The man looked at him, his voice low. “If every step had to be flawlessly precise, even a robot couldn’t manage it.”
“Even champions lose sometimes.”
“If you’re the reason ME. didn’t win the championship, then you’re also the reason they came the closest to it.”
“In the future, whether it’s championships, trophies, or glory, they’ll all be yours.”
“It’s not just me. Everyone believes that.” Mr. Ren lowered his gaze, his voice quiet. “All Sheep needs to do is grow up just a little more.”
The deep, magnetic voice cut through the cold silence, settling slowly.
Jing Mian’s heart clenched.
Then pounded heavily.
His tears flowed even more freely than before, yet his heart, inexplicably, grew calm.
“Would Husband like to attend Sheep’s next match? Is that alright?”
The young man nodded silently.
Clearly unaware of the implications behind those words.
Then, Jing Mian couldn’t help but slightly narrow his eyes as the man leaned down to kiss the bridge of his nose and eyelids.
The youth closed his eyes, the faint sting in his nasal cavity gradually rising to his lips and teeth, only to be soothed by that cool yet tender touch.
“It doesn’t matter if no one else believes in you.”
Night slowly descended, the moonlight gentle and silent.
He heard Husband say,
“You’re my champion.”
The Jing Residence.
Jing Guozhen looked utterly distressed, gazing at what was once their grand villa, now with its doors wide open as uniformed workers streamed in and out.
They carried furniture and luggage in their hands, the expensive paintings they’d purchased, the genuine leather sofas, the dazzling array of ornaments and decorations, even the carved utensils and vases, pots and pans. Everything that appeared valuable was, to them, now just collateral.
Jing Guozhen had always cared about appearances. During the family’s prosperous days, he loved filling the villa with lavish items to showcase the Jings’ power and status. Whether thriving or destitute, he never wanted anyone to criticize the Jing family.
Yet now, Jing Guozhen had become the laughingstock of their social circle.
All dignity lost, the Jing enterprises declared bankrupt. The debts not only swallowed all his accumulated savings but left such a deep deficit that even these couldn’t fill the void.
In desperation, he sold his cars, several properties in other cities, until finally, even their ancestral home couldn’t be saved.
He’d thought establishing business ties with the Rens through marriage, though the Jings were the ones overreaching, might one day allow them to stand shoulder to shoulder with that powerful family, no longer needing to watch their words.
How had such a bright future come to this?
That young Ren patriarch was truly heartless, remaining unmoved even as his lover’s family faced homelessness.
At this point, Jing Guozhen faintly understood.
He needed to apologize.
More precisely,
not to the Rens, but to his own son.
An apology sincere enough to earn forgiveness.
Setting pride aside, Jing Guozhen had long considered this, but the Rens seemed intent on denying him even this chance. Try as he might, opportunities to approach Jing Mian were vanishingly rare.
His impulsive decision to sever ties now left him with no way back, a complete laughingstock.
With only sixty thousand in savings and no income, the villa mortgaged, the family of three needed shelter.
Inexperienced in house hunting, the exorbitant rents he found on his phone shocked him. The few affordable places proved dismal upon inspection, poor conditions, incomplete furnishings, lacking even basic appliances like washing machines, TVs or refrigerators.
In the end, they rented a place in the suburbs.
The rented apartment was wedged between buildings, perpetually deprived of sunlight and plagued by severe dampness. After each summer, the place would be overrun with rats and cockroaches. The floor was mottled, and the crude toilet reeked of an unpleasant odor even after cleaning.
Accustomed to extravagance, the sudden shift from luxury to frugality was jarring. Having lived a life of abundance where food and clothing were never a concern, they had long forgotten the taste of hardship, let alone the kind of destitution worse than that of ordinary households. They had already borrowed from every relative and friend willing to lend, but upon hearing that Jing Guozhen had offended the Ren family, people would simply wave their hands and shut their doors without mercy.
