The VIP suite came with complimentary unlimited alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages. By evening, each of them held a cocktail by the poolside table, drinking and chatting.
The starry sky was vast, with dazzling white dots shining brightly overhead, partially obscured by the drifting clouds.
The sound of wind whipping and waves crashing against the cabin resonated in their ears. The deep blue waves tirelessly crashed against the glass window, surging up and then hurriedly falling.
Accompanied by the night breeze, Chen Yan took a sip of the wine. The fiery liquid rolled into his stomach, refreshing and stimulating.
His face showed a slight intoxication, eyes struggling to stay open against the wind. He chuckled, “Next time, I won’t be able to compete with you guys.”
This was the first time he drank so freely, with no burden on his shoulders. He didn’t need to worry about the effects of a hangover on his nerves or fear a decrease in reaction speed.
He had quit that familiar yet nerve-wracking career. He was free but lonely.
Yan Yibing lazily leaned against the corner of the sofa, his right elbow supporting the weight of his upper body. He lifted one leg and rested it on the back of the chair, swaying gently.
“What nonsense are you talking about? We can team up for matches anytime,” he said, then drank a sip of alcohol with an unclear expression, his eyebrows slightly furrowing.
In front of him, the pool water was stirred by the wind, the crystal-clear blue night lights shining on it. Water splashes jumped like crystal blocks before falling back into the pool.
In the center of the pool, small, helpless waves scattered.
Chen Yan smiled and raised his cup to him, saying lightly, “Brother.”
In fact, he knew it was impossible.
He would no longer devote himself to such consuming practice, nor would he shamelessly ask these friends to accompany him in playing online games.
This was the natural order; someone leaves, someone enters. This was why the esports industry could flourish endlessly without coming to an end.
Retirement always came with a sense of melancholy and sadness.
Late at night, the wind grew stronger, the other tourists had already returned indoors. Only they remained by the outdoor pool, braving the cold wind, sipping cold wine.
No one wanted to leave. In the dim light, in the quiet night, emotions were easier to conceal.
After all, they were here to celebrate Chen Yan’s retirement, not to pity him.
Yu Yan patted Chen Yan’s shoulder and clinked glasses with him, “Let’s hang out more often in the future.”
Chen Yan smiled, “Yeah, you guys should visit my livestream often too. I can be a half-host and interview you about your journey.”
Yu Yan chuckled, “It’s too cheesy. I won’t go.”
Many of the players present were not young anymore. There were a few who were twenty-three, and for some, if they didn’t retire this year, they would likely do so next year. Seeing Chen Yan was like glimpsing into their not-so-distant future. They felt a bittersweetness in their hearts and couldn’t come up with any lively remarks, so they could only keep drinking in silence.
Yan Yibing was more of an unknown. No one knew until when he could keep playing.
Retirement was more piercing for him than for anyone else, as he lives almost every year with the outside world talking about the timing of his retirement.
He had been in this industry for eight years. Although his mother always hoped that he would go to college after retiring, for him, studying was something from eight years ago. He didn’t know if he could adapt to it again.
Chen Yan stood up, raising his glass, and solemnly said to all the professional players who were slumping: “It’s great to know all of you. Although we were competitors and schemed against each other, and trash-talked each other in the past few years, in my heart, I considered you all as brothers and can’t bear to part with you.”
After saying this, Chen Yan’s eyes turned red.
He sniffed hard, tilted his head back, and downed an entire glass.
Tears, mixed with the alcohol, went down his throat, leaving an indescribable sensation.
Chen Chi lowered his head directly, wiping his eyes.
In the years when he served as the captain at AXE, thanks to Chen Yan’s unwavering trust and support, they went through the toughest times and became the most tacit partners.
He thought they could fight side by side for a few more years, but Chen Yan had to retire due to injuries.
It happened so suddenly, without giving him any time to prepare.
He had been holding back and pretending like nothing was wrong during this time, even joking with Chen Yan about his retirement plans.
He had been holding it in for too long, and he couldn’t hold it anymore.
He didn’t want Chen Yan to leave, but he wasn’t a doctor. He couldn’t cure Chen Yan’s irreversible injuries, and he wasn’t a god who could make Chen Yan a few years younger.
When Chen Chi cried, the atmosphere instantly became heavy.
Cups of highball glasses were returned one after another, and more were brought over in heaps.
They drank cocktails, then beer, and followed by white wine.
The pizzas on the table had cooled completely, and hardened, and their aroma was swept away by the wind, disappearing without a trace.
Fang Rui’s tongue had become a bit clumsy. He grabbed Chen Chi’s clothes, forcing him to look up, and slurred, “We agreed not to cry, what the hell are you crying for!”
But Chen Chi could still hear his words clearly. He pushed him away with one hand and grumbled, “It’s not like I’m your vice-captain anymore. It’s none of your damn business whether I cry or not!”
