Chapter 2

At the end of 2012, the League of Legends tutorial video market was a golden land ripe for cultivation.

Compared to the homogenized flood of guides in later years, players at this time were caught in a frenzy of rank worship—combat power values hung like medals beside their IDs, all-nighters at internet cafes were spent solely to climb into Gold rank, and even breakup reasons could be “Sorry, your rank doesn’t match mine.”

Jiang Ming, who deeply understood the rules of this wild era, planned his videos with clear structure.

Each tutorial video had to be around 28 minutes and 17 seconds (exactly the maximum length of a popular ad-free video at the time).

The opening needed at least three clips of low-health comebacks (preferably with enemies flashing into walls for comedic effect).

Each episode had to include at least one viral meme (such as the rank hierarchy between “Child Jax” and “Naruto Jax”).

For instance, the Jax tutorial he was currently editing was a masterpiece of early traffic secrets: opening with three consecutive tower-diving kills—the enemy turret seemed like a charging station for Jax, comparable to a man defying gravity.

He interspersed close-ups of his own 2300-rank account’s loading screen (where rank was directly displayed then), and during the W-skill explanation, suddenly inserted a distorted voice: “Watch closely, this man is Xiao Shuai.”

Even without the Deep Blue System’s help, for someone who had lived through the internet explosion era, becoming a high-quality LoL tutorial creator wasn’t difficult at all.

With the advantage of foresight, Jiang Ming’s hero tutorials were often N times faster than other creators’—sometimes, while others were still learning the new hero’s mechanics and gathering footage, his tutorial was already uploaded the next day.

Efficiency was secondary; Jiang Ming also carried the title of a high-rank player. When viewers searched for tutorials, they often considered the creator’s own rank—because footage from Gold or Silver players held far less weight than clashes between top-tier players in China, making Jiang Ming’s videos dominate the LoL new-hero tutorial section in views.

With guaranteed video views, sales of products in his online store naturally didn’t lag behind.

“Hmm, almost done recording!”

He’d edited countless videos by now; with practice, all he needed was to finish the voiceover—the rest wouldn’t take long.

A dozen minutes later.

Jiang Ming rubbed his shoulders, glanced out the window—the street was empty, midnight had swallowed stars and moon, only occasional passing cars broke the silence. He turned back to the Adobe Premiere Pro window, checked one final time, clicked save, then logged into his video site account and uploaded the file.

“Done. Just wait for the next wave of orders.”

He shut down the computer at lightning speed, kicked his feet lightly, and the gaming chair with wheels slid him out of his seat.

“Tch… ah!”

He stretched hard, letting out a deep, satisfying sigh.

Being eighteen or nineteen had its perks—starting at 10 a.m. farming footage, playing until 6 p.m., then grinding five more hours on editing—his past self would’ve been bedridden all day tomorrow.

Wait, no—if it were his past body, he wouldn’t even make it through a few games before losing track of his mouse…

Youth is great!

Jiang Ming, who knew his body was his revolutionary capital, stretched and jumped in place, trying his best to relieve his fatigue.

When the weariness faded, he washed his face in the bathroom, checked his phone—it was nearly 11 p.m.—then opened his contacts and dialed a number labeled “Zhang Chaofan.”

“Hey, little bro, same as usual tonight?”

A rough, middle-aged man’s voice came through the line.

Jiang Ming blinked. “Same chaofan, six portions. Add one cold dish.”

“Got it!”

He hung up, grabbed a coat from the hanger, and walked out toward a nearby old-style corridor building.

…

At the narrow steel roller door, he fished out a key from his bag—click— the rusty lock finally opened with a screech.

Jiang Ming pushed open the rusted door; the motion-sensor light flickered on with each step, then blinked out after two flashes.

“Damn it, Landlady, are you gonna die if you replace this bulb?”

Behind the door was a narrow staircase, too tight for two people to walk side by side. Seeing no light on the second floor, Jiang Ming sighed and used his phone’s screen as a flashlight to head down to the basement.

The stairs descended into darkness; the white paint on the walls had yellowed and peeled, and the air reeked of mildew mixed with the dampness of underground spaces.

Spray-painted on the wall remained “ID CARD 136xxxx”; in the corner sat three boxes of Youchen Pork Floss Buns—both online inventory and the team’s strategic food reserve.

Five bulky monitors glowed with a faint blue light, reflecting the faded S2 World Championship poster on the wall.

In the corner, the water dispenser was performing its classic routine: rumbling like a tractor as it heated.

Several young men sat before computers, eyes locked on screens, fingers flying over keyboards, mouse clicks rising and falling in rhythm.

“F***, Lao Zhang, where’s your teleport? You waiting to give birth?”

“Save me, save me! This fucking guy hates me—he’s only targeting me!”

“Stop screaming! You yelp every day. They keep invading your jungle—can’t you fight back?”

“Aaaah, don’t miss the last hit, bro! That big cannon minion—you miss it, just give it to me!”

“…”

“Push push push… full push!”

The room echoed with 100% profanity-laced banter—he sighed helplessly but understood this was the era’s unique communication style; he couldn’t expect them to change overnight.

This small room was Jiang Ming’s esports Jiangshan.

Yes, just like that one guy who made millions selling buns, after earning some meager capital from his bun shop, Jiang Ming had launched his own esports team.

Top: norsha, Jungle: stone, Mid: yihan, ADC: sorry, Support: door.

These five were players he’d recruited early from China’s high-rank ladder, each averaging around 2200 rank points. It was a pity he hadn’t snagged even one star player from the original world’s trajectory.

“Ming-ge!”

“Boss!”

“Ah-Ming… Ming-ge!”

After finishing a rank match, the players removed their headsets. Perhaps due to their hyper-awareness, the jungle player spotted their boss entering and stood up nervously.

The others, jolted awake by his shout, also turned and greeted him.

“Hmm…”

Hmm?

Jiang Ming suddenly caught a sharp odor and frowned.

As he stepped closer, his gaze swept the room—and soon, a few half-burned cigarette butts in the trash bin came into view.