Their remaining savings were too meager to cover their expenses. Jing Luo was nearly five years old, but they couldn’t afford a private tutor, and even scraping together the money for preschool was uncertain. At his age, he was already behind his peers.
But now, even Jing Guozhen could hardly gather the funds for Jing Luo’s tuition.
Beyond rent, every utility bill, even their phone fees, had to be squeezed out bit by bit.
Li Qiao, who once carried herself with refined makeup and an air of elegance wherever she went, had always aspired to mingle with the elite of the affluent districts. But now, the dwindling savings could no longer sustain her cosmetic expenses. She had to ration what little remained, using it sparingly day by day.
The wrinkles on her face could no longer be concealed. The stark contrast left her looking haggard, as if she had aged a decade overnight.
Though life was tough, it was at least manageable. Their rent could last a year, and during that time, Jing Guozhen could regroup. Even if his business had collapsed, he could still make a living through small ventures, as long as there was a chance, as long as he remained Jing Mian’s father, as long as he could one day see Jing Mian again, there was hope for a comeback.
The current situation was only temporary. Endure it, grit their teeth, and they would pull through.
But before long, Jing Guozhen fell ill.
What started as a minor cold turned into persistent high fever, sometimes accompanied by shortness of breath and chest tightness. Li Qiao knew a hospital visit would cost hundreds, but letting it drag on would only make things worse.
Bracing herself, she took Jing Guozhen to the hospital.
Only then did reality hit her. The doctor informed her that Jing Guozhen had a severe lung infection, worsened by exhaustion and exposure to cold, and required hospitalization.
Panic set in, not just over finances. Without a job, she had neither the means nor the energy to care for both Jing Luo and her husband.
Since marrying Jing Guozhen, she had never lifted a finger for menial work. Now, she had no choice but to lower herself, taking on the most basic cleaning jobs.
Clumsy and inept, she was often scolded by the head nurse, treated like a dog at whim. But this was the only hospital where she could manage the back-and-forth between home and work. Swallowing her pride, she endured, her hands cracked and raw from scrubbing with dirty water.
She could never have foreseen that her actions that night, merely egging things on and hurling a few insults at Jing Mian, would lead the Jing family step by step to ruin.
Without the support of the Ren family, without Jing Mian,
they were nothing.
The cash cow she had imagined had instead become the biggest wrench to their downfall. Even Jing Guozhen began treating her with indifference. They had once respected each other like honored guests, and she had maintained a flawless facade, a gentle wife, a devoted mother, and the epitome of virtuous nobility in the eyes of society. From being the envy of all to someone people avoided, all the effort she had poured into integrating into high society and the upper-class circles had, in this moment, turned to bubbles.
Even her only beloved son, Jing Luo, seemed to have grown distant after overhearing her harsh words toward Jing Mian. He no longer clung to her as he once did and, like his father, had become cold and aloof.
The hardships and immense pressure weighed heavily on Li Qiao, almost suffocating her. She had never suffered like this before. Coming into the Jing family was never meant to bring her such misery.
One morning, while walking Jing Luo to school, Li Qiao reached out to hold his hand, only for her son to pull away.
An indescribable ache and emptiness rose in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her gaze followed his small figure all the way to the gates of the affiliated elementary school, where the security guard was organizing the children into orderly lines.
Jing Luo turned his head and glanced at Li Qiao.
He seemed to hesitate, his small hand lifting slightly before slowly dropping again. He didn’t bid her farewell.
Li Qiao clenched her teeth, her heart as if gnawed by an invisible blade.
Given her current financial situation, she couldn’t possibly raise a child alone. There was no telling whether Jing Guozhen would pull through this crisis, but perhaps leaving Jing Luo with his hospitalized father was the best choice.
At least Jing Mian cared for Luo Luo. If the worst came to pass, that young man would surely step in to help, ensuring Jing Luo wouldn’t end up homeless.
But she couldn’t bear such pressure and despair.
She just wanted to leave.
That evening, Jing Luo waited in vain for his mother to pick him up after school.
