Chapter 3: Gege, Save Me

Ji Xu tossed his phone onto the sofa and shuffled in his slippers to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was an old single-door model with a thick layer of frost built up in the freezer compartment; as he pulled open the fridge door, a wave of cold air rushed out, carrying a mixed scent of vegetables and leftovers.

He poked his head in to take a look—on the top shelf rested a bowl of porridge sealed with plastic wrap, and beside it sat several plump white steamed buns on a plate, with tiny water droplets condensed on the bottom.

The porridge was plain white rice porridge, cooked till thick and dense, with a layer of rice oil floating on top; the buns were stuffed with greens and shiitake mushrooms, their crust soft and fluffy when pinched.

Ji Xu poured the porridge into a small pot to heat it up, devouring it clean alongside the buns.

Having eaten his fill, he leaned against the stove and zoned out for a moment, the hum of running water washing over the rim of the bowl and the rustle of pigeons fluttering past outside the window filling the air.

He returned to the living room, picked up his phone again, curled up into the sofa, and placed his feet on the edge while resting his chin on his knees.

The account balance interface on his phone glowed brightly, showing a pitiably low string of numbers.

A chunk had gone into buying the train ticket, and deducting his living expenses for the upcoming month from the remaining amount left him with barely enough to scrape by.

University started in early September, and now it was late July, leaving nearly two months before registration.

Frowning slightly, he swiped his thumb back and forth along the edge of the screen, mentally planning his search for a summer job.

Haicheng was so big that he couldn’t possibly fail to find even a dishwashing job; besides, he was an Alpha after all, perfectly capable of handling physical labor.

After pondering for a while, various avenues for job hunting popped into his mind, but every single one felt so troublesome it drained his energy.

He let out a sigh, held his phone up before his eyes, and habitually tapped a game icon with his thumb.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he muttered to himself; having just arrived in a new city today, he needed to catch his breath.

As the game’s loading screen popped up, he shrank further into the sofa, settling into a more comfortable posture.

When the ranked match queue lit up, he picked the Support role without hesitation.

Support was his most played position because the mechanics were simple and the heroes were pretty—dressed in long or short skirts, with skill effects consisting of either flower petals or starlight that brightened one’s mood just looking at them.

He picked a soft support popular in the current meta—a young girl image with long golden hair whose skills provided shields and movement speed boosts to teammates.

The start went smoothly enough; the Marksman played decently, while the enemy Support didn’t know what they were doing, allowing Ji Xu to hide in the bushes for several waves and help his Marksman secure two kills.

However, reaching the mid-to-late game, their Jungler started throwing repeatedly.

The enemy Mid-laner and Jungler coordinated to invade their jungle again and again, throwing their rhythm into complete chaos.

Ji Xu pinged signals twice, but nobody listened, and his Jungler even started arguing with the opponent in public chat.

When their nexus was finally destroyed, Ji Xu stared at the word “Defeat” for several seconds before silently clicking to queue again.

In the second match, his Marksman went AFK from the start, and despite hanging on 4-v-5 for over ten minutes, they still lost.

In the third match, everything seemed normal, but the enemy team’s lineup hard-countered theirs; their front line couldn’t tank the damage, crumbling the moment team fights started and making it impossible to fight.

With three red loss screens popping up in a row, Ji Xu’s frown grew tighter, the corners of his mouth drooping downward; the moment the last match ended in defeat, he couldn’t bear it anymore and slapped his phone onto the sofa—with a “clack”, the device bounced and landed right in the gap between the sofa cushions.

He regretted it immediately after doing so.

Feeling pained, he quickly fished the phone out, turning it over to check for any screen cracks, only letting out a sigh of relief after confirming it was completely unharmed.

He had saved up money to buy this phone after working a whole summer of odd jobs; if he broke it, he really wouldn’t have the money for a replacement.

Clutching the phone in his palm, the cool metal casing pressing against his skin, he hesitated for a few seconds before succumbing—and tapped the game open again.

“Just one win and I’ll stop,” he mumbled softly at the screen.

Upon matching into a room, he casually browsed through his teammates’ match histories.

One Marksman had impressive stats from the last game—MVP, over thirty percent damage share, and a high team fight participation rate.

With quick hands, Ji Xu tapped the invite button next to that ID.

He hadn’t harbored much hope initially; after all, his own last match had been a complete mess, so the player might not be willing to queue with him.

Yet a few seconds later, that ID actually joined the room—a profile picture showing a black silhouette, looking rather cold and detached.