Ming Lang grabbed both of them and shook them, saying, “Stop it, what’s with the drunken madness!”
Lu Jianghe brought back a plate of fruit platter. Seeing that there was already some commotion, he shouted loudly, “Yu Yan, do something!”
Yu Yan raised his eyelids, kicked the white shoes of Yan Yibing who was sitting next to him, and said, “Speak up.”
Yan Yibing closed his eyes. As the coolness on his face dissipated, he raised his head to look outside the railing.
The sea was so vast, deep, mysterious, and the waves rolled endlessly, as if they wanted to devour people, leaving them with no trace of daylight.
He squinted and tried hard to look into the distance, but there was only a misty fog, no islands, no place to land. They were drifting alone like this, just the thought of it made people panic.
Yan Yibing’s arm was partially numb, and he struggled to sit up, his clothes wrinkled, revealing a small part of his waist.
At 7:30, there was a performance of a classic Broadway musical scene on the ship, and he didn’t eat much for the sake of watching it.
Now, after drinking too much, he was getting drunk quickly.
The ship gently swayed, and his head swayed gently too, making his vision blurry.
Han Mo didn’t drink much, and he had been helping to deliver the wine glasses.
He glanced at Yan Yibing, and under the soft blue light, the glimpse of Yan Yibing’s exposed waist was particularly eye-catching.
The wind was so strong that it would cause a stomachache if you’re exposed to it for too long.
He glanced at the other players.
Some were huddled together, sobbing, while others drank silently, their heads down. Some were drunk and entangled in fights, and there was even someone half-submerged in a pool, shivering but refusing to climb out.
It was a complete mess.
Han Mo had a good relationship with Chen Yan. Although Han Mo was quiet and didn’t participate in various gatherings, he was willing to help his friends wholeheartedly when they needed him.
But he couldn’t cry.
He couldn’t cry because he had become immune to this level of pain.
He had experienced the hard mode of life and couldn’t easily show his vulnerable side anymore.
But he could tell that Yan Yibing was not in a good mood.
Yan Yibing wasn’t talkative, his face was cool, his gaze fixed on the sea, with half of his exquisite profile illuminated by the light, while the other half remained hidden in shadows.
Disheveled strands of hair floated in front of his eyes, entangled with his overly curled eyelashes.
Han Mo in a trance, saw the Yan Yibing who had once driven him out of Zero.
The same coldness, pursed lips, almond-shaped eyes gazing unwaveringly at a spot, exuding a chilling aura.
When Yu Yan called him earlier, he didn’t respond, as if he hadn’t heard anything. It was unclear if he was truly drunk or lost in thought.
But Han Mo clearly saw tears streaming down his face.
This person, it turned out, could cry because of sadness.
However, his face looked so intimidating when he was sad.
So, he had driven him away back then, was there even a trace of reluctance and sadness?
Han Mo silently took off his plaid jacket and draped it over Yan Yibing’s shoulders, shielding his exposed belly and waist from the wind.
Suddenly, Yan Yibing felt warmth envelop him. He froze for a moment, shifted his gaze, and looked at Han Mo.
The jacket still carried Han Mo’s body heat, the unmistakable warmth of a passionate young man, transferred to Yan Yibing through the soft fabric.
Yan Yibing shivered slightly.
A moment ago, he didn’t feel cold, but now, with the jacket, he felt cold.
The late-night sea was nothing like he had imagined. It wasn’t the dreamy scene with sparkling reflections seen in a Li An film; instead, it was an endless expanse of darkness, a darkness that could stir up unpleasant memories.
Yan Yibing was sinking into those memories, too lazy to even move his sore back and arms.
He vaguely felt that he was drunk, but his thoughts were sluggish, and his brain’s cortex couldn’t activate the spinal cord and nerves.
It wasn’t until Han Mo approached that he was completely pulled out of the melancholic atmosphere.
Han Mo stood in front of him, looking down at him from a higher position, his black t-shirt and torn pants blending into the darkness, but his gaze was sharp and bright.
Yan Yibing blinked, his thin eyelids folding slightly, revealing a moist gleam in his eyes.
In that instant, his cold and indifferent expression softened, returning to his usual gentle and warm demeanor.
“Han Mo.”
Yan Yibing called softly, his voice blending with the wind, drifting and swaying to Han Mo’s ears like a small feather.
Han Mo’s chest tingled. He bit his lip, and he reached out to hold Yan Yibing’s knee, placing his leg, which was hanging over the back of the chair, on the ground.
“It’s cold at night, go back and sleep.”
Yan Yibing shook his head heavily. His hair swung over his eyes with the movement.
He felt weak all over and couldn’t stand up. Han Mo let go of his leg, and Yan Yibing tried to lift it again, but failed.
