| Marry Me, I'm Super Well-Behaved [Esports] (MARRY ME) |
Ning Nanzhou returned to his dorm with his takeout. His roommates had gone home for the weekend, so he dug into his cheap braised chicken rice and opened Little Yellow Bird.
Uh… no, it wasn’t some shady website.
Little Yellow Bird was the nickname for Starry Sky TV, one of the country’s largest streaming platforms, named for its canary-like logo.
He was a game streamer on Little Yellow Bird, relying on live broadcasts to make ends meet. To keep his online persona separate from real life, he never showed his face on stream.
Top streamers could earn millions a month, but his channel wasn’t that popular—just two or three thousand followers—so he had to grind hard for the full attendance bonus.
Little Yellow Bird was a website with a well-developed benefits system, far surpassing Green JJ. Upon opening the site, a small, pale-yellow bird greeted users warmly.
"Respected V1 streamer, you've already earned 20,000 yuan on Starry Sky TV! Keep up the good work today!"
Money was the last thing he wanted to think about—it only reminded him of the 2,000 yuan he'd been scammed out of by scalpers.
Calmly, he changed his livestream title to "Scalpers Deserve to Die (Smiling Face)."
Not long after starting the stream, his viewers began flooding the chat.
[Son, do you realize you've gone viral?]
[Ahhhhhhh, Mom is so embarrassed for you]
[You're trending before even getting famous, how will my baby survive in this industry QAQ]
Gone viral?
What the hell is Dad trending for?
Ning Nanzhou didn’t take the comments seriously. Viewers loved to stir things up—when he first started streaming, he was a shy little boy, but now he’d fully embraced the community.
If his viewers knew what he was thinking, they’d be covered in question marks. You call someone who shouted "Hubby Chi Yu" on their second day of streaming shy?
We refuse to take the blame for this!!!
He shrugged it off. "What’s wrong with wanting to ride Chi Yu? I could go for three days and nights!"
[??? Son, you’ve changed]
[I remember you weren’t like this before. Your mom-fans are heartbroken]
[Well... the 'before' you're talking about was three years ago. South was only pure for a day.]
Though he didn’t believe the trending topic was real, the barrage of comments wore him down. He opened Weibo while still live.
The top trending tag was glaringly obvious—
#Chi Yu’s Livestream Attracts Obsessive Fan#
Ning Nanzhou clenched his fists. "Chi Yu has obsessive fans now? Who’s that pervert?!"
[...]
[Son, is there a chance... the topic is about you?]
[What do you mean 'Chi Yu has obsessive fans'? Aren’t you his biggest obsessive fan?]
Oh. So it’s me.
Ning Nanzhou relaxed. He did tend to leave flirty comments when excited, so being mistaken for an obsessive fan wasn’t surprising. But then his tension spiked again.
Wait—does that mean Chi Yu saw his comments???!
No way!!!
Absolutely no way!!!!
He’d been a fan of Chi Yu for seven years and knew exactly what kind of person he was—someone completely uninterested in such activities. There was no way he’d livestream on Weibo.
And definitely no way he’d interact with fans.
Without thinking, he clicked on Chi Yu’s profile—only to see:
[FKW.Caesar is currently live]
Could everyone be telling the truth?!
Even in this situation, he couldn’t help but wonder—would Chi Yu show his face?
In the video, Chi Yu’s face wasn’t visible. The camera was focused on the comments section, and only his pleasant voice could be heard: "Thank you all for your support."
Ning Nanzhou was wearing headphones while streaming, and the man’s voice resonated in his ears, low and feather-light, sending a shiver down his spine.
For a moment, his mind went blank and regret flooding him for not leaving a better comment—like asking how many more years he planned to compete or what kind of birthday gifts he preferred.
Because his flirtatious remark had been upvoted to the top.
Thankfully, his idol was an untouchable flower—a truly untouchable one—who wouldn’t pay attention to such... obsessive comments.
His gaze suspiciously drifted to the side.
But his fans, ever eager for drama, had already reposted his earlier statement.
The man in the video read his comment aloud: "Ride for three days and nights?"
Suddenly, the camera angle shifted, and the other person calmly adjusted his glasses. "I don't have a problem with it, but can you handle it?"
In an instant, his face turned beet red!
[Why did our son go silent?]
[Is he secretly thrilled inside?]
[Could he actually be shy?!]
Ning Nanzhou buried his entire head in his arms for a long moment before finally lifting it. Seeing the chatter from his viewers, he deadpanned, "Why would I be shy? Go ahead and try me for three days and three nights."
To prevent his viewers from clipping and sharing the moment again, he disabled the live stream recording feature.
[Son, you’re just being stubborn. If you’re so tough, don’t turn off the recording.]
[This is why we’ve liked him for three years but still can’t get his contact info.]