Ji Xu’s eyes lit up, and fearing the player might regret it and leave, his fingers moved faster than his brain, hitting match the moment the player entered.

The system found a game instantly, the countdown ended, and the hero selection interface popped up.

“Gege, want to play together?” Ji Xu casually turned on his microphone, his voice clear and resonant as it transmitted through the phone speaker.

He didn’t think there was anything special about it; calling people that was just a habit.

Whenever he encountered teammates who played well in games, he had always been sweet-talked—calling someone ‘Gege’ or ‘Jiejie’ wouldn’t cost him anything as long as everyone had fun playing.

What he didn’t know, however, was that behind that black silhouette avatar, the person’s fingers paused upon hearing that “Gege”.

Chu Siran had indeed clicked accept by accident.

He had originally intended to log off right after his previous game, but as the settlement interface popped up, he was holding a water cup with one hand to drink, his thumb accidentally brushing against the screen and hitting the invitation pop-up.

He wanted to leave immediately, but the other side matched instantly, and the countdown ticked down in a flash.

Frowning, he set down his water cup, stared at the hero selection screen for two seconds, and picked his main Marksman anyway.

And then that voice sounded.

Clear and bright, carrying a soft trailing tone unique to young boys, the word “Gege” pronounced so softly and crisply, like a piece of candy clicking against the tip of a tongue.

Chu Siran hadn’t turned on his mic or speakers—he never listened to teammates talk during games, finding it noisy.

Yet when that voice came through, he subconsciously turned the volume up a bit.

Ji Xu was completely oblivious.

Selecting Support—still that long, golden-haired soft support—he followed leisurely behind his chosen Marksman toward the bottom lane.

The early laning phase went smoothly; Ji Xu’s support details were spot on, controlling bush vision, helping block skillshots, and timing his shields precisely.

Every time Chu Siran came out worse in a trade, Ji Xu immediately topped him off with healing.

Chu Siran was exceptionally skilled, not dying a single time, while the opposing Marksman had already returned to base twice.

“Gege is so awesome,” Ji Xu’s voice drifted over again, laced with a bit of a smile.

“Playing with Gege really feels so reassuring.”

Chu Siran didn’t speak, but his fingers moved faster.

With a juke, he dodged the enemy Support’s crowd control skill, unleashing a full combo in response that left the enemy Marksman at low health.

Ji Xu instantly followed up with crowd control; the two executed a seamless play, sending both enemies to the ground.

As the kill announcement popped up on screen, Ji Xu let out a “Wow!”, sounding genuinely thrilled, his voice pitching upward: “Full marks for Gege’s play!”

Ji Xu’s chatter didn’t stop through the entire match.

Yet he wasn’t noisy or annoying; every comment was perfectly timed—praising accurate skillshots, warning when the enemy Jungler went missing, encouraging teammates not to rush—his voice always carrying a bright smile that made one feel there was hope for the match.

Glancing occasionally at the mini-map during laning breaks, Chu Siran noticed Ji Xu’s Support running everywhere like a busy little bee—zipping down to the bottom lane right after supporting top, without forgetting to place a ward in the river bush before leaving.

The match proceeded smoothly overall.

Pushing down the enemy high ground, Ji Xu said: “Gege, we’re going to win!”

By some strange twist of mind, Chu Siran typed a single period in the public chat.

A small episode occurred right before destroying the nexus.

Knowing they couldn’t win, the enemy team decided to focus all their fire on jumping the two of them.

Four players flanked them from the side; Ji Xu’s Support had just used a set of skills that were on cooldown, getting caught precisely in the enemy control chain and leaving him frozen on the spot, unable to move.

His health bar dropped rapidly, the edges of his screen flashing red.

“Gege, save me!” Ji Xu’s cry was far more urgent than before, genuine panic breaking into his voice as his tone cracked at the end.

Chu Siran had already walked to a safe position, needing only to turn around to escape.

Yet hearing that “Gege, save me,” his fingers disobeyed his mind and reversed direction.

His Marksman’s mobility skill flashed back over the wall, unleashing a burst combo that left one enemy critically low, but unable to output enough follow-up damage, his own health bar hit rock bottom.

In the end, both fell to the ground, their screens turning gray, their corpses lying side by side at the edge of the enemy jungle bush.

“Gege, why did you come back…” Ji Xu’s voice sounded a bit aggrieved, yet self-reproachful, “It was my fault for calling out.”

Chu Siran didn’t speak, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

Fortunately, the nexus was backdoored by their Jungler in the end, causing the victory icon to pop up, a massive golden “Victory” flashing across the center of the screen.