He didn’t like sitting upright; he preferred the kind of nonchalant posture that was comfortable and convenient.
Han Mo sighed softly, pressing down on Yan Yibing’s leg, and whispered, “I’ll go get a towel to cover you, don’t move.”
The towels on the cruise ship were quite thick and could be used as blankets or windshields.
But Yan Yibing’s towel was in the bedroom, and he couldn’t get in, so he had to ask for another one.
Just as Han Mo was about to turn and leave, Yan Yibing suddenly reached out with one arm, grabbing Han Mo’s wrist.
That slender, soft hand was ice-cold, and the temperature left in the palm was even colder than the warmth on Han Mo’s inner wrist.
Yan Yibing didn’t use much strength, but Han Mo stayed in place. After a while, he heard Yan Yibing softly say—
“Mo Mo, I couldn’t be a good captain.”
Han Mo instantly stiffened, feeling a sharp pain surging through his entire body, rushing to the top of his head.
This was not the right time for a heart-to-heart talk.
He was facing a drunkard who had consumed quite a lot of alcohol and couldn’t even get up from the sofa.
And this drunkard would likely not remember what he said the next day.
Yet, Han Mo couldn’t bear to interrupt Yan Yibing.
After all, when people are drunk, they are the most honest.
Yan Yibing, indeed, had no restraint on his actions.
He tightly clung to Han Mo, like a person shaking on a small boat holding onto the mast.
His fragile eyelashes trembled, his voice sounded like a whimper.
Alcohol magnified emotions, making him appear completely different from his usual self.
He rambled on, his tone soft, innocent yet aggrieved.
“When people are young, they tend to be impulsive. I was the same. When I took you under my wing, I was twenty-two, and the entire league idolized me. I was too proud, too arrogant, and couldn’t tolerate any opposition.”
“I didn’t give you a chance to explain. I stuck to what I believed were principles. I thought I could be straightforward, but because it was you, I never felt at ease with the things I did and instead felt guilty.”
“I once thought you would come back, after all, you were so… hmph, so reluctant to leave me. If you had begged me one more time, maybe I would have agreed.”
“But, in the end, you never came back.”
“If I were to meet you at this age, with more patience, more… understanding of the ways of the world, maybe we wouldn’t have fallen out.”
“But about your mother, I apologize.”
…
As he spoke, his thoughts were clear, and he was remarkably sober, as if he showed no signs of being drunk.
In the end, it seemed like he had exhausted all his strength, and his fingers slid down from Han Mo’s wrist.
The fingertips touched Han Mo’s knuckles, and in an instant, they abruptly separated.
Cracks appeared in their once tight grip, allowing the night wind to recklessly rush in.
Han Mo’s eyes were bloodshot as he looked at Yan Yibing, his body trembling slightly.
They had once had a severe and unpleasant falling out, but Yan Yibing had never spoken a soft word.
Even when he heard about Han Mo’s family situation, he never thought to console him with a single comforting word.
He believed that he would never see the day when Yan Yibing would cherish him.
Tears welled up in the corners of Han Mo’s eyes.
Perhaps, in the past, he was too young to understand the bitterness behind Yan Yibing’s ruthlessness.
But fortunately, he finally knew that he wasn’t the only one who was sad back then.
Han Mo crouched down, his left knee kneeling on the hard wooden floor, his elbow propped on the edge of the sofa. He lifted his left hand and gently stroked Yan Yibing’s cheek.
The skin was cool and smooth, and his fingertips accidentally brushed against the soft earlobe, which had a delicate layer of fuzz.
Yan Yibing breathed rapidly, his body reeking of alcohol. When Han Mo’s finger brushed his face, he instinctively lifted his chin, meeting Han Mo’s eyes.
He murmured while humming, “In the dark, it is easy to pretend…”
These were lines from a musical he had just watched.
He was too drunk to know what he was doing.
Han Mo’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice hoarse and low, “I’m no good either. Taking advantage of your tolerance, always bullying you.”
His knees were sore from being pressed against the gaps in the wooden planks, but this kind of pain seemed to somewhat alleviate the explosive emotions building up within him.
Han Mo tentatively brushed aside the strands of hair covering Yan Yibing’s eyes and whispered in a tender voice that he could hardly imagine.
“Promise me, never retire, never leave the professional stage, keep playing with me, always and forever, okay?”
“My beloved… Master.”
Yan Yibing, dazed, widened his almond-shaped eyes. Apparently, he couldn’t quickly comprehend what Han Mo was saying.
However, in the instant when Han Mo called him Master, he involuntarily curved his eyes, reflecting a sparkling starlight, and smiled innocently and triumphantly.
Author’s Message:
Han Mo: So cute, like something you’d want to carry into the bedroom and devour.
The musical lines are from “The Phantom of the Opera.”
Thank you for reading! 
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