[Stubborn brats deserve to be wrecked for three days and three nights.]
Normally, Ning Nanzhou remained unfazed by chat messages. In the past, he would’ve fired back immediately, but for some reason today, his ears burned red all the way down to his neck.
He banned the phrase "three days and three nights" and awkwardly changed the subject. "I still need to clock in seven hours for the full attendance reward today. Let’s start streaming the game."
With that, he logged into his account and launched Advent.
A black interface appeared on the screen as the words Advent slowly materialized. The familiar system voice echoed in his ears: "Welcome to Advent!"
The client popped up with this month’s events—log-in rewards for Gold Coins, half-off Platinum Skins, and so on. He swiftly closed the flashy pop-ups and clicked the matchmaking button at the bottom.
Because China had just won the championship, many veteran players had returned. Normally, matchmaking took about 10 minutes, but today, it only took three minutes to find a game.
Once matched, the role selection phase began.
Advent was a team-based game with three lanes—top, mid, and bottom—on the map, along with a jungle area in the middle for resource farming. Each lane required players to lead minions to push towers.
Players were divided into roles: Top Laner, Mid Laner, Jungler, Support, and AD Carry.
The Mid Laner, as the name suggested, soloed the mid lane. The Jungler controlled jungle resources and heavily relied on mid-lane priority. The AD Carry and Support handled the bottom lane.
Not in the mood to coordinate with others, he usually opted for the solo-heavy top lane.
[Matchmaking is so fast today!]
[I got matched in two minutes!]
[You guys can even get in? I can’t even log in!]
After selecting roles, it was time to pick champions. Advent had over a hundred champions, and he casually locked in Dog Head.
Dog Head was a melee champion with high health and fast attack speed.
The five players spawned at the Fountain and each headed toward their respective lanes.
He walked to the position of the first Defense Tower in the top lane—the outermost tower—and began farming the enemy Minions to build up his items.
The early game had been decent, but their AD Carry was practically throwing. Despite knowing the enemy Jungler was lurking in the bottom lane, the AD still recklessly attacked the enemy tower. He casually typed two words.
[South] Stop feeding.
His words were polite enough, but the AD Carry reacted as if deeply insulted, spamming several lines of NMSL in response.
Ning Nanzhou was a refined and easygoing person, so he courteously replied:
[South] All you can do is repeat the same trash talk. Do you think screaming will revive your deadbeat dad? Do you really think I’d want a son like you? Even a dog AFK in the Fountain would do better than you.
[South] The only difference between you and a Minion is that you can respawn. Wait, no—you’re worse than a Minion. At least Minions can land a hit before dying. You just charge in like a Meituan delivery guy handing out free kills.
[South] Oh, now you’ve gone quiet? Been wandering around so long—scouting for a good burial spot?
[66666]
[Why would you even provoke this Jungler?!]
[This is gold! Keep it coming!]
When Mr. Wang, a resident of Chaoyang District, clicked on the livestream out of curiosity after seeing it trending, this was the scene he witnessed.
The streamer was calmly clearing waves while mercilessly flaming his teammate—so efficiently that the guy rage-quit.
And the chat was cheering him on!
As a teacher by profession, Mr. Wang’s mind immediately jumped to the harmful influence of low-quality streamers on young people. He was about to hit the report button when he paused.
Because despite having an AFK teammate, this guy was still winning the game!
Earlier, he had been too focused on the streamer’s verbal skills to notice his terrifyingly stable stats. A high-ranked 4v5 was no joke—even many pro players couldn’t pull that off.
Even Qin Yong, the standout Top Laner from this year’s World Championship, excelled mainly with Tank heroes and struggled with late-game carries.
Now, staring at the streamer’s modest viewer count, Mr. Wang felt a sense of duty—like a talent scout! He typed out a well-meaning suggestion.
[Why don’t you go pro?]
He didn’t know how much Starry Sky TV paid, but a small-time streamer with only three or four thousand followers couldn’t be making much.
Young streamers like this often lacked career guidance—probably hadn’t even finished school—wasting their potential without realizing it. They needed someone to point them in the right direction.
He was already prepared for the streamer’s gratitude, his “No need to thank me” reply typed and ready. But instead, the response was lazily indifferent.
“Why go pro when chasing idols is way more fun?”
???!!! Since when was this about fun?!
This was a chance for fame and fortune!!!
He could understand kids these days being obsessed with celebrities—his niece was always fangirling over that Jiang Li guy or whatever. But talent like this? Playing professionally could earn millions!
[Wouldn’t going pro help you chase idols better?]
[You mean shouting “Pool God, take me!” on stage? Or “Pool God, I buy fruit in your comments every day!”?]
[HAHAHAHAHA that’s so cringe but I’d pay to see it!]
