Chapter 3

Jiang Ming's previously gentle smile vanished instantly; his tone turned stern: "Who smoked? Didn't I say smoking is strictly forbidden in the training room?"

The top laner Norsha's face paled; he jumped to his feet. "Sorry, Ming-ge, I… I was just tired and wanted to stay alert."

"Stay alert?"

"Song Yuan, are you treating my words like wind through your ears?"

Jiang Ming's fingers slammed hard against the yellowed wall of rules, making the four red characters "NO SMOKING" tremble. The lingering smell of smoke tangled with the scent of snacks and instant noodles in the damp air—just like the wild, untamed esports ecosystem of this era, where ideals and recklessness were forever intertwined.

"Song Yuan, do you think a 7.5-yuan Hongshuangxi is Baijin?" He snatched the cigarette pack and hurled it onto the tactical board. "Do you know how many restrictions the state imposed on internet cafes and esports after the 2002 Lan Jisu fire that killed twenty-five students?"

The top laner's neck flushed crimson; the "Daily Training Plan" taped beside the tactical board fluttered down—it was Jiang Ming's meticulously crafted Excel 97 spreadsheet, precise to the minute for last-hit drills.

MMP, Chinese esports was already strangled for a decade by the 2002 internet cafe arson—now if this homegrown team pulls another stunt like this, the LPL might die in the womb.

"Let me be clear: I pay your salaries, so you're team employees. You must strictly follow all team regulations."

"If you're going pro, then go pro properly. If not, get out. If you won't do it, someone else will."

"Ming-ge, I—"

"What 'I'? Your parents work in a clothing factory, stitching on sewing machines, their fingers pierced by needles three times just to earn 2,500. And you sit here tapping keys, earning 1,600 every month—steady."

Jiang Ming wasn't exaggerating. By the end of 2012, compared to most teams still operating on passion alone—paying out of pocket for venue rentals, scrambling for sponsors—his team's players received free meals and lodging, plus a monthly salary of 1,600 yuan, placing them firmly in the top tier.

Three-legged toads are hard to find, but two-legged kids with esports dreams, eager to earn money through pro play, are everywhere.

He didn't preach grand theories. To these teenagers who'd dropped out of junior high and plunged into society, a single word—"dismissed"—carried more weight than any lecture.

Listening to Jiang Ming's reprimand, not just Song Yuan but the other four in the room also hunched their shoulders. The blue glow of monitors reflected off five youthful faces; the water dispenser gurgled.

They didn't understand business loops. All they knew was that this basement was warmer than home—at least here there was 24-hour hot water, unlike the ice-crusted toilets of black internet cafes.

"Sorry, Ming-ge, I swear I'll never do it again—I'll change, please give me another chance!"

"Fine, punish me however you want—deduct my salary, anything…"

After a long silence, watching the top laner grow increasingly desperate, Jiang Ming sighed. "I forbid smoking for your own good. Safety aside—nicotine is a stimulant that temporarily boosts alertness. If you become dependent on it, what happens when you can't smoke during a match? Are you going to retire on the spot?"

Unlike seniors like Si Cong, who entered esports as privileged kids just playing around, Jiang Ming truly viewed esports as his foundational path to rise. Since founding the team, he'd consciously steered its management toward standardization.

Though economic constraints kept it far from the polished clubs of the future, it was still far superior to most other internet cafe teams of the time.

"Forget salary deductions. Extra thirty minutes of Fundamentals training today. No next time!"

"Yes, yes, Ming-ge! I'll go solo practice right after we're done!" Song Yuan beamed, bowing repeatedly in thanks.

Jiang Ming waved his hand. "Enough. Come over, eat first."

The fried rice ordered before training had been delivered by the shop's helper. Pro players' rank sessions usually ran from 9 PM to 1 or 2 AM; skipping a meal left their stomachs aching.

Perhaps because of the smoking reprimand, the players ate in silence, heads down—unlike before, when they'd chatter casually over meals.

"Hand me the training schedule."

Sitting with the players at the computer desk, eating the six-yuan-per-bowl fried rice from the Guizhou owner, Jiang Ming spoke to the support player Pang Ran.

"Yes, Ming-ge. Today's Fundamentals training was completed to standard. Vision control drills are still in progress."

Jiang Ming listened while flipping through his pinned task sheet. During the day, he'd delegated supervision of the team's Fundamentals training to the support player due to his livestreaming and online shop duties, but he occasionally checked completion rates afterward.

S3's Fundamentals training was simple: last-hitting and ward placement. Mid-game vision control was still an advanced topic—this was the era when a smiley player landing a hundred last-hits in ten minutes was wildly praised.

The last-hit requirement wasn't high: during the laning phase (first ten minutes), the passing line was around 80, the excellent line above 90, the elite line 100 or more.

Players who reached the elite line received a 200-yuan bonus.

…

After finishing the midnight snack and tossing the disposable utensils into the trash, Jiang Ming turned to his five players. "Our region's LPL is about to launch. There are only twelve slots for the LPL preseason. Because our team didn't exist yet, we missed out on the four slots from city battles and media selections—so we must secure one of the eight promotion slots from the online server battle qualifiers."

"Our first server battle online match is tomorrow at 5 PM. Opponent: the second-ranked team from War College. For the remaining time, we'll focus on revising vision control, wave management, and rotation support."

Jiang Ming sat at a computer, opened a video stored in the D drive, and gestured for everyone to gather close.

"Pro matches differ from solo queue. Fundamentals, vision, team coordination, and tactical design—all are indispensable."

"Our current weakness is lack of five-vs-five team synergy. In the server battle, we must focus on building team chemistry…"

Because his team was founded by a pancake-streamer with no name recognition, he couldn't even find opponents for practice matches—so he could only address most issues through video analysis.

Yet even so, the five young men in the room stared at him with burning eyes, hungry for every ounce of pro knowledge he imparted.

No one complained. They remembered three months ago, crammed into a VIP internet cafe booth: five computers, three ID cards, hiding in toilet stalls when police raided at night.