*
It wasn’t until Jing Mian returned home that he finally felt himself calming down.
Mr. Ren had used ice to soothe his swollen eyes, the coolness bringing relief and comfort.
Mr. Ren might not have understood anything about gaming or the crushing disappointment of narrowly missing a championship in esports, but he was willing to listen attentively and offer silent companionship.
Lying on the sofa, Jing Mian finally felt exhaustion wash over him. The swelling in his eyes gradually faded as he sank into the soft cushions. He set an alarm, he had promised to go live at 10 p.m. sharp, as scheduled before the match. By then, the redness in his eyes would have subsided, and his fans wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
The young man slowly drifted into sleep.
Unaware that his phone, lying not far away, had already stirred up a storm.
After the national tournament, more and more people turned their attention to the thrilling spectacle of Glory.
Thanks to the perfectly balanced tension and horror of the Puppet Factory map, the match was both highly entertaining and engaging. Overnight, the replay count soared past four million.
Even the live broadcast was dissected by countless official commentators and content creators across various platforms, with everyone eagerly analyzing and admiring every detail.
And so, it was inevitable that people would take notice of that young player’s performance.
The young player overcame obstacles all the way, only to lose the championship at the final hurdle. That tragic aura of a fallen hero didn’t just affect ME, but left every spectator of the match feeling regretful.
Thus, this young player’s fanbase exploded overnight. Countless comments and messages flooded Sheep’s Weibo, even Glory’s personal account, it seemed more and more people were learning the name “Sheep.”
When Jing Mian was awakened by his alarm, he pushed himself up from the couch. Instead of the dark and lonely living room he’d expected, he noticed a faint blue glow coming from the coffee table.
At some point, a globe had been placed nearby, rotating gently and slowly.
Mr. Ren had left it there.
Jing Mian froze for a few seconds, an indescribable flutter rising in his chest, tugging at his heartbeat.
Not long after returning home, Jing Mian suddenly remembered his promise to stream that evening. Only by assuring his husband the broadcast wouldn’t exceed an hour did he avoid being carried back to bed.
Jing Mian stood up and washed his face in the bathroom. Cool droplets slid down his cheeks as he inhaled deeply, yet his thoughts remained somewhat hazy.
Returning to the living room couch, he casually grabbed a mask to wear before opening his laptop. The light gradually illuminated the young man’s lashes.
Moving the cursor, logging in, entering.
Steps so familiar they were second nature, yet now his focus wavered.
Jing Mian shook his head as a dull pain spread through the back of his skull, his mind still foggy.
Probably aftereffects of crying until oxygen-deprived. Heat rose to the tips of his ears, he felt a little embarrassed.
He was already often treated like a child, and now he’d gone and proven them right.
The moment Sheep logged on, it immediately caused a small uproar.
[Ahhhh!!!]
[The stream wasn’t canceled?!]
[Thought we’d get ghosted tonight]
[Of course it wasn’t canceled, MianMian never breaks promises… except that one time at his brother’s place, but that was right after the wedding]
[Been waiting foreverrr]
[Congrats on the medal, MianMian!]
[I already cried earlier tonight, was just staring blankly at the homepage when suddenly—stream!]
[Don’t cry, baby! We’ll fight again at Worlds, bring glory to the country!]
[Sheep is so dedicated, it’s only been a few hours since finals ended. Just saw AUB members out drinking]
[If it’s MianMian’s stream, let’s not mention other Teams, okay?]
…
Shortly after Jing Mian started streaming, he initially worried people might notice he’d been crying. But gradually, without realizing it, the barrage of comments and messages seemed far more numerous than usual, so fast even his eyes couldn’t keep up.
Until he switched screens and accidentally glanced at his backend stats.
His pupils trembled slightly.
Whether it was post likes, stream replay counts, comments or virtual gifts… everything had become a glaring 99+.
Jing Mian: “!?”