Mr. Wang nearly choked on his own blood, but Ning Nanzhou was perfectly content with his life.
Sure, he had to stream seven hours a day, sometimes until 2 or 3 a.m. if classes were heavy. But being able to afford merch with his earnings was happiness enough.
He glanced up at the row of collectibles on his shelf and smiled, eyes crinkling with satisfaction.
And there was something else he didn’t say.
Playing as a Top Laner wasn’t a good choice for a professional career.
The current meta had weakened the role of Top Laners. Most teams preferred to have them play defensively, tanking damage at the frontline during Team Fights, often choosing Tank heroes—thick-skinned, resource-efficient, and essentially human shields.
He didn’t even play defensively in ranked matches, let alone professionally.
So, he had no interest in going pro. If only his streaming level could reach V2—that would be great. The full-attendance bonus would increase by three thousand yuan a month, enough to buy a better microphone.
The secondhand mic he had now was terrible; the sound quality was so poor it barely sounded like his voice, and it kept disconnecting.
He restarted the disconnected headset and continued streaming. When he was about to log off, he noticed his live streaming room had gained over two thousand new followers. He was less than four thousand away from V2!
Was this the power of trending?
He was pleasantly surprised, but then the memory of Chi Yu’s comment flashed in his mind, leaving him feeling a bit...
Just then, his roommate Xu Ye sent him a message.
【Xu Ye】There’s a bar hosting a victory celebration tonight. Wanna go? It’s only 700 meters from the FKW base, starts at 6 PM, and all drinks are on the house.
At first, he wasn’t interested, but the words "all drinks on the house" swayed him.
Ning Nanzhou adjusted his messy headphones. “Got something to do tonight. Logging off early.”
[??? Ending the stream so soon? Son, are you slacking?]
[Hehehe, what are you up to at night?]
[Don’t treat Mom like an outsider.]
While closing the game, Ning Nanzhou saw the chat devolving into innuendos.
He had to clarify, “It’s something serious. Don’t overthink it.”
[Yeah, right.]
[I won’t believe it unless you take me with you.]
[Exactly, bring us along!]
[Is it a case of "men on men, trapped between men"?]
The young man emphasized seriously, “I’m straight.”
The chat fell silent for a moment.
[...Do you even hear yourself?]
[The guy who keeps calling Chi Shen "hubby" is straight???]
[Son, search your heart—or let me do it for you.]
Ning Nanzhou glanced at his phone, worried he might be running late, and quickly shut down his computer to log off.
—
At FKW’s victory banquet, Song Mingjie raised his glass. “Everyone worked hard for the World Championship. Thank you for your outstanding performance, and thank you, President Cheng, for your support.”
“Old Song, cut the formalities,” the man addressed as President Cheng said with a displeased tilt of his chin. “Calling me ‘President’ is too distant.”
“Fine, Old Cheng it is.” Song Mingjie refilled the glass of Cheng Bolang, the club’s owner. “We don’t get together often, so tonight, no one leaves sober!”
“I can’t stay,” Cheng Bolang checked his watch. “President He from Shuangming Capital set up a gathering. I need to make an appearance. You all have fun tonight. If anything’s lacking, just call me.”
Qin Yong at the table couldn’t care less.
Cheng Bolang only said that because their contracts were expiring.
He had no intention of renewing and couldn’t wait to leave the team. He just didn’t want to be the first to break up the squad and face backlash.
With that in mind, he glanced at Xiao Qiao, the Support, who was happily devouring sashimi.
He’d originally planned to use Xiao Qiao as a scapegoat, hinting that SWL offered higher salaries. But this fool had disdainfully refused, saying everyone knew SWL had the worst cafeteria.
Dude, do you think this is college admissions?
Just then, his phone rang. It was SWL’s manager, probably about signing the letter of intent.
Qin Yong glanced around guiltily before hastily grabbing his phone and stepping out.
Chi Yu passed by him, his tone indifferent: "SWL?"
Qin Yong's first reaction was: "You looked at my phone?"
His contact with SWL had been extremely discreet—no third person could possibly know unless Chi Yu had snooped on his phone.
Chi Yu's expression turned slightly mocking: "There are five teams whose Top Laner contracts are expiring. Only GXT and SWL can offer million-level contracts. GXT just signed Orlan—they wouldn’t sign another million-dollar player. That leaves only SWL."
"Do I need to check your phone to figure that out?"
Qin Yong couldn’t help but feel awkward, unsure whether to explain that he had nothing to do with SWL.
Chi Yu brushed past him, leaving behind a final remark: "SWL isn’t the right fit for you."
Nothing irritated Qin Yong more than Chi Yu’s condescending attitude. His earlier embarrassment vanished instantly, replaced by the fury of being looked down upon.