Ji Xu let out a sigh of relief, his voice regaining its lightheartedness: “We won, we won! Thank you, Gege!”

Just as Chu Siran was about to tab out and leave the room, the game started again.

Ji Xu’s hand speed was blazingly fast, starting the next match before even finishing the settlement screen.

Looking at the ID that instantly entered the room, and then at the ticking countdown timer, Chu Siran ultimately didn’t hit exit.

The two played continuously for a long time.

From midday until the sun tilted west, the glare outside the window softened from glaring white-gold into a warm, cozy orange, slanting onto the armrest of the sofa.

Ji Xu’s voice grew slightly raspy, coughing occasionally to clear his throat while talking, yet his voice retained its laughter, calling out ‘Gege’ with every sentence.

Chu Siran never turned on his mic from start to finish, only occasionally pinging an “Attack” signal in-game when Ji Xu asked him, “Can we fight this wave?”

If they won, they kept going; if they lost, Ji Xu swiftly started the next match, looking as though he was terrified Chu Siran might run off.

He did have a little selfish motive—finding a Marksman this steady and precise was exceptionally rare, so he naturally had to seize the opportunity to play extra matches and gain back his lost stars.

By the time dusk fell, no lights were turned on in the living room, with only the glow of the phone screen reflecting on Ji Xu’s face.

After winning another match, Ji Xu put down his phone, jumped up in a hurry, and ran to the bathroom without even putting on his slippers properly.

Having drunk a large glass of water earlier, he had held it in through several team fights.

When he washed his hands and came back out to pick up his phone, he discovered Chu Siran surprisingly hadn’t left the room yet.

That black silhouette profile picture rested quietly in the corner of the room, the waiting icon spinning continuously.

Ji Xu froze, an indescribable warmth surging in his heart.

He turned on his mic, his voice slightly softer than before, carrying a faint breathlessness from running back: “Gege, I won’t be playing anymore today.”

The waiting icon in the room stopped.

After two or three seconds of silence, a single character popped up in the public chat: “Mm.”

Staring at that “Mm”, Ji Xu felt this cold and detached Marksman didn’t seem quite so indifferent after all.

He exited the room, and just as he prepared to close the game to pour himself a glass of water, a friend request popped up on screen.

The applicant was that exact black silhouette ID; the profile avatar was blank, but the battle history was public, displaying a whole row of bright, dazzling red victory and MVP badges.

Ji Xu tapped accept.

A clean name appeared on his friend list, the avatar frame still completely dark.

Thinking for a moment, Ji Xu sent a message over first: “Hello Gege, my name is Ji Xu.”

After sending the message, he stared at the screen and waited for over ten seconds, thinking if the other side didn’t reply, he’d drop it.

The phone vibrated.

“Chu Siran.”

Just three words, without even a punctuation mark.

Looking at the name, Ji Xu thought it sounded quite nice—neat and decisive, matching his style of playing Marksman in game.

Just as he was preparing to exchange polite pleasantries to maintain their gaming buddy relationship, the other person’s next message popped up.

It was a red packet.

Ji Xu stared at that red square for several seconds, the light of the phone screen reflecting in his pupils.

Licking his lips, his finger hovered above the red packet; hesitating briefly, he sent a question mark over first.

“Had fun playing today,” Chu Siran’s message followed quickly, still lacking extra words, yet Ji Xu somehow sensed a touch of clumsiness from the line.

Ji Xu’s eyes curved: “Thank you, Gege!”

Then he tapped open the red packet.

A number popped up in the center of the screen.

88… Ji Xu counted the zeros after it once, and then counted them again.

His mouth gaped open, his entire body sitting up straight from the sofa, his eyes wide and round.

Eight hundred and eighty-eight.

A red packet in a game, casually sending eight hundred and eighty-eight.

Ji Xu looked down at his pitifully low Alipay balance, then looked up at the name “Chu Siran” on the screen, his thoughts spinning several rounds.

This guy was way too rich, throwing out over half a month’s worth of someone else’s living expenses on a whim.

Holding his phone and staring at that string of numbers, his ears felt a bit warm and his heart beat two paces faster—though he couldn’t tell if it was because of the money or something else.

Outside the window, the Haicheng twilight had completely settled, with several warm-toned lamps lighting up in windows in the distance.

Leaning against the sofa, Ji Xu held his phone before his eyes, looking at his chat interface with Chu Siran, the corners of his mouth curving up into an arc he hadn’t even noticed himself.

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