Guessing it was probably due to the Nationals hype, the young man’s lashes fluttered imperceptibly as he calmly returned to the game interface, entering training mode for random matches.
Sheep clicked his mouse and spoke: “Just randomly running maps today, only practicing shots, no Haunted house matches.”
After all, given his current state, his mind might not keep up during Haunted house games.
[MianMian at your brother’s place again today?]
[“It feels like you have such a good relationship with your brother. Half the time when our baby streams, the background is your brother’s sofa.”]
[“When will you let your brother show his face?”]
The mouse moved lightly in the quiet night. Jing Mian wasn’t sure if Mr. Ren was asleep yet.
His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I’m at Brother’s place.”
[“The way he says ‘Brother’—I’d kill to be MianMian’s brother right now.”]
[“Someone drag the person above out of here.”]
[“Why does MianMian’s voice sound a bit muffled?”]
[“Yeah, like he’s got a stuffy nose.”]
[“His complexion looks really pale.”]
[“His forehead is red too.”]
[“Our baby doesn’t seem like himself at all, completely different from how he was on the battlefield earlier.”]
[“Is he sick?”]
Sheep’s skin was naturally pale, so even the slightest flush was noticeable. Even with a mask on, the redness on his forehead was obvious. It wasn’t hard to imagine that his face and joints were likely tinged pink from the fever.
[“Not just sick, looks like he’s got a fever.”]
[“Baby, take some medicine quick! So heartbreaking.”]
[“It’s fine to cancel today. MianMian, rest early.”]
As Sheep read the concerned comments on the screen, he swiftly sniped and eliminated an enemy who had jumped down from a container.
Jing Mian paused, then whispered, “Thanks, but I don’t have a fever.”
[“Our baby’s being stubborn.jpg”]
[“Where’s MianMian’s brother? Someone take this kid away!”]
[“Calling for MianMian’s brother!”]
[“Calling +1!”]
…
Then,
The stream suddenly went dark, the screen turned black.
The audience was confused, but on the other end, they would’ve realized—
A piece of clothing had covered the camera.
Before Jing Mian could react, the man lifted him off the sofa.
He nearly gasped aloud but remembered his mic was still on. So, the usual “Husband” turned into a soft, “Brother…”
“You’re burning up, and you still say you don’t have a fever?” Mr. Ren’s deep, magnetic voice rang out.
[“Brother’s here!!”]
[“Ahhh!!”]
[“MianMian’s brother’s voice is so dreamy.”]
[“My ears are pregnant, damn, even more soothing than my lover’s.”]
[“It sounds vaguely familiar, but it’s so nice to listen to ahhh!”]
[“Why cover the camera? What’s something a Glory VIP like me can’t see?”]
Ten seconds later,
The stream ended.
…
Jing Mian was placed on the bed. Mr. Ren removed his mask and loosened his collar. The cool touch of the thermometer against his skin made the warmth of the man’s fingertips even more impossible to ignore.
Jing Mian asked softly, “Couldn’t we use a temperature gun?”
Mr. Ren: “Not accurate enough.”
Jing Mian: “…”
Five minutes later, under Jing Mian’s watchful gaze, Mr. Ren read the slowly rising numbers on the thermometer: “38.2°C.”
“…” So he really did have a fever.
An odd feeling rose in Jing Mian’s chest, embarrassment over his earlier stubbornness. He quietly retreated under the covers, then peeked out again. His cheeks and forehead were flushed, his exhales warm. His voice hoarse, he murmured, “Husband, you should sleep in the other room tonight.”
He wasn’t sure when he’d caught the cold, but if they could avoid spreading it, precautions were necessary.
“Am I a stranger to MianMian?”
Jing Mian froze, surprise flickering across his face.
Nestled in the blankets, the young man was suddenly pulled, blanket and all, into Mr. Ren’s arms. When he looked up, he met the man’s gaze. Then, he heard Mr. Ren’s firm yet resigned voice, cool and deep,
“How could I possibly sleep when the person I love is this sick?”