Who gave Chi Yu the right to act so superior? Who allowed him to make judgments about Qin Yong? Was Chi Yu always right?
Sure, Chi Yu was exceptional—but he was already twenty-five. A decline in form was inevitable.
Qin Yong wasn’t just going to SWL for the money. He wanted to prove to everyone that he hadn’t won championships solely because of Chi Yu. It wasn’t that he couldn’t survive without Chi Yu—it was that Chi Yu was getting old. The future belonged to him now.
—
The bar was packed, the lights flashing wildly as if they were free. A projector in the center played FKW’s championship victory reel, and the air was thick with the scent of alcohol.
Ning Nanzhou spotted Xu Ye at a glance—lounging in a booth, decked out in designer brands.
The reason Ning Nanzhou could livestream from his dorm every day was simple: one roommate was always out chasing skirts, another was buried in the library from dawn till dusk, and the last had dropped out after hitting the lottery.
As a result, the lucky winner’s bed became a shrine during finals season, forcing Ning Nanzhou to stream from internet cafes instead.
And the guy in the booth was the first roommate.
Xu Ye waved when he saw him, then frowned at his black jacket. "Why’d you come dressed like that?"
"What’s wrong with it?" Ning Nanzhou slid into the booth casually.
Xu Ye choked back a retort as he took in his friend’s face.
Ning Nanzhou was the quintessential gamer—someone who threw on whatever was handy but still looked effortlessly striking. Even in a loose black jacket, his sharp features stood out, his eyes pale and clear like pools of water.
Sure, his streaming brought in some cash, but he blew it all on merch. Xu Ye couldn’t fathom what was so great about Chi Yu.
He changed the subject with a warning: "This place is crawling with gay guys. Don’t get too drunk."
His roommate was way too good-looking—stepping into a bar like this was practically offering a lamb to wolves.
Ning Nanzhou calmly pointed out, "Last time you got drunk, I was the one who carried you back."
Xu Ye realized he had worried for nothing. Despite Ning Nanzhou’s soft, glutinous rice ball-like appearance, he usually didn’t drink—but when he did, he outdrank and out-talked even Xu Ye. Most people couldn’t even get close to him.
The bar’s internet was down, delaying their celebration by half an hour.
The two had been drinking at their booth. One moment, Xu Ye was clutching his glass, lamenting his lingering feelings for his ex, and the next, he was staring at a handsome guy across the room, declaring he’d found true love.
Xu Ye dashed off toward his "true love," leaving Ning Nanzhou alone at the booth.
Ning Nanzhou was indeed socially inept—more accurately, he had a fear of people. He was fine with those he knew well but struggled with strangers.
Especially physical contact.
Soon, he witnessed firsthand the cunning tactics of certain gay men. In just thirty seconds, he saw someone "trip" out of nowhere, another cooing "Brother, rub my chest for me," and yet another whimpering about dropping their soap.
He began to question whether celebrating at a gay bar had been a good idea.
Not long after this thought crossed his mind, the bar’s lights dimmed abruptly. The screen on stage lit up, playing a documentary about FKW.
From a documentary standpoint, it was unremarkable—except its subject was Chi Yu.
FKW had been established for seven years, and Chi Yu had played for them all seven. From an overlooked underdog team to a dominant dynasty, Chi Yu had carried FKW for seven years.
But Chi Yu was already twenty-five.
In other fields, that would still be young and vibrant. In esports, it was the edge of retirement. No one knew how much longer Chi Yu would—or could—keep playing.
Ning Nanzhou had known this day would come. He’d prepared himself for it from the moment he first became a fan of Chi Yu. But watching this documentary, it finally hit him.
He had liked Chi Yu for so long.
This year might be Chi Yu’s last chance to lift the World Championship trophy. It was a shame he hadn’t been able to attend in person.
Unconsciously, he drank too much. The bar felt stifling, so he stepped outside for air.
The moment he left, he bumped into someone.
The man wore a mask, obscuring his face, but his towering frame—nearly 190 cm—stood out. He carried the crisp scent of snow-capped mountains.
Familiar.
The man politely steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Ning Nanzhou looked up and saw a sharply defined profile, ink-black long hair, and eyes that resembled Chi Yu’s—narrow, steeped in years of quiet brilliance.
If he hadn’t known Chi Yu was supposed to be at the victory banquet and far from here, he might have mistaken the man for him.
He wasn’t sure what the bar had served him, but his head grew hazier by the minute and his body burning with an indescribable heat.
He clung to the man like an octopus, mistaking him for an ice block. When the "ice block" tried to push him away, he refused to let go.
Later, he wanted to leave—but by then, it was too late.
A cold kiss descended, relentless in its advance. He was flipped over, dark hair brushing against his back, until all he heard was a single, evaluative remark.
"So wet."
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